‘No names, No laughter, No silver or gold,
No coming back after, No tales untold’.
The rhyme that every kid west of the river knows by heart. The riddle that passes in whispers across the playgrounds, in nervous giggles by the shadows of the high school lockers, and the rules that form the basis for all the best drinking games at the nights in the local college.
They are the rules one had to know when in the pursuit of CAVEBOY.
The rain is light, but the wind is fierce, and it drags the spray in bitter streaks across my face; eyes squinted, hood pulled tight, my fingers clenching and unclenching in search of warmth.
We’ve gathered at the Hole. The seven of us, and we talk quietly amongst ourselves, amiably, anxiously, as Two unravels the ladder and starts to lower it down.