Midhollow Is Ripped Apart

​It took me three days to patch Old Olson's floors. I offered to fix the wheels on his wagon instead, but he was determined to stay until the end.

​It started in his garden. The ground softened, shifted, and was finally swallowed alongside the dying weeds by a small rift. When morning light hit, his backyard had been replaced by a gaping maw. I rushed to build fences and reinforced structures, but when the sun lay to rest, even they sank below. The hole had grown bigger. I should've sent him away then, broken wagon or not.

​This morning, Olson's cottage was gone without a trace, devoured by the darkness. First, I hoped he escaped - since I heard no crying or screaming. But as it turns out, the maw swallows even sound.

​I'm putting down the hammer and packing my bags. I won't wait to be swallowed like Olson and the weeds.