Back in April of twenty thirteen, I was a building and zonning inspector for
Munk County, West Virginia. We were situated in an office up in Morgantown,
where I usually worked with his owning permits an annual municipal building inspections.
Not the most exciting job, but in my line of work, the best
day in the job is the day when nothing happens. The fight against entropy
is constant, and I had a sign hanging above my desk to remind me
of such is simply read everything breaks in cursive with a baby chirub in a
corner. I remember being called up early one morning there had been some sort
of geological event and every inspector would be pulled off desk duty. We needed
immediate building inspection in the area surrounding the outskirts of Greenbrier Valley. We were
to coordinate our efforts with a central command up in Green County. That morning,
it seemed like everything was topsy turvy. The local news talked about an
escaped murderer, and we were getting calls about a lake being drained. The
local hospital desperately needed blood donations, but couldn't tell us why. Overall,
something was up, and neither of us liked it, but we went along
with it. I was assigned to a full inspection of a farm close to
the epicenter, the Oak Valley Grain Farm. I was handed at dossier on
the owner, employees, tax records, zoning permits, all that stuff.
But I was practically pushed out the door before I got the chance to go
through any of it. I'd only finished half my morning coffee when I found
myself standing in the parking lot with a stern looking man impatiently tapping his foot
waiting for me to get on my way. Given the way they were hurrying
us, I got the impression that something terrible had happened, and yet we
were told to expect minimum damage, if any at all. Still, I
had to remind myself of the external darge. Everything breaks, that includes old
barley farms. Once I was out on the road, I took some time
at a rest stop to go through the dossier, mostly to get a feel
for the place and an idea of what to look out for. So the
Oak Valley Grain Farm a seventy five acre area originally established in eighteen eighty two.
The site was used both as a barley farm and a lumbers storage yard,
as most of the surrounding area was covered in oak trees. A few
years into operation, they expanded into having an offsite cooper and making their own
barley malt for whiskey production. The original malting facility and accompanying barrel storage was
still in use to this day. The one problem I could spot was the
historical buildings. Oak Valley had a series of Prohibition eerror buildings and underground storages,
some of which were still being used. It was all legitimate and more
of a quirk than anything, but those areas had not been properly inspected for
years. The landowner had been reluctant to allow an inspector's free reign, and
mon County hadn't seen the use and harassing the owner because of what could be
at most considered her curiosity. There was about a dozen employees, not counting
irregular extra labor, the offsite cooper, workshop, and seasonal farm to table
event organizers. I got there at about ten am. Even from the parking
lot, I could see rolling hills of sprouting barley. Red birds were circling
overhead some kind of migrating species that had come home to roost. There was
a constant low droning in the area, both from the machinery and emerging spring
in techs. The air was dense with the smell of rain, drenched manure
and fertile soil. I was greeted by one of the equipment operators, Elsie,
a quiet, middle aged woman with a permanent squint on her face,
like she was always blinded by the sun. I stifled the instant to ask
if she'd had a vision checked in the past six months, and settled with
shaking her hand. Welcome to a hoak valley, she smiled. Lacey will
be out in a minute. Is the landowner in I asked, mister er
Kettleman and as Kettleman, Yeah, he is usually not around that much,
Elsie side. Lacy is the de facto boss lady runs the day to day
operations, and As is a sort of hands off kind of guy ever since
he got saiatica. Sorry to hear that. I nodded, Let's see the
boss lady. Then Elsie showed me past the office and the silos. I
was regretting not putting on more appropriate footwear, but most of my onside inspections
were usually municipal buildings. This was out of my comfort zone, and my
feet would have to suffer for it, manure ridden water pressed into my socks.
I met Lacey Kettleman outside of the workshop. She was busy trying to
get a hold of someone to finish the repairs on a secondary combine. Lacey
was in her early thirties but had already started to go gray. She held
up her finger as we approached, finished the phone call and turned to me
with an eagerness to walk right through me. I'd met a lot of people
like Lacey Kettleman before, but there was something about her that put me off.
There was something there. What's this about, then, she asked,
crossing her arms, a standard inspection. M'm I said, on account of
the geological event in the area. We ain't had any geological events, she
shrugged. So your services aren't necessary. This series a sizeable property, I
said, I'm sure you haven't had the time to check if everything is up
to code. I can help you with that, then I'll be on my
way. I appreciate that, but no, no need business as usual.
I looked over at Elsie, still hovering on the outskirts of the conversation.
I clutched my dossier and resumed eye contact. Miss Kettleman, do you mind
explaining the problem with your combine harvest? I'm not entirely sure, she said,
That's why I'm trying to get a hold of someone who does. Then
would you mind me having a look at your garage or Betty yet the combine?
The combine doesn't constitute a building, sir, Not much use for a
building inspector to take a look at that. Let's start with the garage then,
Well Lacy took off with her cell phone in hand. Elsie stayed by
my side and guided me around the property. Turns out Elsie was supposed to
be the one to operate the second combine. Since it was out of commission,
she didn't have much to do. She only had access to a few
buildings, but it was enough to get me started. Burst Off was the
garage. Well Lacy had said there'd been no noticeable geological event, there were
clear signs of disturbance. Several items had been knocked off the walls, and
there were weblike cracks in the concrete floor. Nothing major, but enough for
me to take note. There was no way Lacy was unaware of this.
I took some pictures, made some notes, and wandered off to check the
storage sheds. Over the next few hours, Elsie escorted me through the grounds.
While most buildings were off limits to her and Lacy was nowhere to be
found, I could still check the exterior, and while I didn't see anything
obviously dangerous, there were clear signs of the area being disturbed. I could
see the ground having shifted downhill from the storage sheds, entire rows of barley
were bent. While waiting for Lacey to meet us by the offices, Elsie
and I started wondering by the edge of the grounds. There were plenty of
oak trees there, historically used for making their own barrels, and there were
several old trails snaking through the undergrowth. We were walking past the gazebo when
I noticed an old well. Nothing out of the ordinary at first sight,
but I noticed something strange about its algae. I took her closer look.
Turns out the well was overflowing with water. Elsie seemed just as surprised as
I was. It's been dried out for years, she said, that's definitely
new. There was a pulse to it, gulps of water making tiny bumps
in the surface, tension algae and lily pads overflowing, making a green circle
around the stonework. It had a strange smell to it, like salt and
ammonia lake water. This wasn't normal. We met up with Lacy and I
explained the various signs I'd seen around the farm. Elsie quietly retreated, not
wanting to be dragged into the conversation. Lacy just nodded along but didn't seem
to react as I told her about the cracked concrete, the tilted rows of
barley, or the various disturbed shelves. Seeing as there were clear signs of
the area being affected, I told her I had to take a closer look
at the structural integrity of the main buildings, and finally, there was the
well. This time she reacted. She had nodded and accepted everything up to
that point, but all of a sudden she was defending herself. She tried
to explain that the well was backed up and that they'd had a problem with
water runoff in the past. There was nothing in the dossier about flooding,
but Lacy was at also arguing with her. Didn't do us any favors in
gaining access to the farm interior. You can stall all day, miss Kettleman,
I reminded her. But we're not done until I say so. We're
not keen on government folks skulking around. Sir Lazy smiled. This place has
history. I told her I'd be back the next day, and the day
after that, as many days as it took for me to do my job.
Lacey just grinned. She wouldn't make it easy for me. I took
some time checking in with the other inspectors. It turns out I wasn't the
only one who'd noticed some strange abnormalities, a lot of bursting pipes. It
seemed the local high school was also a mess. Not to mention the elementary
school over in Juniper. I was given no details about it except that no
one was allowed on the premises and the entire school was sealed off, even
for inspectors. By comparison, I overflowing well was nothing, and still I
couldn't check the feeling that something about Lacy was off. I checked the dossier
over and over that night, trying to make a game plan for the following
day. I take some extra time checking the irrigation and plumbing and putting emphasis
on the interior. Lacy would just have to comply, and yes, I
would even check the old prohibition era storages. She'd just had to deal with
it. I was up bright and early the following morning. I got to
the Yak Valley Grain Farm at about seven am, only to notice that it
had been closed. Lacy had put up a sign of the door closed for
renovations. That was it. Maybe she figured we wouldn't have to conduct any
inspections if there was no current business being conducted, but that's not how things
work. I tried calling her, but got no response. I sent her
a single text. She was either to open up the facility for inspection or
I had to take legal action. Shortly afterwards, she assured me she'd be
there one hour and thirty minutes later, Lacy came out to the main office
building. Apparently she'd been there all along. Strange though she had no car
in the parking lot, she was out of her work clothes, just having
slapt on a gray hoodie and a pair of torn jeans. She looked exhausted.
Pleasant morning, I asked. I cursed myself for forgetting to bring appropriate
footwear. Again, Lacy didn't respond. She just wrapped her arms around herself
and kept her head down. Something was wrong. We headed into the main
building. Nothing out of the ordinary, no damage, no problem with the
plumbing. All in all it seemed perfectly fine. I couldn't figure out why
she was so reluctant to show it to me. Then I double checked the
dossier. Of course there was the prohibition earer seller all right, I sighed,
timed her head underground. Is that absolutely necessary, Lacy asked. It's
a mess. We don't use it for much. You've been putting off an
inspection for a long time, Miss Kettleman. Given the circumstances, I can't
really motive putting it off any further. It's a seller, she shrugged.
There's not much they can go wrong with it. Everything breaks, ma'am.
The door to the cellar was so small I had to move sideways to fit.
How they moved contraband whiskey through their back in the day was still a
mystery to me. Still, I was there to check for damages, not
side seeing. We came down to a large open space with an eight foot
drop into a storage area. It was about sixteen by twenty feet in total.
There was an odd steel ladder leading down, with two open paths leading
deeper. A set of flashlights were hanging on the wall, so I brought
one with me. As I put my hand on the first rung of the
ladder, I noticed Lazer's expression change. While she'd been angry or frustrated before,
she looked almost apologetic. Now this will complicate things, she sighed,
But we'll work it out somehow. Sure thing now the support seemed fine,
I said, climbing down, but there might be damaged further in. I
stepped away from the ladder, taking in the smell of salt water and ammonia.
The moment I did, Lacy pulled up the ladder. This caught me
completely by surprise. I hadn't even considered that an option. The ladder just
rattled away. I was left down there. It was so sudden. I
didn't know what to say. I just threw my arms out in a confused
shrug. What the hell, I'm sorry? Like how you are put the
ladder back? I can't. I'm calling the police. There was no coverage.
We were too far underground. I was slowly realizing that she was going
to leave me down there. All I had was this flimsy flashlight and a
couple of hours of battery on my phone. Lacy remained up there holding the
ladder. I could feel my heart pounding, drowning out the background noises in
my head. I was growing short of breath, struggling to exhale. I've
never been claustrophobic, but this was something else, something darker, a real,
actual threat to my life. They came to me looking for shelter,
Lacy said, they speak, You know, what are you talking about?
They said you were coming, and I want to hear what else they have
to say. You can't keep me here, You just need time. What
do you There was a sound coming from one of the side corridors. My
heart shrunk and floated up into my throat. I held my breath, trying
to hear the sound through my hammering pulse. I could feel my finger tips
growing cold. It was a strange, hissing sound, like someone trying to
start a dying motor. Lacy stood her attention, listening intently. Something was
down there with me. We came into their home, Lacy whispered, now
they're coming into ours. I backed into the corner of the room, only
now noticing the thin layer of water covering the dirt floor. I turned off
the flashlight and listened, trying to calm myself enough to not go into hyperventilation.
Something was coming this way. Footsteps. Hello, Lacy whispered, will
you speak to me? The footsteps stopped. There was another hissing noise rattling
me. It felt like someone was playing fiddle with my nerves. Of course,
said Lacy, he's all yours. I could hear her stand up to
leave, taking the ladder with her. The footsteps came closer. I tried
to move, but I made too much noise. The footsteps stopped for a
moment. I thought I'd scared it frightened it made it hesitant, then it
burst into a sprint. I turned my flashlight back on and ran down the
corridor on the opposite side of the room. I tore down all kinds of
debris as I went, planks, old barrels, empty jars. Whenever I
could get my hands on. I glanced back, catching a pair of eyes
coming out of the dark, A wide shark like mouth, a side room,
some kind of meeting area. I jumped over a table, knocked it
down, and backed away. Seconds later, the table was smashed into fragments
of woods scattered across the room, making my nose itch. But the thing
stopped. It stayed just outside my vision, on the edge of the flashlight.
It hitsed again, sending another shiver up my spine. But somewhere in
that vibration I heard something. It wasn't a word, but a collection of
scrambled thoughts, much like a word square, a jumble of information that you
had to find your own meaning in, but rest assured there was meaning.
Fear, anger, hunger. What do you want from me? I asked.
My flashlight flickered and the thing twitched. It was ready to strike,
like a coiled snake. It hissed in response, Hunger, hunger, sadness.
I retreated into the corner of the room, accidentally knocking over a shelf
of empty prohibition error bottles. I could see the reflection of those dark eyes
shining back at me as they patrolled back and forth looking for an opening.
Another hiss, a pleading, a promise, a bone chilling coldness. It
was starting to sound like language, an old primal language, a language that
could summarize so much with so little. I fumbled with my hands, looking
for the biggest bottle I could find. Finally, I got a hold of
an old wine bottle, waiting for the creature to hiss again, I ready
the bottle for a throw. As soon as I felt that tingle in my
spine, I knew I was about to hear it. I stood up,
lowered my flashlight, and threw as hard as I could. There was a
thick, fleshy thunk. The hissing stopped, and I could see the dark
eyes rise another two feet into the air. The thing had been hunched over.
Now it was taller than the tunnel itself. It flinched, spitting out
another word. With that single word, a series of impressions washed over me.
Cold water tunnels, the crunch of raw fishbone in my mouth, dying
men in black togas giving praise to a drowned god, hoping against hope to
see another dawn. I didn't notice I'd been zoning out. I'd leaned the
flashlight downwards, and I could see those dark orbs inching closer. I backed
up against the wall and inched the way, effectively sidestepping my way around the
room. The creature followed my movements, matching them. I ended up with
my back against the corridor, so I turned to run. It was right
behind me, and it was fast. I just kept going, hearing the
hissing coming closer. Hunger, joy, hunger, warmth. I went straight
to the storage and into the posing corridor. It twisted and turned, only
just spit me out into a room with a slightly lower floor. I fell
forward haphazardly, spraining my ankle and dropping the flashlight. In an instant,
the flashlight flickered and died. I fumbled through my pockets, bringing out my
phone. My hands were shaking so bad I couldn't unlock the screen. On
the third try, I got it open and the flashlight app came on.
This time, the creature was almost upon me. It screeched and retreated,
blinded. It had too many limbs, too many everything, anger, desperation.
Leaving my phone on, I tried to get back on my feet.
I couldn't. My foot was too badly. I could hop around a bit
at most, but I was no match for whatever was out there. Instead,
I looked around the side room I was in. It must have been
some kind of armory. There were broken wooden crates and used up shotgun shells
littering the floor. I used the bald oil lamp on the wall. Don't
come in here, I said aloud. I'm not dying here, hissing a
strange word hidden in the fog of my mind. A man handing a venomous
snake to a golden woman, rolling hills of endless crucified men, a certainty
of a violent death, the wailing song of the doomed. It didn't understand
my fear. I was already doomed. There was no point in fighting it
to the creature in the dark. Time was an insignificant factor. I realized
I'd been sitting there listening to it hissed to me for at least ten minutes.
My cell phone was running hot, and the water level had risen by
about an inch. Of course, the water level had to be water coming
from somewhere. Everything breaks. It was a miracle that I hadn't seen it
before. There was an overturned table in the middle of the room. That's
what I'd sprained my ankle on kicking it with my good foot. I revealed
the crack and the dirt floor, from which water came bubbling up. A
few lily pads plopped up their coloration as strange blue, like a sad sunflower.
The crack in the floor might have been the remains of a well or
the start of a tunnel going deeper underground. Either way, I had to
take a chance. There was no telling how deep it went. I could
drown, but I could also find my way out. I left my cell
phone with a flashlight shining on the entrance, holding the creature back. With
a final screech, it conveyed a final picture, wept fingers deep underground,
tearing a human body to pieces. I took the plunge. I crawled my
way forward, inch by inch. The wet dirt barely gave me any grip,
and the water stung my eyes. My nails hurt from other debris trying
to dig into my fingers. I could feel my chest tightening, cramping a
fork in the path. I went left a current, a stream, rushing
something slimmy out of my face. I tilt upwards, cold. I can't
feel my arms. Hunger reaching, hunger. I broke through the surface.
I was in the stone well. I threw myself out, gasping for air,
looking back, only to see something just under the surface of the overflowing
well. Two black orbs retreated into the dark, sinking back into the unfathomable
depths. I made my way to the nearest road and flagged down the first
car I could see. Racy Kettleman was brought in for questioning, but that's
all I know. There was no trial, no debriefing. I just told
about my experience to a stern looking man in a suit, and that was
that. I was told to sign an NDA lasting a minimum of ten years.
It ended recently, and I've been waiting to tell my story, and
as Kettlemen eventually took back control of the Oak Valley grain farm. As far
as I know, Lacy never went to jail. Something must have happened,
though she was missing for the better part of a decade. Maybe she had
something they wanted. I think that whatever I met in Oak Valley had something
to do with the crisis of twenty thirteen. There are a lot of rumors
coming out of that area, and I'm sure at least some of them originated
with whatever Lacy had invited to stay in a cellar. There haven't been many
others coming forward about their experience of the incident, but I know they're out
there. Maybe they're hoping we've all moved on or forgotten. Maybe they've been
safe behind their contracts and fear tactics, but I'd like to remind them as
much as I remind myself every day everything breaks.