Day 207

The mines had been closed since the forties.
Thatcher had driven out the jobs,  the miners said.
But we all knew different.
Not to mention Thatcher hadn't started til '79.

See, the trouble started when the miners hit some
kind of chasm.
We weren't sure just how big it was, the second
they hit it a huge section of the wall collapsed and
a thick red mist came flooding out.

The miners nearby started screaming and clutching
their throats, tearing out their eyes and tongues.

By the time paramedics got there they were either
dead or dying.
The mist was nowhere to be seen.

A grand total of four survived.
All swore they saw teeth and hands dancing around them.
It was chalked down to shock, some underground
gas leakage or something.

Didn't realise the gas would spread so fast.
One day we woke up and the whole village was flooded
with that wretched red mist.
We lost a lot of people that day.

Managed to seal off the mines with concrete at least.
Put the whole area out of work though.

We thought we were safe.
Our lost miners came home.
Our dead came home
Red mist pouring from their mouths.

They wanted to come home.
And they wanted us to go with them.

What choice did we have?

The dead always outnumber the living.

We still do.

We always will.