Gravestone (15 page)

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 game 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.

Something about this, about me, about us, feels different and strange.

I start running, but the faster I run the farther away she seems to be.

Then I blink, and the brightness and the blue turn to black.

I open my eyes and start to slow down and find that I’m still on some deserted dirt road in the hills of Solitary.

I didn’t die and wake up in some weird airport. I didn’t see some woman looking like Jocelyn heading out for a party.

I didn’t see any of that. It was just—

It was just like those tunnels and her eyes were as real as the hollowed-out eyes of the man in them.

I keep walking, heading I don’t know where.

I don’t even believe the noise of the truck or the piercing beams of the headlights when they come from behind me.

It’s only when the truck stops and a voice calls out that I realize that I’m not dreaming.

“What’s your name?” the driver asks after he asks if I need a ride.

There are a lot more things in this life that I need besides just a ride.

Do you have a spare case of hope in the back? Maybe just a six-pack will do?

“Chris Buckley.”

The guy seems ordinary enough. Maybe my mom’s age, maybe younger. He’s got a friendly face that seems familiar for some reason. I decide to take his offer. The sports radio station he initially had turned up loud is now down. The cabin smells like Mexican food.

“Where do you live, Chris?”

“Solitary.”

“This is quite a ways from the downtown.”

“Yeah.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah.”

I can’t help thinking about what I just saw in those underground tunnels and about the fact that Mom might be coming home. I see her standing at her sink after taking a shower, and a grisly, aged hand reaching out to grab her legs from the cabinet below.

He’s got a laid-back Southern drawl that relaxes me. “Do you know where you are?”

“Not exactly.”

The man keeps looking at me as if he’s trying to figure out if I’m high or drunk or just stupid.

“I take this way whenever I’m heading to Greenville. It’s a shortcut if you don’t mind the weaving roads. Not a lot of people know about it.”

“So where are we?”

“Technically we’re still in North Carolina, though South Carolina is really close,” the man says. “We’re closer to the older town of Solitary that was burned down years ago. They moved the regular town closer to the tracks, and that’s where it stands now. Not a lot of people know about the original town because it happened years ago. I’m a bit of a historian in my spare time.”

“Do you live in Solitary?”

“No. We live nearby in Lowden. My name’s Jack. So I assume you go to Harrington?”

“Started before Halloween last year. I moved with my mom from the Chicago area.”

“That’s quite the move.”

“Yeah.”

For a second it looks like he’s about to tell me something, then he remains quiet.

“So you going to tell me where your house is?” Jack eventually asks.

“I would if I knew where we were.”

“If I get to the center of town, can you tell me?”

“I can walk from there.”

The guy laughs. “Come on. Looks like you’ve walked enough already. You’re still sweaty.”

I absently wipe my forehead.

“So, you like Harrington?”

“Sure.”

Jack laughs. “That was convincing.”

“It’s more like Harrington doesn’t like me.”

“High school is shorter than you realize. I tell my kids that.”

I nod, but there’s no way I buy it.

“I’m forty-two, and as I get older I see life as these chunks. Blocks of time. Sometimes you just have to get through the block in order to keep moving. That’s what I tell myself when I take odd jobs like the one I just did in Greenville. Strange hours, but it’s money, and nowadays that means a lot.”

I don’t know what to say, so I don’t say anything.

“Harrington is one of those blocks,” Jack says. “You make it as strong as you possibly can, and then when you’re finally ready, you climb on top of it and step to the next box, whatever that is.”

“So you travel a lot for your work?”

“Yep. Would move if we could, but we can’t. Selling a house is hard these days. And moving to a place means you’ve got something to move to.”

“Yeah,” I say.

“Building blocks. That’s what it is. Keep that in mind.”