The Hole To China

The young man lifted another shovel full of dirt, walked the few feet to his target, then angled his shovel downward, releasing several pounds of earth into the great hole. He knelt down at the rim, squinting his eyes to note the progress he and his friends had made so far, as the bright light of the full moon behind him allowed him to see exactly how far they’d come.

He shook his head and grinned disgustedly, then glanced at his watch. Three-Thirty, he thought. We should be just about done. He looked back inside the great hole. He estimated they’d filled in about 10 feet -- only a third of his goal of reaching the top. He smirked to himself, wondered how the fat kid had been able to dig out such a big hole in such a short time. He’d been so far off in his earlier estimates of needing an hour or two to completely fill in the 30 foot hole, and he’d had no idea it was as wide as eight feet across.

He decided just then that filling in half the hole was better than nothing at all. His adjusted plan was to leave by 4:00 a.m., and to have all the boys back home 15 minutes later, long before any of their parents or neighbors would wake up. If they hurried, maybe they could accomplish another five feet.

“We need to dig faster!” he barked hoarsely to the others, his deep voice barely above a whisper.

“We can’t dig any faster!” responded one of the boys, the pitch of his voice a bit louder and stronger than the leader’s.

“You’re being too loud!” the leader yelled back. “Someone might hear us!”

They stuck to the plan, briskly shoveling for another 30 minutes --30 minutes spent without a break. The leader was relentless, pushing himself and the others until he looked back into the hole, still not satisfied with the results.

“We’ll dig another 10 minutes,” he said, and as the words escaped his mouth, the first dog began to howl.

The six boys froze in their tracks as the barking across the street at the Johnson’s continued on. Moments later, other neighborhood dogs joined in, as if in a barking contest with each other. The leader held up his hand, signaling for total silence. At that very moment, the Johnsons’ front porch light blinked on.

The six boys dropped to their knees in unison as old man Johnson emerged from the house, his trusty old German-Shepherd, Spike, pulling him forward on his leash. The old man walked to the curb in front of his house, looked around for any signs or noises, and watched his dog sniff at the air and then tug him towards the house across the street.

Johnson was quickly joined by his younger neighbor, Ned, who’d also been awakened by the baying dogs. The boys watched the men exchange a few words, then cross the street in their direction.

Instinctively, the boys bolted for the broken fence they’d used earlier to trespass onto the property. One by one, they slid their shovels under the hole in the fence, and scaled the few feet to safety on the other side. From there, they scampered across the school playground, crossed Laurel Avenue, and disappeared into the woods on the outskirts of Recreation Park. When they’d finally realized they were safely out of sight, they paused to collectively catch their breaths.

Back at the hole, the two men and the dog had entered the property. They’d been aware that the house’s occupants had been away for the evening, and curiously circled the hole. Only a few minutes later, they surmised what had happened here.

As they retreated to call the police, the younger man spotted something on the ground. He crouched down, then picked up a tattered garden glove -- a left-handed one -- still warm to the touch. He rose from the ground, displayed the glove to his neighbor, then carefully placed it into his shirt pocket.