by Hunter Shea
“Forget it, I can get us some new ones,” Jimmy said. “If that ball was so lucky, it wouldn’t be down there soaking up sludge.”
“I thought you said it was because Bobby can’t catch,” David said matter-of-factly. He loved to rattle Jimmy’s cage.
“That’s why you two assholes should be the ones to get it,” Kevin said, balling his fists.
“It doesn’t matter. There’s no way we could get the cap off without old man Ernie coming out here screaming his dumb head off,” David said.
Like a synchronized flock of birds, they turned their heads in the direction of the two family house across the street. For all they knew, Ernie was watching them now, waiting for any infraction so he could come out hooting and hollering. David’s father had once defended the boys right to play in the street by punching him square in the face. That glorious night would live in their memories for the rest of their lives.
“Yes there is,” Alan said, hefting the tire iron. “You all stand around me while I pop it loose. That way, Ernie can’t see what we’re doing. Once it’s open, one of you goes down and gets it.”
Bobby shook his head slowly. “Your ball, Kev. You want it so bad, you get it.”
“It’s down there because of you,” Kevin shot back.
Chris jumped between them. “I’ll go down. I’m not afraid.”
Jimmy snorted. “You? You can’t even walk two feet without falling.”
“Cut it out,” David said. “I don’t see you volunteering. What’s the matter, too scared?”
Jimmy stared back at them, his eyes flitting from one flushed face to another. He’d always been the daredevil of the group. He’d even once attempted to leap over a car as it turned into the street like he was Evel Knievel, sans motorcycle. It earned him a week in the hospital and a widespread rep as a lunatic. Parents voted him most likely to succeed in a life of crime.
“You’re such dipshits,” Jimmy said. “I ain’t afraid of the sewer. I’ll go.”
“Watch out for alligators,” Kevin said.
“Oh snap! That would be so friggin cool,” Alan said. “Can you imagine if we had a real alligator right under our feet?”
“I’d be more afraid of the rats,” David added, his arms folded across his chest as if he were the local sewer inspector. “I hear they can get pretty big down there.”
“He’s not full of shit,” Bobby said. He was the youngest of the crew at nine and in love with the word shit because he thought it made him sound older. “My father has a friend who works for Con Ed and he says some of them are the size of dogs.”
“It’s not like they’re German Shepherds,” Chris interjected.
They jabbered for a while about the various monsters and real life animals that made the sewage system their home, all agreeing that any kind of sighting would be cool as hell.
Forming a tight circle around Alan to block any prying adults from watching, he jammed the crowbar into the half moon wedge in the manhole and pushed down as hard as he could. His face turned beet red.
“Chris, give him a hand,” Kevin said, keeping an eye out for that asshole Ernie.
The two boys broke the seal. The corner of the lid jumped, landing on the concrete with a clang that they were sure could be heard two counties away.
“Be quiet,” David hissed.
Alan shot him an angry stare. “It’s not like I did it on purpose. This thing is heavy.”
Kevin knelt down and helped them move the lid aside just enough so Jimmy could squeeze through.
They looked down. It was dark. And deep.
“Where’s the ladder?” Bobby asked. “Does anyone have a flashlight?”
Everyone rolled their eyes. Jimmy squinted up at the roiling sun. “I’ll be able to see enough.”
Metal rungs had been fastened into the wall, leading into the watery darkness. They could hear dripping and the trickle of contaminated water as it flowed out to sea.
“Get me a stick,” Jimmy said. Chris rooted around a nearby bush. He found a thin, gnarled stick and handed it over. “What’s it for?”
“I’m not putting my hand in that water, bozak. I’ll put the stick through the vents in the ball.”
Jimmy scrabbled over the edge, his foot tapping the first rung. Only his head and shoulders were above the opening. “If I fall in, I’m gonna kick all your asses.”
He descended into the sewer, his steps echoing out of the open manhole. Chris sat on the sewer cap while the rest formed a circle around the opening. Some watched Jimmy as he navigated the rungs, the others scanned the pitch, hoping for monsters.
“Holy shit, look at that,” Bobby said, pointing to a spot past Jimmy.
A pair of unblinking, scarlet eyes stared back at them. Kevin grabbed a small rock and threw it at the eyes. The rock plinked off the concrete ledge. The eyes blinked, followed by a high-pitched squeal of agitation before disappearing into the gloom.
“It’s only a rat,” he said to Jimmy.
Jimmy, who had frozen in mid-step and hadn’t taken a breath since he saw the eyes, curled his upper lip and said, “I knew that, hammer.”
“It sure seemed like you did,” David replied, laughing. “I’ll ask your aunt if she has any clean underwear when you get back up.”
“You’re such a dick, David,” Jimmy muttered, resuming his descent.
Alan’s nose cringed. “Man, it stinks down there.”
He was right. It reeked of mold and rotten eggs and fetid water and human waste, a heady mélange that could be tasted if you dared breathe through your mouth. The rest of the boys ignored the smell. They were too busy looking for the ball – or a creature to scare the crap out of the fearless Jimmy.
“Can you see it?” Chris called down. Jimmy was now near the bottom, the last rung a footstep away.
“Yeah, it’s in the water, caught on something.” His voice pinged around the concrete walls.
“Can you reach it?” Kevin asked. His stomach cramped just thinking about losing his lucky ball. He never should have used it. That ball was meant to be retired after the game with the older kids. It earned him enough respect to avoid the bi-weekly wedgies everyone else was still subjected to whenever they strayed from their end of the block.
Jimmy held fast onto the rung and leaned out as far as he could, the stick held straight out. It tapped the hard plastic surface of the ball. “Just about. I may need a longer stick.”
Kevin slapped Chris’s shoulder. “See if you can find another.”
As Chris scrambled to his feet, Bobby hissed, “Holy shit, Son of Sam!”
The boys froze.
The .44 Caliber Killer, now knows as the Son of Sam, had dominated all conversation since the spring. The crazed serial killer had been making the rounds in the Bronx and Queens shooting innocent blonde women in cars. Now the lunatic was writing crazy ass notes to the newspapers. The fear that had taken hold of the five boroughs and lower Westchester County was a constant presence. Because of the Son of Sam, they weren’t allowed to stay outside after dark. There went summer bullshit sessions on Chris’s porch, flipping baseball cards by flashlight and nighttime ringolevio.
Rumor had it that the Son of Sam drove a VW Bug. Ever since that little nugget of information had come out, the boys were on constant vigil, ducking for cover whenever one drove down the street. It made for a good cardio workout, considering the number of people rolling around in the old Bugs.
Following where Bobby pointed, they saw a yellow VW turn the corner two blocks away. It was driving exceedingly slow.
“Crap, crap, crap,” Alan mumbled.
“Something just made a weird noise down here,” Jimmy said. No one heard him.
“Whoever’s in that car is looking for something,” David said, crouched in a sprinter’s starting stance.
“Or someone,” Bobby added.
The Bug should have blown past them by now, even if it obeyed the thirty-mile-an hour speed limit. The yellow car crept down the street.
&nb
sp; “We can’t just stay here,” Kevin said, squinting at the car to see if he could make out the driver. A dark figure bobbed its head in the passenger seat.
Alan dropped to his stomach, dangling his legs over the open manhole.
“What are you doing?” Chris said.
“I heard on the news that the Bug the cops are looking for is yellow. I’m getting out of here.” He was gone before anyone could retort.
“He’s right, let’s go,” Bobby said. Chris followed him into the sewer.
“This is crazy,” Kevin said to David.
The VW shuddered and the brakes screeched. Though they couldn’t make out a thing inside the car, they felt two pairs of eyes staring at them. Something jumped out of the open passenger window and came scrabbling toward them. The sun burned bright over the crest of the hill, making it hard to see what was headed their way.
“Screw it,” Kevin said. He and David practically leapt into the hole. Kevin’s hand slipped on the first rung. His foot landed on Chris’s shoulder, which was the only thing that kept him from falling into the diseased water.
Jimmy, Alan and Bobby were already standing on a narrow ledge, backs pressed against the cold, dark brick wall. The stench down here was overpowering.
“You idiots, you forgot to put the manhole back on,” Jimmy said.
“And block our only way out?” David said. “We’ll just wait down here for a few minutes until the car passes.”
Once they were all on the ledge, the front of their shorts covered in grime from wiping their hands on them, Kevin plucked the stick out of Jimmy’s hand. “I still want my ball.”
He hooked the end of the stick into the narrow slot. Black water sluiced out of the other slots when he lifted it free.
“Gross,” Alan said, waving at the air.
“It doesn’t smell any worse than your mother’s cooking,” Kevin said. That got a laugh from everyone.
Chris held up a hand. “Shhhh!”
The steady purr of a car engine bled down into the sewer.
“He pulled over right above us,” Bobby said, his voice quivering.
David whispered, “Everyone just shut up and move out of the light.”
They shuffled along the ledge, distancing themselves from the ray of light spilling into the open manhole.
A deep, gurgling sound made their knees weak. Because of the acoustics, it was impossible to tell where it came from.
“I told you I heard something,” Jimmy said.
Kevin put his finger to his lips, narrowing his eyes at his friend.
A dog barked topside.
A man’s voice said, “You see anything?” He sounded soft, gentle, kind of like Mr. Benson, their science teacher.
A string of deep woofs rained down on them. They cringed with each bark. Bobby was sure whoever was standing up there could hear their galloping heartbeats.
Jimmy leading the way, they took several more sidesteps into the dark. The pitch was so complete, they couldn’t see the person next to them.
Another wet slurp echoed in the tunnel, this time sounding closer.
“What the hell is that?” Bobby whispered.
Woof, woof, woof!
The dogs cries were deafening.
“I thought I heard something, too,” the man said.
The ledge, this deep inside, was slick and slim. One wrong move, and they would all end up in the sludge.
Kevin bunched the end of David’s shirt in his hand. “If he puts that manhole back on, we’re screwed.”
“What do you want to do, charge the steps and knock him and the dog over?”
In the dark, David couldn’t see the tears of frustration in Kevin’s eyes.
“Hey,” the man shouted. “Who’s down there?”
Woof.
“I think you’re right,” he replied to the dog. “How many do you think there are?”
The wet sploosh of Chris’s vomit hitting the stream of sewage surely gave them away.
“I can hear you,” the man said in a flat tone.
Something clicked above. The boys had seen enough westerns to know the sound of a hammer being pulled back on a gun.
“The underworld isn’t a safe place,” the man continued. “Especially not for the uninitiated.”
They heard his shoe tap against the rung of the stepladder.
“Why is he coming down here?” Chris hushed. “I thought he only killed people at night.”
“How the hell should I know?” Alan said.
The boys urged Jimmy to go deeper, pushing into one another.
“I can’t see, assholes,” Jimmy barked. He stood his ground, leaning hard into Alan.
“Don’t be an idiot,” Chris said. All pretense of remaining quiet had gone out the window. “You want to get us all killed?”
Woof, woof.
“You’re right, it is boys,” the man said to the dog. He clambered down the ladder faster, a metallic clink sounding after each footstep, the butt of the gun hitting into the metal rung.
The man jumped, forgoing the last two rungs, landing on the ledge.
He was, in every way, an average looking man. Nowhere near tall but not short, a little stocky with wiry black hair above a high forehead. If you passed him on the street, you’d never give him a second glance.
Unless you saw the coal black gun in his hand.
“Hello, sons,” he said, his face devoid of emotion. The dog went wild. He cocked an ear toward the sound, closing his eyes for a moment and nodding.
No one dared move. They were no heroes. Just six boys who wanted to spend the summer playing ball, reading comics and swimming in David’s pool.
On one hand, they could dive into the filthy water and see where it took them. Infection would most likely kill them slowly, if they found a way out.
If they stayed, this madman with the thousand-yard stare would make the sewer their grave in short order.
The absence of an optimal choice seemed to burn out their fight or flight response.
“Please, don’t hurt us,” Chris said. “We just wanted to get our ball and go home.” His voice choked with sobs.
Someone shuffled along the ledge.
“Why don’t you boys come out where I can see you?”
Kevin’s arm jerked as the stick was pulled from his hand.
Something dropped into the water. Jimmy shouted, “Suck on this!”
They watched the sewage-filled ball as it entered the light, exploding across the man’s face. He recoiled, spitting out gobs of gunk. For a moment, the gun wavered in their direction as he regained his footing.
“Are you friggin nuts?” Bobby said.
“Run for it, while he can’t see,” Jimmy cried.
They made a break, nearly slipping off the ledge. The man pinched his eyes with his thumb and index finger. He huffed in pain. The water had to burn like acid.
David squared his shoulder, barreling into his chest. The man flopped onto his back.
“You sons of bitches!” he shouted. “I only wanted to fuck with you. Now I have to do what he says!”
The dog guarded their escape. Six heads craned to face an angry black lab, gums dripping with drool, daring them to come its way.
Bobby started to climb, but the dog’s warning stopped him in his tracks. Kevin pushed at him. “Go, Bobby!”
“Yes, Bobby, go,” Alan pleaded.
The man was back on his feet, the huge gun aimed at the small boy.
“Now, you’re not normally my type, but I’m willing to go against that.”
The odd, gurgling noise returned. It sounded like viscous water funneling through a crack in a dam. It even gave the man, the Son of Sam, pause.
“Shit, look at that!” Chris shouted.
A pair of enormous yellow eyes blinked in the onyx tunnel behind the Son of Sam. Each had to be the size of a softball.
Bobby jumped from the ladder. The six boys, huddled together, stepped back.
“Walking away won’t save you
,” the Son of Sam said. His face was streaked with toxic grime.
He didn’t notice the creature until it lunged.
The boys screamed.
The dog let out a final whelp and ran from the manhole.
The beast that was the Son of Sam spun into the wall. His gun clattered onto the ground and hit the water with a splash.
When the creature dove onto Alan, the other boys scattered, some jumping into the water that sluiced around their calves.
It was too dark to see much. The sewer beast was twice the size of a man, with slick, gray skin. It resembled a puffer fish with limbs. Before Alan could scream, it opened a mouth large enough to swallow a man whole, clamping down on his head.
The boys screamed. The Son of Sam, on his hands and knees, frantically fished his gun out of the water.
David saw the killer smile when he spotted Alan in the thing’s mouth.
“I told you the underworld wasn’t for you!” he shouted. He scaled the rungs like a spider monkey, slipping into the daylight and out of sight.
The creature lifted its head, upending Alan. His feet flopped back and forth, his hands beating at its sides. It staggered, stumbling into the light.
Its jaws popped and the rest of Alan’s body slid down its gullet. It turned and dove into the water, disappearing down the tunnel. They listened to it splash as it went further and further away.
No one believed them. Not about the Son of Sam. Not about the terrifying creature that swallowed Alan like he was an aspirin. Their parents pleaded with them to tell the truth. They did. Police tried to scare them into telling them a story that they could make sense of.
They held to the truth because no one could think of anything else. There was hope that by retelling the nightmare enough times, it would go away. It only made things worse.
Search parties combed the sewers, looking for Alan. His mother wept day and night, screaming at the boys to tell them what really happened to her son.
It got to the point where their own mothers and fathers could only look at them with shame and disappointment. Of all the things they had seen, losing the faith of their own mothers and fathers was perhaps the most difficult to reconcile.
The Son of Sam was captured by the police a month later.
Alan was never found.
