No man had made it, that we knew. Not time enough, for it was the work of one night, and not even, but a minute, maybe less. Soft thunder that woke most who heard it as muffled cannon fire or dynamite down a mineshaft in their dreams.

A mysterious hole appears in Consolation, which soon draws in prospectors, charlatans, and other poor misguided wretches from all over Zobesland. Then one day, an even stranger stranger appears.

Written, produced and performed by Neil Fitzgerald (all copyright)

Contact the writer; producer and performer for rights, etc: [email protected]

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