Despite having more time at the weekends I always write something last minute…
No one spoke about the abyss that had appeared overnight. Every inhabitant had to skirt around it to get to where they needed to go, and the stench that rose from it caused everyone to clamp their hand over their nose whenever they drew near. It was the earth’s festering wound. Day by day the pit grew blacker and colder, and the surrounding ground turned barren. People referenced it obliquely in conversation - “You know, before the…” but putting a name on it would mean admitting something needed to be fixed.
Food grown in nearby fields began to taste like ash. Children grew up learning not to speak of the hole, although they gripped each other's hands tightly when they passed it on their way to school. Only the animals acknowledged the abyss. Dogs howled when passing by, and horses threw their riders off if they were forced to ride near it.
Every so often, a villager would declare that they were going to climb down. “Climb down what?” their relatives would ask. The abyss didn’t have a name, so the adventurer would just point at it and say “That.” Because the others refused to see it, they refused to help.
The climbers would gather all the equipment they needed: rope, harness, food, water. Then they would descend, watched by no one.
No one ever returned. No individual could survive the exploration alone.
I don't know if you've ever listened to The Magnus Archives, but that reminded me of 'We All Ignore the Pit'
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b1Q-Jeb_lIQ