Tunnels

by Lesley Downie

  "Now, Liv, as long as she's going to study…" Like I said, Dad's the easy one.

  Mom threw down her eye-roll, hands-on-hips combo again and shook her head. I looked at Dad and he just shrugged his shoulders. Crud. No negotiating power whatsoever. I glared at my evil brother who had the look of a winner on his face.

  "This so sucks," I said under my breath, because language like that was definitely not in the Okay Box and I'd never said it out loud before…even though I'd thought it plenty of times. All I needed was for Mom to hear and add a few more days on to my sentence. On the bright side, I'd have plenty of time to figure out how the little jerk would pay for getting me in trouble.

  So since I was stuck with kitchen duty, I thought about what had happened to me in the last twelve hours. Swallowed by the earth was pretty bad, but it had taught me I needed to be more careful. For two reasons. One, I didn't want anyone suspecting what I was doing. Two, I needed to stay in one piece. This was my time to shine and no one was going to ruin it for me. I'd been the one who'd spent hours at the library, going through yellowed and torn town records for any proof the tunnels existed. With no help from adults who have no imagination or interest in anything cool, I finally came across an old news clipping from The Citrus Grove Daily Facts. It was dated February 11, 1920. I dried my hands and pulled the copy I'd made of it from my pocket.

  TALK OF TUNNELS LEADS TO MENTAL WARD

  Joseph Cooper, local philanthropist and owner of Cooper's Grocery, was committed to Valley Psychiatric Hospital after friends and colleagues witnessed his complete breakdown on Thursday. While attending the city council meeting, Cooper began ranting about the tunnels beneath our fair city. When asked to prove it, he threw his arms in the air and began sobbing, "I can't!"

  "We've witnessed some of his bizarre behavior in the past few months," Mayor Nathan Hopkins explained. "But this incident was especially sad to witness. One of our most upstanding citizens has lost total control over some imaginary tunnels." When asked for further commentary, the mayor merely held his hand up and stated he had no further comment.

  Those that believe Cooper said he'd often described witnessing the tunnels once as a young child when his father took him to them. Though searching with hope for years, he unfortunately has never been able to find the point of entry to the tunnels his father used. Famous war veteran Abner Cooper died with the location when Joseph was only six years old.

  When asked what they'd been told by their father lurked beneath our fair city, Cooper's family would only say their father kept the details to himself, but that he'd often commented, "There's a whole other world down there."

  Okay, maybe not proof positive there are tunnels, but I did have one other piece of evidence. Evan's grandpa, Pops, told us a story when we were little about a secret map of a bunch of tunnels below Citrus Grove. One he'd found in his father's stuff when he was young. Said he'd gotten a "good lickin'" when his dad found out, and never saw the map again. Since Pops passed away, I've been hoping for a miracle—like Evan would find the map hidden somewhere in his grandfather's old house. The one his ancestors have lived in for over a hundred years.

  Reaching down, I felt for the odd shape of my mini-cam, safely resting in my pocket. I remembered seeing a weird brick arch and I'd gotten a picture of it. After the dust cleared, after the earth swallowed me up, it was there right in front of me. Like an entryway to somewhere, maybe even the lost world of the lizard people. Weird thing was, old bricks filled the archway, blocking what was beyond. Had to be important for someone to go to so much trouble. I was sure of it.

  My Bio

  By Katherine Goldstein

  Katherine Goldstein (December 1, 2003-not dead yet!) is a monumentally hot American girl who lives in a repressed vegetarian family with her mother (aka the General), father, and brother. At the age of eleven, she found the biggest tunnel system in the U.S., which ended up uncovering all the secrets of the free world.

  Likes: exploring, any book by Louisa May Alcott or Alethea Eason (Hungry ROCKS!), antiques—especially old books and journals, her father's Big Band records (ask your grandparents if you've never hear of it), Indie music, crystals and geodes, cheeseburgers, and David Perkins, the cutest boy ever.

  Dislikes: rules, math, her demon brother Sam, cleaning up Jenny's poop (especially stage five clingers), being subject to her mother's ever-changing diet of choice, and any member of the cheer squad at school.

  Chapter Three

  DID YOU HEAR THAT?

  "If we can find some kind of passageway, then I think we'll be on to something."

  "Wait just a minute, Buttercup. Let's clarify. You'll be on to something while I've been dragged along as usual." Evan patted his hair in place, which he does constantly along with getting mani-pedis. And going to Get Your Glam On to see the latest in guy's skin care stuff. You could say he's seriously into a personal beauty regimen.

  "Will you just relax and keep your eyes and ears open?" Just my luck we'd be caught trespassing by some minister dude because Evan's busy examining his cuticles.

  Besides, I had a lot of other stuff on my mind without having to worry about getting caught where I shouldn't be. Yesterday, Mom let me go to the library to pick out a mystery novel for English. Of course I ended up in the archive room again and looked in more boxes from the nineteen twenties. And I hit the jackpot. There it was, another article in The Citrus Grove Facts. Right on page one. In the article? The best proof yet the tunnels were real: a poem which was definitely in code, giving me a huge clue.

  SIX MONTHS IN VALLEY PSYCH WARD ENDS IN DEATH

  Joseph Cooper died Monday of a self-inflicted wound while still receiving treatment at Valley Psychiatric Hospital. This newspaper received a rambling letter today from Mr. Cooper, which we chose not to publish in its entirety for the sake of Cooper's family. However, we wish to honor his memory by sharing a poem he included within the letter. He was, after all, a man of honor and kindness before his slip into the abyss of mental illness. Though we know not what the content means, we will leave it to our loyal readers to draw their own conclusions. One note: Joseph Cooper's family stated this poem was written by his father, who died when Cooper was six years of age. His mother kept her son from visiting the tunnels on his own. By the time he was of majority, all memory of their location was gone. The family went on to say the poem became one of the sources he used for trying to locate his elusive tunnels.

  Four street corners—each is holy

  Though I wait under one only.

  Bricks above, I wind below,

  A secret hidden where no one knows.

  Once I got thinking, it seemed pretty simple. But why wasn't it simple for Joseph Cooper? There was only one place in Citrus Grove with churches on every corner—that had to be what the first line in the poem meant. Kind of a no-brainer, and why we were at the old brick Methodist church right now. Even if Evan wasn't so happy about it.

  "Let's just get this done," he said as he tapped his foot in an annoying Can't you hurry it up? way. Annoyance was his normal state of being, but I'd hoped he'd be excited for at least a nanosecond.

  "Hang on, Ev," I said. "We could be making history here."

  "Like some stupid rhyme is going to give you the key to the so-called tunnels," he said, waving his arms in front of his face. "These cobwebs are disgusting and you're certifiably cray-cray."

  I shook my head and didn't bother answering. That's when I noticed the bronze plaque on the wall beside us.

  RISING OUT OF THE ASHES, January 17, 1900

  Huh. Weird. Absolutely no clue what that means. Ashes mean fire, right? But I didn't have much time to think about it because I needed to catch up with Mr. Patience.

  We made our way past some creepy topiary shaped out of large bushes. You know, bushes sculpted into shapes by some gardener with too much free time? Only they weren't the cool ones like at Disneyland. These were life-sized angels (I think) with what looked like tootsie rolls coming out of their backs instead of
wings. Hope they got a good deal from the guy who did that job.

  "I think they're watching us," he whispered. I wondered if he was kidding, but his eyes actually had an oh-crud look.

  "Don't be silly, Ev—"

  Achoo!

  Evan screamed loudly enough for both of us. I yanked him behind one of the bushy monsters. Being thirteen, and a full year, two months, and fifteen days older than me, you'd think he'd be the one doing the yanking.

  "Keep it down!" I whispered as I peeked around the deformed angel. There was no one in sight, which was super strange because a) the sneeze sounded so close, and b) if somebody was watching us, wouldn't he tell us to beat it off the church property?

  Unless the sneezer didn't belong here either.

  "See anything?" My brave friend was squeezing his eyes shut now. I almost told him yes just to mess with him.

  "Nope," I said instead as I scanned the outdoor hallways lining the courtyard. So many shadows made it hard to tell what was out there and it sure didn't help that it got dark so early. Autumn was so irritating with its short days.

  "Let's hurry—I've got to be at my tutor's soon." My watch said I only had forty five minutes. Not much time when you're trying to crack the mystery of the century and you've got a posse of one who still sleeps with the lights on.

  I waved my arm for him to follow me. The stairs I wanted to use were around the corner. Four churches stood on each corner of where Olive and Center streets intersected. We were at the only one made of brick. I had to be right about the clue from the poem.

  There's a lot of traffic this time of day so we crawled along the church wall, behind tall cypress trees lining it. When we got to the old staircase, we scooted behind the wall which hid it from the street. I counted fifteen stairs to the bottom.

  "Hey, did you see that?" He pointed back toward where we came from.

  But when I looked, there wasn't anything strange. Distracting me seemed to be his number one goal and boy was it irritating. Every second counted. "Come on, Ev, quit stalling."

  "I'm not stalling," he yelled at me, "there's some guy over there hiding behind the pillar. Stared me right in the eye then gave me one of these." He held up his hand, made the shape of a gun…and aimed it right at me. Nice.

  "What'd he look like?" I was staring in the direction he'd pointed, but wished he'd just get over it. We had work to do.

  "He had a long beard and lots of hair." He made the beard gesture below his chin like we were playing charades, showing me it was extra-long. "His clothes were old and dirty. You sure you didn't see him?"

  Instead of answering, I ran over to the courtyard and disappeared behind the line of pillars to check things out. Evan was yelling for me and he sounded super scared. Even though I was a little scared too, half of me didn't believe him. Half of me felt it was his way of getting out of helping me. But even if he was right, it didn't change much for me. He just needed to get his mind off the mystery gunman so we could get busy.

  But guess what? I found absolutely nothing. Empty hallway, no sign of anybody. All I saw was a heart carved into the pillar with G.P. + E.V. inside it, which didn't exactly prove we were being watched.

  Sprinting across the grass, I found Evan sitting on the stairs and hiding his face. "Hey," I said, out of breath, "coast is clear."

  He peaked out from between his fingers because, yes, he'd covered his eyes again. My hero. "You sure?"

  "Don't worry," I nodded as I reassured him, "if there was somebody, he's gone now. Maybe just some lonely guy playing a trick on us. So can we get started?"

  "Alright, but you are totally going first." He nudged me the way fourth-grade boys do when they're behind you in line and want you to hurry. Seriously annoying.

  "Knock it off, E," I warned, using the wall for support as I climbed down the stairs. Uneven as most old stone stairs are, I could see me taking a header and trying to explain it to my mom.

  My heart began beating fast, not only from being excited, but also a little worried. I knew I was going into a place that was too close for comfort. So I kept repeating to myself everything was okay, and prayed I wouldn't hyperventilate. Just in case, I'd brought a paper lunch bag so I could breathe into it if I started to feel like passing out. Mom taught me the trick a long time ago when I got lost in the stupid plastic tubes at Pizza Playground. Wish they'd outlaw them. Trust. The peer pressure's unbearable when everyone wants to crawl through them but you.

  When we reached the bottom I wanted to kick myself. "Crud, E, I didn't bring anything to break the lock. Did you?" Why hadn't I brought my mini tool set Dad gave me at Christmas?

  "Uh, let's see." He dug in both his pockets. "Nope, clean out of hammers. Decided it didn't match my outfit this morning. But here's a piece of gum. Maybe that'll work." He started laughing like he was so hilarious. "And here's a news flash for you—don't you know what you're about to do is breaking and entering?"

  I didn't answer. Of course he's right—but was I going to let a little lock stop me? You wouldn't if you saw the door. Straight up out of a medieval dungeon—big and wooden with a black steel grate across the keyhole window. Yeah, it was spooky…but I still wanted to see what was behind it.

  "Doesn't look like it's been opened in a while." The metal was rusty and lots of cobwebs stretched across the lock. "Got any ideas?"

  "Don't ask me, Buttercup. I'm not touching it." He uses this name for me when he's irritated. Evan says if someone's acting stupid, call them by a nice name instead of going off on them. Then there's no permanent damage. Only I knew the truth of why he'd called me Buttercup, so technically this theory doesn't work with me. Just swap out idiot for Buttercup and you've broken Evan's code.

  I sighed and wished I hadn't brought him. Sam would've been more helpful. He doesn't care what he touches and he even ate worms when I dared him once, so he'll do anything. Finally I just reached over and jiggled the lock. First softly, then harder. It rattled against the door and sounded all dungeony when it echoed. Way cool if it wasn't so creepy. For some reason I thought of Mary Queen of Scots who was locked in a dungeon. She was probably plenty freaked out—until her head was cut off, that is.

  A weird shiver ran down my spine. Headless people, even ones five hundred years old, don't exactly make you feel good about trespassing in a creepy, dark tunnel. So instead, I thought about how much I wanted to find the tunnels and rattled the lock again. I forced my hand to stay there, even though some sticky old cobwebs grabbed onto my fingers. This time I tugged a little and guess what happened? The pieces of the lock fell apart and landed by our feet. Evan squealed as the door swayed open slightly, no more than an inch. Pushing it the rest of the way, I stepped through the entry, with him right on my heels.

  "Calm down," I warned. "Let's take it slowly. Besides, I thought you weren't into breaking and entering."

  "Technically we didn't break anything," he whispered, "you touched it and it opened. At least that's how I remember it."

  Well at least he's not arguing with me anymore. I took a deep breath and stepped forward. My legs shook and it felt like my head was being poked by hot pins. Sounds weird, but you'd know what I meant if you've ever been super scared. But why was I so freaked out? This was holy ground, right? Methodists, churches, all good stuff. I may be Jewish, but I'm still down with other religions. Especially when fear's involved.

  "Here, let me hold the flashlight so you can concentrate better." When he shone the light in front of us, the narrow passageway brightened and I saw what could definitely be called a tunnel.

  But wasn't this too easy? Anyone could find this door and I'm sure the real tunnels I'm looking for are far more hidden. Not sure what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn't this.

  It smelled musty, just like my Grandma's basement in Massachusetts. She always said it was because of the dampness of the earth. I felt the walls and they did feel cool and damp. The floor was also a bit uneven. "Watch where you're walking, E—the ground is bumpy."

  The walls
felt too near. Like I said before, close spaces and me? Not so much. Never played hide-and-seek when I was little and those stupid tubes were out after that one time. So I guess you'd say it's kind of ironic I'm going underground.

  Shadows made the edges of stuff a little bit hazy, like there was no definition or outline to their shapes. Now my hands shook along with my legs. I felt for the paper bag in my pocket, and was glad to feel its rectangular shape.

  When we got to where the tunnel made a sharp left, I stopped.

  "Did you hear that, E?" I strained my ears, trying to hear it again.

  "Nope, and I don't want to either," he answered, whacking at the air around him. "Crud, another cobweb. These things love me."

  I would have laughed if I hadn't heard a weird noise. Squinting, I stared as far down the corridor as I could. Not easy since the flashlight lit up only six feet or so in front of us.

  "Move the light around so we can see the whole thing," I said.

  Which is when we saw how messed up the walls and ceiling were. Sharp pieces jutted out here and there like it was unfinished. Had someone just slopped some cement on the walls wherever they felt like it?

  "Be careful," I warned, "the walls are rough. You'll get scratched up if you bump into them."

  "I see what you mean." He ran his hand along the wall's surface. "Maybe it happened when they did the rebuild."

  "Rebuild?"

  "Yeah, after the churches were burned down by some crazy arsonist back in the nineteen hundreds. Only the foundations were left. Although I'm not sure the fire would have affected the tunnels."