Drill Baby, Drill by Michael Vernon

Deeper and deeper the drill went, vibrating the whole platform. John’s knees were shaking almost as much as the floor he was standing on. He knows he shouldn’t be this nervous, that he’s been on hundreds of oil drills before, but this one seemed different. First of all, they have never drilled this deep before. Secondly, something seemed to be trying to stop the crew form drilling here. The derrick took three times as long to build than what’s normal. Freak accidents, such as trucks getting lost, random dust storms, and even a meteorite hitting the tower, are what caused such delays. John never gave much thought to superstition, but this project can’t help but send shivers down his spine.
Steve, looking at the dials that showed how deep the drill was, yelled to John.
“Five-thousand, two-hundred, sixty feet, sir. Just twenty more to go.”
Great, thought John. Soon this will be over, and I can tell my nerves to stop break dancing in my stomach.

The oil company’s new oil-imaging computer is the reason why the crew is digging in this Godforsaken part of the Texas plains. The land was flat, barren, and nothing green and growing as far as the eye could see. It was technically not dry enough to be considered a desert, but that made the lifelessness even more frightening. Wasteland was the only word for it, but the computers found something of value down in the depths beneath the cracked ground, something so valuable that it caused the oil company to invest so much money on this outrageous endeavor. A huge area of blackness, a mile under the surface and extending farther than the sensors could, was viewed by the money-hungry executives and caused their mouths to leak. No one could believe that such a vast expanse of oil was possible, but when the computer showed black, that meant black gold. John was called in.
“John, you’re the best drill manager we have. We don’t want anyone else on a project this important, and this profitable."
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I’ll get right on it.”
Now, nine months later, John wishes he would have said no, even if it would have cost him his job. He couldn’t explain it, but this sight just felt…evil.

“Ten more feet, John.”
Great, he thought, it’s like some demented New Year’s countdown…
“Nine”
Yep, his stomach is really going now.
“Eight”
Is the sky getting darker?
“Seven”
Thank you, Dick Clark…
“Oi, it just jumped a couple of feet! We’re at four now.”
Ok, more like Regis that one time he did it.
“Three”
Wait, oil should have started bubbling by now…
“Two”
Like a silent gunshot, the drill shaft suddenly got sucked through the hole. John looked wide-eyed at the pit oil should be gushing out of.
“What the hell?” Steve yelled.
Quietly, a small noise began. It started as a slight screeching, barely audible amongst the shouting of the derrick-workers. John heard it, though, and it grew louder. Different sounds started to mingle with the screech, deathly bellows, blood curdling screams, the cries of things unimaginable. As the noises grew louder, the workers stopped their yelling and listened, horrified. John, though, had heard from the beginning, and had time to gather his wits. He grabbed the P.A. from the control room wall.
“Everyone off the tower!”
It was not soon enough, though. As the sound reached a deafening pitch, a blast of fire shot out of the hole in the ground, climbing up the tower and melting everything in its path. John looked on in horror as his whole crew, save Steve and a few technicians, died in a baleful blaze. Dropping the microphone, he noticed a fiery figure shoot through the inferno, then another, and another. Dozens, then hundreds, then thousands of the demonic figures rose up though the flames, circling the sky like hellspawn vultures. John’s mouth said the words, “My God, what have we done?” His mind was too busy trying to get his feet disconnected from the floor.