Tragedy's Mine

The mine took forty-three lives. Tonight, it gives them back.

The Hardwige Mine had been abandoned for over fifty years.

It sat two leagues from Dowling, its tangled network of shafts and tunnels stretching deep beneath the earth. No one had dared set foot inside for decades.

No one sane, anyway.

The mine had seen the worst collapse in Indamar’s history—forty-three men buried alive beneath tons of rock and soil. No excavations had taken place since. Not because the gold had run dry—but because the dead wouldn’t let them.

The spirits of those miners still lingered.

And they were angry.

No one had been able to reclaim the mine, to take up their work and pull the gold from its depths. Every attempt had ended in terror.

Tonight, Isaac and I would see for ourselves why.

"It’s a long way up here," Isaac muttered as we neared the southern entrance to the Hardwige Mine.

The sun had just dipped below the western horizon, the last streaks of daylight fading fast. Soon, it would be nothing but us and the dark.

"We won’t get back until well after midnight," he went on. "We’ll barely get a few hours of sleep—if we’re lucky."

"Oh, stop your whining, Isaac." I strode ahead toward the mine’s boarded-up entrance, stepping over weeds that had long since claimed the path. "What we’re about to witness will be worth losing a night’s sleep."

"That’s easy for you to say." He sighed, dragging his feet behind me. "You don’t have to work tomorrow. I’ll have pots and pans to clean, a grill to scour—Miss Margaret barely gives me a break anymore. The priory has a lot of mouths to feed, yours included."

I paused before the Hardwige Mine’s barricaded south entrance. "At least you only have to deal with Margaret."

Reaching into my dress, I pulled out my glass orb. Swirling smoke churned inside—red, blue, and gold.

"I’ll have to contend with Miss Nyomi all morning just for the right to eat lunch," I muttered. "I’d gladly scrub a pot or two instead of sitting through one of her inane scripture lessons."

Isaac chuckled. "I see your point."

I studied the shifting lights inside the orb for a moment before gesturing to our right.

"We’re looking for an open vertical shaft," I said. "It should be this way—if I’m reading this right."

Without waiting, I took off down another narrow path, this one even more overgrown than the last.

We didn’t have to go far.

The hole yawned open before us, a gaping wound in the earth. It had torn into the landscape over fifty years ago, the moment the mine collapsed and swallowed forty-three men whole.

The chasm spanned at least twenty feet across. A black maw, endless. Bottomless.

"Oh, my," Isaac whispered, peering over the edge.

The void stretched down into the bowels of the Isle, so deep it seemed to pull at the light itself.

Then—a ghostly wail drifted up from the depths.

A slow, wicked grin spread across my lips.

"I told you this was going to be worth it."

Isaac’s gaze stayed locked on the abyss long after the wail had faded.

"How many ghosts did you say were down there?" he asked quietly.

"Forty-three," I said. "And we’re going to release every single one—at least for the night."

Isaac’s head snapped toward me, alarm flashing across his face. "How exactly are we going to do that?"

I tucked the orb into my hip pocket and pulled out three fat acorns, holding them up between my fingers.

"With one of these," I said.

Isaac stared. "Acorns?"

"They’re magic acorns."

His eyebrow crept higher. "Sure they are."

I sighed. "Aunt Muriel gave them to me. She’s the one who told me I should come here."

The doubt on his face vanished instantly. Say what you would about [[Muriel]], but no one questioned her when it came to the mystical and the unknown.

"Oh," Isaac said, considering the acorns again. "Well, maybe they are magic. What do we do with them?"

"We’ll only need one," I said, rolling the acorn between my fingers. "[[Muriel]] told me all we have to do is throw it in. Then, we stand back and be amazed."

Isaac eyed me. "Be amazed? How so?"

I smirked. "The acorn contains an enchantment that will release them from this place."

He hesitated. "But only for the night?"

I nodded. "At dawn, the mine will drag them back. It always does."

Isaac exhaled, shaking his head. "How terrible for those souls."

"Maybe," I said, shifting my gaze back to the abyss. "But this is going to be quite a show."

Isaac huffed a quiet laugh. He straightened, rubbing his hands together. "Well, let’s get to it. The sooner we set this thing off, the sooner we can start heading back to Dowling. Maybe we’ll get some sleep after all."

I selected one of the acorns, tucking the others back into my pocket.

I was about to toss it in—but I paused.

"A kiss for luck," I said, rising onto my toes to press a quick, impromptu peck to Isaac’s lips.

Before he could react, I turned and threw the acorn into the abyss.

We waited.

The acorn took its time falling, disappearing into the void. Then—impact.

The effect was instantaneous.

No less than forty-three spirits exploded from the depths, rocketing past us in a flurry of shrieking, ecstatic energy.

Isaac and I stumbled back, chilled to the bone as the ghosts rushed past, their glowing figures soaring skyward. One by one, they vanished among the stars.

We stood there, breathless, watching the last remnants of their light fade into the night.

After a long silence, Isaac managed, "Can we come back tomorrow night?"

A slow grin spread across my lips.

"Damn straight."

 

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