Secrets in the Valley

The tracks disappeared somewhere on the second descent. A thick layer of cloud hovered over the tracks and swirled upwards towards the entrance. The distinct smell of kerosene floated heavily and clung to the walls like ivy. The one remaining light, hanging awkwardly by the entrance, flickered with the wind, although the air inside the mine was still and stagnant. Rock and coal and wood blocked the entrance, keeping all who wished to enter out, and all who wanted to leave, in. Nearly fifty years ago the mine had the last of its many accidents. This was the final act of misery in a region that had no hope of prosperity.

Every miner was accounted for; able, ailing or dead. No one was left behind and the entrance was caved. Yet, here it was, some fifty years later, and the mine started to breath. A soft metallic ting could be heard in the distance. It echoed from wall to wall and shaft to shaft before falling dead to the floor as it hit the entrance. The tings grew louder and more frequent. The entrance light hummed with energy only to go black when the echoes died. The tings were getting closer.

The light from the entrance was waning, as a light from below pulled him forward. Squinting through the beams, he slowly dragged himself along the walls. TING! The sound was almost on top of him. TING! Now the sound was behind him. TING! The sound enveloped him. He shielded his eyes from the light but it had little effect. TING! That one sounded really close. He turned abruptly and slipped on the wet floor. He lay motionless for a moment, the tings had stopped. Relieved he looked up, just as a hand grabbed his right ankle.

“Fuck.” He sprang up in his bed. He exhaled twice, rubbed his eyes, and swung his legs over the left side of the bed. Slowly he stood up, steadying himself against the night table before he continued on. He walked across the cold wood floor towards the bathroom. Every step a little more deliberate than the one before it. He reached the bathroom, flicked on the light, and turned on the taps. With a quick flick he splashed some cold water against his tight face. After one deep exhale he looked at himself in the mirror. No changes were noticeable. His eyes looked a little heavier but he knew the reason for that; too many late nights and restless sleeps. Satisfied, he returned to the bed and laid motionless, eyes open, until the phone rang at 7am.

Refreshed, he walked out of the shower ready for the day. There was a lot he had to do, starting with a trip of 50 miles to see old Llewellyn Griffiths, who had once worked at the mine. He sat on the bed pulling on his jeans and a white t-shirt. He fumbled around for a pair of clean socks, sniffing each sock as he went. After finding two, one black, one blue, he started to put them on. He paused, dropping the sock from his hand. He slowly raised his pant leg, wishing that it was just his imagination. It was faint, but it was there. Just above the right ankle were four tiny purple bruises. Each bruise no bigger than a finger tip.

“Shall I keep you tea?” She called out to him as he walked through the door. No reply came. Maybe he didn’t hear her she thought. No, he heard her; he just didn’t, or couldn’t respond. He was pale, moving slowly, lurching along like a cripple. Odd for someone as young as he, she thought.

A cool rain fell and it felt good. They say that water cleanses the soul; to him it was his mind that it cleansed. He was at ease for the first time in 5 days. That’s when he arrived here. That’s when the dreams started. He felt his stomach drop as he stepped off the train at the platform. The platform was empty, the ticket window closed, no ushers or maintenance crew anywhere to be seen. This town, Llanfair…, whatever the hell it was called, had sucked the life out of him. Until today. Today would be a good day.

Very few cars passed by. Very few people either. He could sense some looks from store windows as he passed them, but paid them no mind. The hire-a-car shop was deserted when he got there. Gone golfing, the sign said. He laughed at his luck. The only rainy day in a week and he has to golf today. Well, there was always that hour long bus ride to Cardiff. He’d get to Aberdare from Cardiff.

He stood at the bus stop, waiting impatiently. The longer he stood here, the longer he spent in this place. It was awful here, and nobody wanted to leave. The people were quiet and suspicious. The trees looked near death. Even the ale was skunky. He paced now, unable to bear the slow ticking of time. TING! It echoed in his head again. TING! Much louder this time. HONK!!

“Get off the fucking road will ya.” A voice yelled out at him.

He turned to see the car stopped a few feet in front of him, out in the middle of the road. He had wandered, feeling his way along the walls, right out into the middle of the road.

“Sorry. I…”

“You’re the one at the hotel aren’t you?” A slight, brunette girl peered out the rolled down window.

“If you mean the outcast, then yeah, that’s me.” He mustered a smile. It began to rain again.

“Get in; it’ll be the death of you out there.” The passenger door pushed open and he climbed in. “I’m Kate.” She held out her hand for him.

“David. David Connolly. Thanks for the ride.”

“Aberdare is it?”

“How… how did you know?”

“Llewellyn Griffiths you’re after. It’s as plain as the red maple leaf on the backpack you carry.”

The car pulled away and eased its way up and down the narrow road that meandered through the valleys once lively with work. That was many years ago now. There was little work to be found away from the busy centers. He had heard that the mine had operated for many years without approval of the government. There were no policies in affect to take care of the workers. Long hours, no pay, and dangerous conditions were the norm. When the government closed the mine, the people revolted. When the government failed to listen to the people and keep the mine closed, the town re-opened it. The valleys changed that day. And they still were suffering for the sins.

The wipers had put David to sleep. The constant, casual, easy beat against the window, coupled with the rain that had him feeling upbeat, sent him into the deepest sleep he had had in about a week. Kate watched him, trying to study him. Now that he was content, he looked confident and secure. He woke up just before Aberdare, when the sun came out. Kate noticed the immediate change. His shoulders dropped, the circles darkened under his eyes. His gaze was seldom away from the floor.

Kate found her way through town until she pulled into a tree lined drive on the west side of the town. The houses here were small, old, and lifeless. Most still had the thatched roofs that were built in the early forties. The commonalty sickening, little remained in their character to distinguish them from one another, maybe half a fence here, perhaps some pavement leading up to a crooked step. This was the reward for years in those mines. This couldn’t be much better.

“There. Number 22.” David pointed to his right. “Thanks Kate.”

“I’m not leaving you here.” She stated frankly, asserting her own pride.

“I don’t think you should come in. I don’t know how he’ll take to me being here.”

“I’ll wait then, out here. You’ll need a lift back anyway.” She smiled. It was the first genuine smile David had seen in days. He nodded, left the car slowly, and walked across the street.

Number 22 was a mess. The yard, had little grass, and what was there had grown to lengths of over a foot. The path had been chiseled away in places and the front porch had no stairs. A few dead trees and bushes circled the front yard like a make-shift fence that was there to keep people out. It wasn’t necessary. This place had seen its last visitor years ago. David pulled himself onto the porch and rapped on the door. After a moment he turned to look at Kate who was watching him from across the street. A door opened behind him.

“Come in, I’ve been expecting you.”

When David turned the voice had gone but the door was still open. He peered inside the dark entrance. Nothing. No one was in sight. He entered cautiously, feeling his way along the walls for guidance.

“Hello, Mr. Griffiths?”

No reply came. The hallway entered a room to the right and David stopped and surveyed the area. Dimly lit, it looked like the living room. There were chairs, a bookcase, and many pictures, both on the wall and on the floor. At the far end of the room, in a great wooden chair, sat a crumpled, old man signaling David to enter and have a seat.

“Welcome.” He spoke at great volume, completely in opposite to his physical stature.

“You said you were expecting me but I’ve never spoken to you before.” David was paused before he could continue.

“I’ve seen you at night. I’ve seen you walking in the mine. I knew you’d come to see me.”

“I’ve never been to the mine. Those are just dreams. Just stupid, bloody dreams.”

“Are you sure of this?” The old man leaned forward slightly. His head came out into the light a little and David pulled back in his chair. The man’s hair, white and wispy, only grew on one side of his head. It hung over the left side, a side scarred and torn. The left side of his face was charred, skin folded over his left eye socket like a burlap sack. As he spoke, the skin around his cheek bubbled, and an eerie popping sound escaped his cracked lips when his breathing strengthened.

“I saw you there last night, David.”

“That was a dream. I woke up in bed. You’re nothing but a crazy old man. This is useless.” David turned to leave. He would head straight for Cardiff and onto a train to England.

“I’m sorry I startled you last night, David. You were in danger and had to be stopped.”

David kept walking. He reached the front door and a hand grabbed his shoulder. It felt creepily familiar. David turned; the old man was staring at him. The desire to move had been overtaken by the fright of what had just happened.

The room was dark and dank. David sat up; he was in someone’s bed. The old man sat curiously beside him in a great armchair. David reached for the table light only to be stopped by the fast reflexes of the old man.

“It was you. You grabbed my ankle.” David choked, less out of disbelief than he thought.

“Yes. I told you I had seen you up in the mine.” The old man smiled, and his face brightened. For one brief second, David saw what the man must have looked like in his youth.

“Why me? What is my part in all of this?” David questioned.

“Your grandfather, Duncan Connolly, kept the mine open. It was his decision.”

David sat stunned as the old man went on to explain about the cave-ins, floods, and missing miners that crippled the village for years. Connolly wouldn’t pay miners for months and months, working them 20 hours a day. Kids, as young as four, were being called into duty. No training, no assistance, and no hope. The mine, the old man said, devoured more souls than men, and no one came out of it the same.

“There was a fire the day they closed the mine. They had just caved the entrance, Connolly doing it himself I’m told. The reports will say that all the miners were out, which is true. The miners were out; the scouts, water boys, and cord runners were all inside. The kerosene lanterns started popping, as flames roared up the shafts. Forty-seven children were still in the mine. Disorientated, nauseous, scared, soon to be forgotten. Flames consumed us all. The screaming soon stopped. But for me it has started again.” He paused; a tear seeped from under the fold of skin that was his left eye.

“What do you mean ‘flames consumed us all?’”

“I was near an entrance created accidentally by dynamite explosions the previous year. Miners had used it to take much needed breaks away from Connolly. I crawled through, flames melting me as I went.”

For the first time David actually had a look at the old man he sat opposite against. His left arm and leg were stumps. Blisters and pores, sticky like syrup, purple and maroon, adorned his remaining skin. His clothes, stuck to his body like a soiled bandage. At last David noticed the smell. Kerosene, burnt flesh, blood; it was appalling. The hand that grabbed him, missing a thumb, charred to the point leather. This was worse than being in the mine.

“Every day, every hour, I can hear the screams, the cries for help. I was only 9 years old, hadn’t started to live yet. Many were younger than I was. I’ve aged a thousand years since then. Secluded, alone, haunted. As a Christian man I must wait for death to take me. It is a day I long for. But even then I doubt that I will have peace.

“Connolly denied all knowledge of the accident of course. He died peacefully, happy, on good terms with his God. Now others must pay for his sins, as many have already done.”

The old man fell silent. A single tear fell from his good eye and exploded on the floor. That was the last sight David had of him. The old man left the room.

Kate was still waiting outside when David came out of the house. He said nothing to her as they drove back. She watched him twitching in his seat beside her, staring blankly at all the hills that they passed.

His bed was cold when he crawled into it. David’s eyes heavy, his thoughts on Griffiths and the incredible pain that must have dogged him for over fifty years. It was dark, quiet and raining, sleep would be easy. All the questions had been answered.

Somewhere along the shaft he had picked up a miner’s helmet and the candle still worked. The light was enough to see five feet in front of him and he proceeded with caution. Up ahead, the tracks disappeared around a corner. The night was still and sedated, nothing to pull him in any direction other than the one he was headed.

TING! The hammers had started again. He was headed in the right direction after all. Deeper into the mine he worked, every minute or so peering behind him to see if the old man was following him. TING! It was very loud now. The air was thick with dust and smoke. Filaments of coal, shale, and gypsum flittered on the dust and made breathing difficult. The candle light from his helmet flickered weakly in front of him and cast dancing shadows on the wet walls and littered floor. Dark reflections moved in front of him, brushed beside him, dissolved behind him.

TING! TING! TING! They were hard at work in front of him. He could hear them; see them vaguely as outlines through the dust and the haze in his eyes. His heart was pounding, his head throbbing, and his legs about to give way beneath him.

TING! TING! TING! He stumbled into a great cavern. The walls climbed hundreds of feet into blackness. A heavy black fog smothered him and forced him to the ground. His body weakened, he couldn’t raise his hands to cover his mouth or nose. His lungs seemed to harden and a scratch began in his throat. He choked for every breath.

“Help.” His cry was soft, muffled, certainly drowned out by the hammers.

The hammering ceased. The air cleared slightly, and the smell was present. The same smell as in the old man’s house. Burnt flesh, kerosene, death. This time it was stronger. People were walking by, over and around him. David tried to reach out, grab someone. His hand found a leg and as he squeezed, the flesh sunk beneath his palms. In shock David looked up. The leg was charred, skin bubbling, chunks missing. So was his whole body. The boy stopped and looked down at David. His eyes were hollow, black caves in a mound of bloodied and blistered skin on charred bone.

TINK! The hammers struck something harder. David sat, staring at his hand, pieces of flesh stuck to his palm. TINK! TINK! The hammers became more active. The sound of steel on rock reverberated through the cavern. The echoes muffled by the gasses in the air, the dust in David’s ears.

“Stop.” David screamed, hardly over a whisper.

The first spark danced off the wall to his right, the next to his left. The last one David saw was almost above him. It sent a ball of flame thundering up to the ceiling of the cavern. Against the glare, David could see the faces of the children staring back at him. Their eyes were wide, happy, and vibrant. He closed his eyes before the flames spiraled down the walls and across the floor.

The light hanging by the entrance flickered with the wind. The walls, charred, seared from flames, had a wet sheen to them. It smelt like burnt flesh and kerosene. An old coal cart lay overturned beside the track. A couple of rats scurried from inside the cart, while one pulled at something. It scurried out, a sew-on Canadian Flag patch, nestled between its teeth.

“Fuck.” Kate rose in her bed, pale and ghostly. She would never get a good night’s sleep again.