Blogtober 2023
Clarkton parked on the edge of the sinkhole and deployed a thick nylon rope. He handed Murphy a pair of leather gloves and put on an identical pair.
“Think we’ll find a sign of the creature down there?” Murphy asked.
“Probably not,” Clarkton said, “but we have to start somewhere.”
Most of the sinkhole was shallow enough that they could walk down, but as they neared the bottom, the crate grew steeper, and they used the rope to control their descent.
Once at the bottom, no signs of anything appeared obvious other than rocks and hard red clay, Missouri’s version of soil. They walked around, eyes down, spiraling from the perimeter to the center.
Murphy cried out as one of the rocks disappeared below his left foot. He fell on his right knee, the ground stable enough to stop his fall.
“You all right?” Clarkton asked.
“I’m fine,” Murphy answered. “The ground is unstable toward the center. Step lightly.”
Clarkton noticed a gap similar to the one Murphy had just caused. Walking slowly, as if on thin ice, he approached it and knelt down. He took a cotton swab from his pocket and ran it along the edge of the rocks.
“What is it?” Murphy asked.
“Looks like the goo we pulled out of Tipton,” Clarkton said.
“That space is barely big enough for a rabbit,” Murphy said.
“We’ll take this sample to Nicole and see if it’s the same,” Clarkton said.
“And if it is?”
“Then we come back.”
Photo credit Adobe Stock #532893900
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