Hey tng and flagamuffin, thanks for reading. Sometimes a story just stays with me for a really long time and it's too bizarre not to share. I'm hoping it gave you a giggle rather than a scare. Please say you giggled at least once. The story reminded Flaggy of graveyards. I guess that's maybe what the neighbour meant when he said, "Do you need it for anything." I like happy endings though. I often think of immigrant writers who have been through war and unimaginable horrors, and I cringe at the triviality of my stories. Writing does many things for us all though - 1) we put the story out there in a safe place so we don't have to think of it any more; and 2) the writing of it gives the story shape and context. As we write, we introduce factors that we never saw when we were living in the story. One more thing, tng: spouses get angry when one of them seems to be violating their shared vision of life, their agreement. By the time it got to the hole, it was obvious that there was no shared agreement, never had been. In the beginning, the hole seemed preferable to the broken glass. Maybe, he was thinking, "You want me to dig a hole -- I'll show you a hole." But actually, he wasn't the kind of person who planned much.
Given the size and scope of what the hole became, I just envision there being a lot of broken glasses in your home prior to the hole and that's no fun. Violence like that is foreign to me. I've been fortunate to never have had a family member act like that. In my marriage, I suppose it would be my wife that would be more likely to throw a glass in anger. But that has as much to do with me being one of the more antagonistic people ever. Some people hit a punching bag, others go to the batting cages or play a guitar. I guess he was a digger.