That evening Mark sent five of the workers out to the city to pick up some more supplies and
some more metal. Everyone went to bed not bothering to wait for them to return as they did not
know what time they would be back. The next morning, the workers that had gone out the night
before to get the equipment still had not returned. When everyone woke up the next morning, more
of the building had fallen down and those five workers were nowhere to be seen, they waited until
mid-day before they gave up hope. Now the worry inside Mark was changing to fear, fear of what
was happening but also fear of giving up and the second fear won so he kept building. This meant
he was continuing to put his workers in danger, and although he attempted to ignore it more and
more disappearances were taking place the closer they were getting to the project being finished.
Still no one had a clue what was causing the disappearances; there were never any clues apart from
lumps of sand where the person was last seen, but it was a desert! Where wasn’t there sand?
One day, Mark woke up alone. Everyone else had gone, left, been taken but Mark did not care
or know. He began making calls demanding that he be transported home immediately but the
earliest they could get him out was hours later, so he just had to sit tight and wait. He hid in a
smaller cabin, tucked in one of the corners where he waited. The wind hit the windows howling
and groaning, making the cabin shake while the sand bashed against the walls adding more sounds
to the constant whimpering coming from Mark’s mouth. He was jumping and squealing at every
sound. Then, there was a banging at the door which made him freeze like a statue. The door flew
off its hinges and the old man entered, as if nothing was happening, fear shadowed in Mark’s eyes.
“I told you” he mumbled, “I told you to stop the building but because you were so arrogant
and defiant it is not only you that has payed, your colleagues are gone. There is an ancient curse
on this desert, it dates back too many years to count, you are not the first to attempt to build here
and the same thing happened. You wrote this fate for yourself and you deserve it.”
With that he disappeared in to thin air, Mark was too petrified to go and see where he had
gone; he stayed seated, pulling his legs to his chest. Suddenly the ground underneath began to
ripple and shake, then a ginormous, gaping, ghastly hole began to emerge. Growing, larger and
larger until it had taken up most of the floor, sucking everything around into its depths. The only
part still untouched was the miniature corner Mark was tucked up on. Slowly it crept towards
him, closer. He tried throwing things in its path. Anything to stop it reaching him but it inhaled
those things. It continued, advancing towards him until Mark fell. Down through fire, ice, rock,
ripping his skin, destroying his mind until all that was left was blackness.
No one has heard from Mark or the rest of the workers since that fateful day, therefore, the
site was shut down. The desert quickly reclaimed its land it was if the disturbance had never
happened. I am sure that someone will attempt to build on the Gobi again and when that happens
who knows what is in store for them.
