Kate Dickinson ’23
8:30—Harold Munfield So I just . . . start talking? Alright. My name is Harold Munfield, I’m 89 years old, and I am not crazy. I guess that’s why I’m here. When I was a boy, maybe around eight or ten, I was scared of the dark. Not “The Dark” as a whole, but because in the dark there might be vampires. I know that’s not true, but this fear of mine was indulged by my parents, so I never had to face it and get over it. I was still scared of the dark, generally this time, when I was twenty and signed up to become a miner. The pay was only alright, but it was a mining town, so what other choice did I have? My parents weren’t rich—I couldn’t go to college. Anyway. My best friend Reece Pendelmeyer was also a miner, of course. He was never scared of the dark, no sir. So I felt safe with him down in the mines. One day, it was just us two scouting ahead. I was scared of gas poisoning, and we didn’t have a canary. No birds lived there, and buying one? Far too much work. Losing a worker was cheaper than buying a bird. Reece went in front because he knew how scared I was. I should have been in front. I was assigned to be in front. I should have been. I should have been. I’m sorry, where was I? Oh, yes. Reece called back to me “I can’t see nothin’. Is your headlamp workin’?” And just as I was about to hand it over to him, it spluttered out. Pitch black, no idea where we were, half a mile under the ground. For such a cheapskate company, our mines went deep. We should have headed back. It would’ve been the safe thing to do, but we would’ve been halfway to fired for that. Never give up on a job unless you’re mortally wounded, and even then, consider whether or not going back up would be worth it. And we were fine. We would just keep walking forward until we came across a stop, a wall or something. And so we continued and— We should have headed back. We should have. We should have. I’m sorry. I’ll try to speed it up, I’m sure you’re very busy here. We continued on, and Reece just—he gave the most horrible scream I’ve ever heard in my life. His scream faded, and then . . . a thud, and the screaming stopped. The best I can hope is that it was quick.
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