"It's a hole in the ground, Jake."
"Yes, it is. It's a hole in the ground, but--"
"--holes can't move. That's not how it works."
"I know that, you're not listening to me. Every day I wake up and look out this window and every day, that hole is a little bit closer to the house. I started marking it on the window here to keep track of it. See? It started out by the garage, but now it's near the swingset--"
"--do you hear yourself? Actually hear what you're saying? How can a hole move like it's alive and leave no trail of dirt behind? How can the grass still be there if it was a hole yesterday, Jake?"
"--I know that part doesn't make sense, but it is moving, Claire. I'm not making this up."
"I'm not saying you're making it up, okay? But there has to be some explanation.. some reason why a hole could move places!"
"Why? Because Clarissa explains it all?! You never listen to me! This hole is moving!"
A silence falls on the room. Just the low and steady whump. whump. whump. from the ceiling fan above. Claire is the first to compose herself.
"Maybe it's a gopher, Jake. Let's call an exterminator and see what he says, okay?"
Jake set the dry erase marker down on the window sill. "What if it's not gophers?"
"Then we'll call Stephen King okay?! Something has to be done!" The door to the bedroom slams, brushing Jake with the absence of Claire. Jake looks out the window.
The hole is under the swingset now.