She had recounted to Seiler how Willie told her all about the legend and how his own father had wrapped himself in dynamite and had killed himself while blowing up the mine so many years ago. She said that although she did not believe the legend, she knew that Willie did, and that was really all that mattered; he truly believed it.
Then there had been that recording Elizabeth had played for him. She had replayed the last segment of the interview over the phone, and Seiler had gotten to hear firsthand how Willie sounded as though he came to some realization or some decision. He recounted the recording.
“So now what? What happens next?” Elizabeth had inquired. “I don’t know,” Willie had said, “The mine belongs to Coogan. It’s his property. Maybe he will seal it back up. I doubt it. I just don’t know what will be done…. But I suppose someone is going to have to do something…” Then Willie’s hesitated for a moment repeated, “…. Something.”
It was hearing Willie’s voice and the way he said that final word 'something' that had convinced Chief Seiler that perhaps it would not hurt to go and check out the mine, just to be sure. Seiler sat for a moment contemplating what his next move would be. Then he put his hand on the handle to open the car door when…
… there is a massive explosion as the front of the mine blew out, showering the police car with flaming wood fragments, dirt and other debris. The hillside above the mine collapsed downward obliterating the entrance completely, turning the former doorway into a pile of rubble.
The telephone pole near the mine splintered at the bottom, slowly tipped away crashing down on the sedan and the Cadillac, electrical sparks flying in all directions as the wires danced through the air like spitting snakes.
Seiler had instinctively put his arms up, shielding his face from the light from the tremendous blast. Dirt and dust covered his car although fortunately, the severed electrical wires from the downed pole remained a safe distance away. His windshield was shattered with a network of spider web-like cracks but remained intact.
As the dust began to settle, Seiler sat in his car squinting through the storm of debris coughing to clear his throat and staring in awe at the spectacle before him. Plumes of smoke billowed out of a series of holes in the hillside.
After a few moments, Seiler managed to catch his breath and regain his composure. He checked to make sure he was not injured, and then slowly opened the door to his police cruiser stepping outside.
He leaned against the cruiser, supporting himself examining the destruction. Something strange started happening that caused Seiler to stare in amazement. Near the top of the smoking rubble pile that was once the top of the hillside, Seiler saw a series of white sparkles of light coming from holes in the dirt. These brilliantly illuminated sparkles formed winding intertwining strands that climbed steadily upward from the mine and floating skyward. There seemed to be dozens of them, maybe a hundred of them as they climbed through the air in a steadily upward assent.
Seiler stared slack jawed as in his mind he heard what sounded like a choir of voices singing as one. He could not separate one voice from another or understand what they sang, but he knew that they were happy and joyous. He was overcome with an indescribable feeling of total inner peace.
He continued to watch until the lights climbed too high in the sky for him to see any longer. The joyous sounds he had heard in his mind faded as did the peaceful feeling. Reaching his hand to his face Seiler discovered that tears were rolling down his cheeks. Seiler was not a man to cry often. He could not recall actually crying but he did remember the amazingly serene feeling and assumed that they must be tears of joy.
Feeling a bit weak, he slowly turned to sit back down in his cruiser when he heard what sounded like the roaring of a wounded animal. In his mind, he saw a giant hideous hulking demon slamming its enormous hands against the sides of a collapsing burning tunnel, hearing the beast screaming. Then he envisioned the creature on its knees weeping, rocking side to side. The beast’s fur was smoldering as around the creature the walls and floors burned bright red, creating a Hellish nightmare landscape.
He fell back into the seat of his cruiser, waiting for a few more minutes. He snapped out of his vision, then picked up the police radio calling back to his office. His ears rang from the incredible sound of the blast and he was still quite disoriented.
“Tim….. This… this is Chief Seiler….. come in Tim.. Tim?.. Come in Tim.”
“I’m here, Chief.” Tim replied, “What’s wrong? You sound just awful. Are you alright?”
Seiler replied with some difficulty, “Tim….yes… I’m fine.. I think… just a bit.. shaken up…is all... I am at Coogan’s mine… there’s been an explosion…. I need you to get … some fire trucks and an electrical repair unit out here right away.”
“Will do, Chief,” Tim answered, “I’ll get right on it. Should I send an ambulance too?”
Seiler said, “No Tim… I don't think…that will be necessary… From what I can tell… no one could have survived that explosion….”
“Roger that, Chief…,” Tim continued, “But are you sure that you are alright?”
“Yes, I’m fine…,” Seiler said. Although in his heart he somehow knew that he would never be the same again. He continued, “…and Tim. One more thing…do me a favor. Call Elizabeth Matthews, that TV reporter from Philadelphia. Her phone number is on a note pad on my desk.”
Tim asked, “What should I tell her, Chief?”
Seiler responded, “… tell her I asked you to call… and tell her that she was right… but unfortunately…… I was too late… She’ll understand.”
Chapter 37
Early December 1985. It was almost noon near the former site of the abandoned Coogan Coal mine just north of Ashton, PA.
The man looked out at the view of a large flat area that seemed to branch out in all directions resembling a vast wasteland. In the distance, he saw the town of Ashton stretching out before him. What was once the abandoned coal mine now appeared barely recognizable to him.
There were no longer electrical poles or out buildings or anything to remind him of what the area had once looked like. It appeared to the man as though everything had been bulldozed flat a very long time ago.
He noticed a few bare branched scrub trees attempting to grow sporadically throughout the desolate area.
Even though a blanket of several inches of fresh snow from last evening covered the area, it was obvious that the snow would not survive for long. The heat below the surface was simply too intense; and what little snow remained already took on the familiar grey and dingy color typical of snow in this area of the country that is quickly covered with coal dust.
Along the top of the flattened area, clouds of steam and smoke spewed from pipes, projecting up through the snow at many locations. The snow was gone from these areas, revealing circles the blackened soil beneath. The circles seemed to grow before his eyes as the recent snow melted away. It was obvious that nothing had been living near this area for quite long time.
The man stood with his little boy who asked him, “Daddy? Is this the place where the mine fire is that you told me about?”
The man, about thirty-five and his young son of about eight years old stood a good distance away on a hillside next to a highway near their car looking over some guardrails down toward the site.
“Yes, Johnny,” the man replied, “This is the place. Do you see all of those columns of steam and smoke that is rising up from those vent-holes? See how the heat is melting all of the snow? Do you smell that sulfur smell?”
“Wow! We don’t have nothing like this in Philadelphia, do we, Daddy?” the boy asked curiously.
The father corrected, “You mean ‘we don’t have anything like this in Philadelphia’, Junior and no, I am happy to say that we do not.”
“It smells like farts,” the boy chuckled and continued in his curious way, “It must have been awful growing up around all of this smoke and farts and stuff when you were a kid.”
“Well,
” The father explained, “Way back when I was a little boy this mine fire wasn’t here yet. That area down there hadn’t been bulldozed flat yet. And there was once a working coal mine in that area at one time. It was actually a fun and exciting place to play, and we used to hang out and make up all kinds of scary stories.”
Young Johnny said, “Well I guess that could have been pretty cool. But what was it that happened to start the mine fire anyway? How the heck does a fire get started underground?”
“I don’t really know for sure,” the father continued, “I don’t think anyone does. I read somewhere that it had something to do with the main vein of coal down inside of the mine catching fire. Someone burning trash near the mine might have caused it, or I think I heard something about an explosion. It may have been both. You do know that coal burns as a fuel, don’t you?”
“Yes, Daddy,” the young boy said sarcastically “Everyone knows that.”
The father continued, “Anyway, some folks in the area say that people dumped their old trash down an old mine shaft and somehow it caught fire. There was apparently explosive gas in the mine, and one night the mine blew up and this must have caught the coal on fire. It started burning back in 1965.”
The boy started to do the math, “That means it’s been on fire for…”
The father interrupted “……for about twenty years. Nobody knew about the fire for a long time. They say it burned underground for about ten years or so and by the time the fire came to the surface, it was years after your grandmother and grandfather and I had moved away from this area.”
Johnny and his father leaned against their car as the boy contemplated what his father had just told him. Then asked uncertainly, “Was that when you were sick when you were a kid, Daddy?”
“Yep,” the father explained, “That was when Grandma and Pap-Pap took me to that special hospital in Philadelphia for kids where they made me all better.”
The boy asked, “What was wrong with you, Daddy, that made you sick?”
The father thought for a time then replied, “I don’t really remember…. I was just a little bit older than you were when I got sick and I can’t remember much of it at all.
“Your Grandma told me that some of my friends and I were playing near that abandoned coal mine right down there. There was some kind of accident or something, and Grandma said that one of the boys was killed… I don’t recall his name anymore. …Apparently, I must have seen it happen and went into some sort of shock…. It took me many years to get better… And I pretty much cannot remember any of it. Other than what was told to me by your Grandma and Pap Pap.”
“And you really don’t remember any of it?” Johnny asked.
The man replied, “Nope I don’t remember a single thing. At one time I thought I might be starting to remember, you know, in dreams. But I never really did.”
The boy said confidently, “But you are all better now. And that’s all that matters.”
“Yes, Johnny,” the man said staring down at what was once the location of the mine, “I suppose that is all that matters. I am fine now.”
The boy asked, “It must make you feel a little weird coming back here, Daddy.”
The father replied with a degree is discomfort, “Yes Johnny, It certainly does make me feel a bit strange. And the strangest thing is that I don’t know why I should feel so odd about it. Sometimes, I just wish…. that someday… I might just remember some of it…”
Somewhere in the back of the man’s mind he imagined that he heard the faint whispering, moaning and buzzing insect-like sounds reminiscent of a swarm of flies dining on a rotting carcass.
The sounds seemed to increase in volume as high-pitched wining and guttural growling sounds joined the mix. He felt as though he could imagine the sound of a four-legged creature running, getting closer and louder. He started to imagine a pair of red/yellow eyes appearing in the darkness, heading straight toward him at incredible speed.
“Um - let's go Johnny,” the father nervously said to his son snapping out of his day dream, and grabbed his hand and led him to the car, “We have a long drive ahead of us. The sooner we get on our way the better.”
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