Everyone knew Erskineville had originally been built to serve the coal mines. The coal had long since run out and the mine heads concreted over. Now new cookie-cutter homes mushroomed over the land and a once tough blue-collar neighborhood had been colonized by executives and their families.
Chet Little was one of these. He'd had to work late and the street lights gleamed on the paintwork as he drove the cemetery, he hooked a left onto Boynton. As a peace offering for all these long hours, perhaps he'd take Louise out to that new steak house and get her in the mood for...
Chet's pleasant thoughts vanished. The blacktop ended as a huge crater opened up just before his Acura Integra. Cursing, he hauled on the wheel trying to avoid the sink hole. The tires squealed and bit on the remains of the road but it was no use. His Integra skidded, slipped and the hood dipped as the car fell down the hole. Sparks flew as the bodywork gouged through the earth.
With a shock, wrecking the suspension, it landed at the bottom of the hole. Worried about a leak from the gas tank, he switched off the engine and in the dark silence listened as stones and rubble bounced off the roof. A rock hit the windscreen, cracking it. His car was a write-off, Chet knew. He hoped his insurance covered sinkholes; he'd have to check when he got home. Speaking of which, could he free himself? Chet pushed on the driver's door but unsurprisingly it was jammed so he scooted over to the passenger's side and tried that. It opened a few inches but even a size zero supermodel couldn't wriggle out.
Chet sat back and fidgeted. He figured he'd be rescued soon. Okay so Boynton wasn't exactly an interstate and it was late at night but somebody would happen along shortly and dial 911. There was a thin glimmer of light up above but other than that he was in complete darkness. Pushing the key back into the ignition he turned on the headlights. The Integra was at an angle, the beams pointing downwards but in their light, Chet saw tunnels at the edge of his vision.
"Abandoned mines! Wait until I sue the city. They should've made these safe." He grinned imagining the compensation coming his way. He picked up his cell phone to tell Louise what had happened and reassure her. No signal.
What was that? On the edge of the beam, he thought he saw movement. Were there animals down here? Or were the emergency services approaching through the mine shafts? Surely not? They would set up arc-lamps, cranes, things like that over the sink hole. He'd hear and see them. Chet lowered the window and shouted. His voice was swallowed by the damp earth. The movement, if he hadn't merely imagined it, stopped. He was alone. This was getting beyond a joke. Why hadn't someone come by now? Chet twisted in his seat and yelled upward, "Help! Somebody get me out of here!"
Over his shoulder he saw movement, lit up by the red glow from his tail lights. It was definitely movement. "Help," he shouted. Peering through the rear window he couldn't see the reassuring reflection of reflective jackets.
There was a crash from the front of the car. He wheeled around. One of the headlights smashed. A rock must have fallen. Another stone sailed out of the darkness, bouncing off the windscreen. Then another. By the light of the remaining beam Chet saw a slumped, greyish figure wearing rags. It aimed and then threw a rock. The second beam went dark. How had those kids got down here? Except in his glimpse, they didn't look much like local teens wearing hoodies.
Chet realized he was trapped and helpless as more rocks crashed into his Integra. Then more strikes from the rear. From the darkness Chet heard strange glibberings and meepings. Panic gripped him. He had to get out. Pushing his seat back, he raised his legs and kicked out at the windscreen. Nothing happened.
He kicked again, much harder and the glass splintered and bulged outwards. But it drew the attention of the figures. They loped forwards gathering at both ends of his car. Chet realised that these weren't local punks. Their skin was grey, their faces – no their muzzles – were dog-like and their eyes glowed red. And those sharp canines...
One of the creatures glibbered and lifted a rock, smashing it down on the glass. Now Chet wasn't trying to get out. He curled up into a ball. Desperately, he pressed his phone hoping for any signal. Hooting with glee, others of the creatures climbed up onto the roof, jumping up and down, rocking the Integra, and dislodging it. The car slid further down the slope towards the Stygian darkness of the tunnels.
One of these monsters climbed onto the hood and swung a long bone at the glass. There was a crash as the windscreen caved in. Shards of glass showered over him. Chet gagged as a charnel stench of something long dead flooded the car. Then strong arms ending in clawed hands reached in. One snatched his phone, peered at it before flinging it into the darkness. Chet shrunk away from the grasping arms. Their hoots reached a crescendo. Dog-like muzzles licked their lips.
Chet was pulled out through the gap, fetching up on the rubble. Looking up he caught one last glimpse of the starry sky above, his last view of a sane world. One of the larger creatures straddled Chet and then swung the thigh bone down onto Chet's skull. His world exploded into stars and went black.
The creatures dragged Chet's body down into their underworld lair. Ghouls prefer corpse-flesh but sometimes they like fresh meat as a change...