Too late. A geyser of black vapor shot up the borehole, freezing instantly into fractal spires of ice that pierced the rig's undercarriage. Then came the sound. Not a roar. A frequency. A subsonic hum that vibrated in their molars, whispering a single word in a language that hadn't been spoken since the Pliocene epoch.

Here is a story built from the atmosphere of that title: The Hell Hole

The foreman, a grizzled woman named Kade, yanked him aside. "The Amazon stream goes live in two hours. The studio paid for a discovery. Give me a rock. Any rock."