It was a day of three digits, like “911.” This was “410.” On April 10th, we finally caught sight of the being that had so distressed us. But long before that day we had been scourged by this Thing, this Bane that we learned to call “Earth-Shaker.”
The first effects, last August, were reported as unrelated oddities: sinkholes in Florida, for instance, that sucked garden hoses, and homes, to their occasional doom. But then people in several states reported a slight shaking of the earth, not centered in one place like an earthquake, but a hostile being that seemed to move beneath their feet, drawing things down into itself. News stories were filed. “The silly season,” the newshawks laughingly called it. “Can’t be real.” “Mass hysteria.” “Publicity stunt.” But that was before the dying began.
At first we were brave, even adventurous. There were cities, villages that seemed to attract the shaking most often. The curious gathered there, I with them at times, waiting for Earth-Shaker. T-shirts were sold, face-painting practiced; tats, both permanent and washable, were on offer. We followed the shaking as it went one way and then another. Someone built a makeshift dance floor. Shake it, baby, shake it! But we didn’t have to shake it, it shook us. Then a large hole appeared in the dance floor. All fall down.
[To be continued]
Memorable Fancies 
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