I keep this up, going into the kitchen and inspecting each of the cabinets and the dishwasher and the back of the oven and all of that. Nothing. I look underneath the stairs that jut up right in front of the main door.
Nope.
I’ve been scouring the cabin for an hour and am starting to feel pretty stupid. Maybe there’s an empty area below this floor that was never intended to be used. Or maybe there were never any voices or laughter in the middle of the night.
You heard them and you know it.
I check the only other room downstairs, my mother’s. I move a dresser but find nothing. I move her bed but find nothing. For a minute I sit on the edge of the bed and listen. It’s getting darker outside, and another storm is supposed to be coming.
There’s still the bathroom.
Maybe the bathtub has a special button you push that allows you to be sucked down the drain like at some big water park.
You know it’s sad when your own thoughts mock you.
I turn on the light and glance around. A tub, a toilet, and a sink. I might as well be thorough. I kneel and open the doors to the cabinet and look at the handful of towels and toiletries belonging to Mom.
There’s nothing unusual.
I’m about to close it when something makes me pause.
Every cabinet I’ve seen has pretty much looked the same except for this one. I take out the towels and notice that the plumbing for the faucet is strangely warped, like it was built around something. It’s bent and goes around the edge of the interior of the cabinet, allowing more space.
The thing that caught my eyes was the scuff marks. The scraped sides.
Then I see it.
No way.
I see the square outline of something—I don’t know what. The back of the cabinet is the same color as the rest, but the four sides of it look—
Detachable.
I nudge it. Then nudge it a little harder. There’s nothing behind it.
After a few tries, I shove it hard with my palm.
This time a portion of the drywall gives.
This isn’t drywall. It’s a door of some kind.
Right now I know that maybe I should call Mom or call somebody, but I doubt that anybody can help me.
I insert my hand into the opening and feel the cold.
For a minute I think. But it’s not a very long minute.
I run out of the bathroom to find a flashlight.
And maybe something else.
Something for protection.
The knife belongs to Uncle Robert, just like the gun I found in the same duffel bag. The gun is lost somewhere on the side of a mountain close to the place Jocelyn died. I think about that gun and what I should’ve done with it. What I could have done. Instead, in my grief and terror, I dropped it.
One of the ten thousand things I regret.
The knife is a folding kind, but that doesn’t mean it has a small blade. This is the kind you can cut a deer open with. I touched the blade once and felt it cut my skin. It’s that sharp.
The knife is in my pocket. I’m wearing a sweatshirt because—because to be honest, I have no idea where I’m going to go after I slip through this opening. Maybe I’m going to find something like the hatch from Lost. Or maybe it’s going to be an alternative universe like Donnie Darko, because really, I’m dead. I died on that hill just like Jocelyn. Or maybe I’m going to see a white rabbit and follow it and end up finding Johnny Depp smiling below, wondering what took me so long.
I’m a product of the culture, or at least I used to be. Now I really do feel like I’m in a time warp, an alternative universe, a black nightmare.
I’ve pushed away the covering to the back of the cabinet and am about ready to climb in through the narrow enclosure when I hear Midnight barking. Her bark is more like a little cough. She never does this, so I go out to the main room to see what’s wrong.
Midnight is on the couch, just barking. I pet her for a few minutes and tell her that everything’s fine. Maybe she can feel my fear. Or maybe she smells something coming through that opening.
Yeah, like the smell of death.
I go to the fridge and get the little baggie full of treats for her. I’ve been feeding her little cut-up hot dogs. I saw this on a program once. One of those dog-whisperer shows where a kooky guy gets the dog to do anything. His trick: hot dogs. Lots of them.
“It’ll be fine, girl, just stay right here.”
Back in the bathroom, I pause for a moment as my flashlight scans the opening. All I can see is a black wall. It doesn’t look like there’s much of a passageway there.
I slide in and then put my arms and head through the place where the piece of panel was. It’s a door of sorts, a kind that swings upward and only can be opened from the back. Once I’m through it will fall back in place.
I slide in a little more and then slip.
For a second, I’m falling headfirst into some dark hole.
I know dark holes. I’ve become pretty well acquainted with them.
This time I grab on to the edge of the opening and prop the rest of my body up. My legs and gut are still propped in the cabinet so I’m able to balance and not fall in.
I bring the flashlight over and aim it down, my head drooped over some opening where the cold air is coming from.
This really is a hatch.
There is a square hole that’s large enough for a person to fit through. Along the side of the wall facing me is a set of metal rungs going down. I see the bottom. All I can see is dirt.
Maybe a lot of people would stop now. And I realize the people in scary movies do idiotic things. Hey, let’s go for a late night swim. Hey, the moon looks great if we go to that abandoned cliff. Hey, I know there’s a serial killer around, but can’t we still just make out a little longer? Those idiots are all goners, and you know that the moment they do something so stupid.
But I can’t remember seeing this in a horror movie. I seriously doubt Desmond is going to be in my basement, and if he is, then maybe that will explain everything.
I think back to the little cabin I found in the woods above our place. The opening I fell through, the one with a similar ladder attached to its side. The passageway leading into the darkness below. I wonder if the two are connected in some way.
After trying to see if I can fit in the narrow tube going down, I stop moving and have an awful thought. If someone or something’s down there, they’ll be able to grab me before I can see them.
Nothing’s down there, just like nothing was in the cabin above the house.
I wiggle backward and force myself through the cabinet. I can just imagine Mom coming home now and seeing my head sticking out below the bathroom sink.
Are you really that bored, Chris?
My legs arch, as does the rest of my body as I struggle to find the rungs of the ladder. Soon I have one hand attached to a cold strip of metal while the other has the flashlight. I scan the bottom to see if anything is moving.
Before I’m too far down, I check the door and make sure it’s secure. In case Mom sees it and suddenly has the crazy idea of trying to go through it herself.
Only one of us needs to be that stupid.
The ladder ends as the hole opens to what must be our cabin’s basement. On the opposite side of where I’m climbing is a wall that has another built-in ladder on it. I swing like a monkey from one side to the other and then finish climbing down on the opposite side, which I presume is the edge of our house. It’s cold down here, and I know that I’m now underground.
When I get down I scan the area with my light, trying to keep my hand from shaking. I pat my jeans pocket and make sure the knife is still there. For a moment I just take in my surroundings.
There’s really nothing to take in.
It looks like an unfinished basement. The walls surrounding me are cement, the ground a soft dirt. There are no doors or windows or openings coming in. Except for the rather large and ominous opening on the other side of where
I’m standing.
I try to figure out which direction is what. If I’m guessing right, the opening is toward the back of the house, which means it’s a couple stories underground.
What if it connects to the other passageway?
There’s a part of me that thinks this is pretty cool. In the same way I think a movie that gets me to stop breathing is pretty cool.
There’s another part of me that wants some answers.
I listen and can’t hear anything. No voices, no laughter, no wind.
Then I hear Midnight barking.
That’s when I realize that it’s pretty easy to hear what’s going on above.
That’s also when I realize beyond any doubt whatsoever that the laughter I heard the other night was real, and it came from where I’m standing right now.
32. Some Underground Labyrinth
I’ve been walking for ten minutes, and every step I take makes me wonder if I should turn around and run back out. It’s cold and black. I mean, absolutely deathly black. But that’s not what terrifies me so much. It’s not claustrophobia. I don’t get crazy in confined spaces. And this tunnel isn’t like a foxhole. It’s not quite six feet—I know this because I’m about six feet, and I have to bend a bit to keep from scraping my head. The width seems to vary as I move along. Some places might be five feet across, some just wide enough for me to fit through. The light shows nothing but dark earth and stone that somehow and in some way was carved here. It’s definitely man-made.
What for is the question.
For the first few minutes, I pound my fist into the side walls and the roof above me. They’re hard, maybe because of the cold but also because of the hard earth. Some of it feels like clay, or really hard dirt, while in other places are chunks of rock. There are lots of rocks.
I doubt it’s going to crash in on me. The only thing that could do that is an earthquake, and I don’t think they get those around here.
No, what terrifies me is wondering what’s ahead. The passageway has gone straight with only a few slight turns. At first, after I stepped into the tunnel from my basement, it descended quite a bit, but it’s leveled out and just heads straight.
There’s nothing I’ve seen—no lights or cables or candy wrappers or Egyptian symbols or signs that say Go Forward at Your Own Peril! And again that makes me nervous, because I have no idea where this is going.
My flashlight seems strong, but I wonder what I’d do if it went out. I could find my way back, no problem, but pitch black and musty air and cold dark underground …
Don’t think that. Don’t go there.
When I reach an intersection with another tunnel in the shape of a T, I’m forced to make a decision.
If there are more of these decisions and passageways, you might end up getting lost and confused in some underground labyrinth.
But it’s just one turn. That’s all. I can remember that.
The question is which way.
I stand there for a second, my imagination going into overdrive.
If someone comes out of nowhere chasing you, you’re in trouble. Especially if he’s short.
That makes me laugh, but I think I do that because I’m so jittery.
What if these are tunnels for letting out water from some dam or river? If these filled up there’d be nowhere to go to get out.
These and a hundred other scenarios swirl around my head.
Yet I want to know. I want to find out where these go. Are they all interconnected? Do they all lead to one place, and where would that be?
I turn right, then begin walking steadily and quickly.
I have no idea which direction I’m going. North, south, east, west. It doesn’t really matter.
I reach another intersection, this one looking more like a Y, and again I go right. That way I’ll just have to remember to go left on my return. I wonder how long I’ve been walking. Half hour, hour, longer?
I feel cold.
A bark comes out of nowhere. I jerk and stop and then listen.
I can’t tell if it’s in the tunnel or somewhere outside. I wait for several minutes, then keep going.
There it is again.
A loud bark, and deep. Not some tiny puppy.
It’s in the tunnel.
Oh come on. Not more dogs. No more crazy dogs.
I feel itchy and sweaty and cold and numb at the same time. Suddenly I just want to be out of here.
When the next bark comes, this time sounding as if it’s directed at someone or something, I stop and aim my light ahead. The passage just keeps going. I can’t tell where the noise is coming from, behind or in front of me.
This little adventure was nice and all, but it’s time to go back inside.
I turn around and head back down the tunnel.
I hear the barking again.
I feel more nervous walking back, because I feel like something is behind me. As I get to the point where one passage goes right and the other left, I turn behind and aim the flashlight to see if anybody’s there. Then I beam it back in front of me and then I see—
He’s tall and hunched over and haggard with a long ancient face and his eyes look hollow just like his open mouth and he points at me.
I stop and then buckle backward as if something’s on top of me. I run into the back wall as I keep the light on the man.
“Hello, Chrisssss.”
The voice the dead eyes the wrinkles the spots the decaying skin the undead.
I don’t realize I’ve tripped and fallen backward. I’m still aiming the flashlight at the man, who just stands there. Then I get up and run.
I run in the direction I was headed before I stopped. I don’t know where I’m going, but that man or thing was real and I’m getting away from him.
The laughter starts up, and I know. This man or thing or beast or creature dwells in these tunnels. He was laughing in our basement.
As I run, the shaft of light going up and down with my hand, I have a terrible thought.
He’s the vision my mom has been having. She’s not been dreaming or having wild cocktail nightmares. She’s been terrorized by this old man who may or may not be dead.
“Where are you going?” the voice calls out, like a stranger’s tongue licking my ear.
I feel like centipedes are crawling all over my back, but I’m too petrified to stop and brush them off. I keep running. One tunnel morphs into two that morph into several more and by now I’m lost and running and thanking Coach Brinks for starting to get me in shape.
As I run, I think I hear other sounds.
More animals.
More voices.
The sound of rushing water.
And the sound of
No don’t don’t even don’t go there because that’s beyond creepy.
But it’s true, and I hear it just like I saw the old man.
I hear the cries of babies.
33. Building Blocks
One might call me lucky for getting out, but I don’t think luck should ever be applied to my name or my life.
Yes, I happened to keep running and make a wrong turn. Blame the grinning old fossil or the weirdo baby sounds. The tunnel I sprinted through got bigger and opened up into the mouth of a cave. And yes, I ended up in the woods in the middle of nowhere.
Nowhere being Solitary, nowhere synonymous with Solitary and everything around here.
And yes, sure, I eventually found a side road that I’m walking on right now.
But lucky people can stop shaking.
Lucky people don’t encounter zombies in underground tunnels.
Only stupid people do, and I’m stupid.
The dirt road winds around, but I know it has to eventually connect with some other road.
Either that or morning will come and I’ll eventually see where I’m going.
There’s a part of this that should be fun. Investigating new places and secret passageways and hidden secrets and blah blah blah.
But that’s fun in a video gam
e when you’ve got your buddies next to you and your stomach is full of candy and soda and it’s three in the morning and you know that tomorrow you’ll be hanging at the beach or going to a party or living life.
I’ve been walking for several minutes when I stop and start breathing in and out and desperately try to keep my heart from racing and my body from shaking.
Every time I blink, I see his eyes. Or his lack of eyes.
For a while I’m a mess in the middle of this road. But I fight it and I win.
I fight it and I tell it to go away.
I fight it and I finally grind my teeth in anger as I start walking again.
So I know.
It’s more than I knew yesterday or the day before.
I hear Jared’s words again. You have to lie low. For a while.
I’m really tired of all of this because I don’t understand any of it. I walk faster. I want to bolt up the opening in the bathroom and then
Then what?
I don’t know.
I keep walking but I don’t know.
The world turns bright and changes. Have I been dreaming?
I’m walking in a long, round passageway with glass above me showing the clear blue sky. For a second I try to stop, but the ground is moving. I glance at my feet and see the moving walkway below me.
My clothes are different. I feel different. Everything is vibrant and clear and quiet.
The walkway ends, and I get off.
I’m standing at the edge of wide, empty hallway.
Not a hallway. A terminal.
There are tall windows lining the terminal, showing off the clear blue sky. It’s beautiful, almost like a painting. It’s bright, too, so bright that I almost miss seeing the woman walking down the carpet several gates away from me.
She turns back, and I know without a doubt that it’s Jocelyn.
“Hold on,” I call out as I see her.
Her hair is still long and dark and full, the kind a guy dreams of running his hands through while staring into her eyes. She looks taller, but I notice it’s because she’s wearing heels. She’s dressed up in a long black dress, the kind an adult might wear to go out for a fancy dinner. She doesn’t look like the Jocelyn I remember. She looks grown up.
Gravestone Page 11
