Free Whistling Past the Graveyard by Jonathan Maberry

the geologist’s assessment of the load bearing walls of the mountain, and—”
    “No one’s ever going to do any of that.”
    “Why not?”
    “’Cause they’d have to cut through a million tons of rock to take that look.”
    “They could just examine the areas dug out when the bodies were removed.”
    Granny studied him for a moment. “Your granddad didn’t tell you?”
    “Tell me what?”
    She sighed. “Those dead men are still there, son. The company never dug them out. Nobody ever dug them out. That whole mountain’s a tomb for all those good men.”
    Joshua stood up and stared at the darkness again, looking toward Balder Rise. The wind blew from that direction, carrying with it the soft moan. “God,” he said softly.
    “Oh, God didn’t have nuthin’ to do with what happened that day,” said Granny. “Your granddad spoke true when he said that it were the evil greed of the mining company that brought the ceiling down. They dug too deep.”
    “That’s something Granddad said a couple of times, and now you’ve said it twice. What’s that mean, exactly?”
    “The mining company was fair desperate to stay in business even though most of the coal had already been took from old Balder. They kept pushing and pushing to find another vein. Pushed and pushed the men, too, tempting ‘em with promises of bonuses if they found that vein. Understand, boy, miners are always poor. It’s really no kind of life. Working down there in the dark, bad air and coal dust, it’s like you’re digging your own grave.”
    The moan on the wind came again, louder, more insistent. The black trees seemed to bend under the weight of it.
    “The company kept the pressure on. Everybody needed that vein, too, because the company owned everything. They owned the bank, which means they held the mortgage on ever’body’s house and that’s the same like holding the mortgage on ever’body’s souls.” She shook her head. “No, a lot of folks thought the Devil himself was whispering in the ear of ever’body, from the executives all the way down to the teenage boys pushing the lunch trolleys. Infecting them good-hearted and God fearing men with their own greed. Spreading sin like a plague. Makin’ ‘em dig too hard and too deep, with too much greed and hunger.”
    “Digging too deep, though—you keep saying that. Do you mean that they over-mined the walls, or—?”
    “No, son,” she said, “that ain’t what Hack meant, and it ain’t what I mean.”
    “Then what—?”
    The moan came again, even louder. So loud that Joshua stood up and placed his palms on the rail so he could lean head and shoulders out into the night. Granny saw him shiver.
    “You cold?” she asked, though it was a warm night.
    “No,” he said, without turning. “That sound…”
    Granny waited.
    “…it sounds almost like a person,” Joshua continued. “It sounds like someone’s hurt out there.”
    “Hurt? Is that really what it sounds like to you?”
    “Well, it’s something like that. I can hear the pain.” He shot her a quick look. “Does that sound silly? Am I being a stupid city boy here, or—?”
    “You don’t sound stupid at all, son. That’s one of the smartest things you’ve said. You know what’s happening?” she asked. “The city’s falling clean off you.”
    He studied her.
    “It’s true,” she said. “Your daddy might have been born in the city and you might have been born and raised there, too, but you still got the country in you. You still got some of the hills in you. You get that from ol’ Hack, and I bet he was always country no matter how many years he lived in the city—am I right or am I right?”
    “You’re right, Granny,” said Joshua. “No one would ever have mistaken Granddad for anything except what he was. He…loved these mountains. He talked about how beautiful they were. How they smelled on a spring morning. How the birds would have conversations in the trees. How folks were