The Cemetery Man and Other Darkside Tales

The Storm Tunnel

The two boys stood on the grassy creek bank, staring down through the darkness at the yawning mouth of the storm tunnel. Raymond shivered. “It looks kind of spooky at night.”

“Sure,” Timmie said. “That’s what makes it such a swell place to explore.”

“You’ve really been inside before?”

“Lots of times.”

“At night?”

“Sure.”

“Alone?”

“Sure.”

“Weren’t you scared?”

“Not me,” Timmie said.

“How far inside did you go?”

“Pretty far.”

“What’s it like?”

“Neat,” Timmie said. “Lots of twists and turns, and water and leaves and stuff on the floor.”

Raymond shivered again. “You didn’t... see anything, did you?”

“Like what?”

“You know.”

Timmie laughed. “It’s just an old storm tunnel.”

“I heard that rats and animals and... things live in old storm tunnels,” Raymond said.

“You don’t believe that junk, do you?”

Raymond toyed with the zipper on his jacket.

“Well, do you?” Timmie asked him again.

“I guess not.”

“Come on, then.”

Timmie started down the bank, but Raymond did not move. “My folks would skin me if they knew I was here,” he said.

“But they don’t know, do they?”

“No. I snuck out my bedroom window like we said.”

“Then it’s all right.”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re not scared?”

“No.”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“It’s just spooky, that’s all,” Raymond said.

“Are you coming or not?”

Raymond took a long breath. “Yes,” he said. “I’m coming.”

The two boys picked their way down the steep bank, holding onto bushes and shrubs that grew there, digging their feet into the spongy ground. Pretty soon they stood on the sharp stones of the creek bed. In its center, a thin line of water came out of the darkness and disappeared inside the tunnel.

It was very dark. There was no moon on this night, and the trees that rimmed the creek looked like pieces of black cardboard pasted against the sky. The soft gurgle of water was the only sound.

Timmie said, “Follow me, Ray.”

“All right.”

They stepped along the stones. Timmie paused before the tunnel mouth and took a flashlight from his pocket. Raymond said, “Maybe I should have brought one, too.”

“One is all we need.”

They entered the tunnel. Timmie switched on his flashlight and played the beam along the concrete walls. They were dry and smooth at this point, but the floor was wet, littered with leaves, twigs, mud and bits of garbage. In the middle the stream flowed, slowly here, dying.

“I don’t like this place,” Raymond said.

“That’s silly.”

“Timmie...”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Raymond said. “I guess I’m ready.”

He hung onto Timmie’s jacket as they set off deeper into the tunnel. The footing was uncertain, but Timmie moved quickly, surely. The bobbing light from his flash cast grotesque shadows on the walls. The blackness outside the beam was thick and dank.

They had gone a hundred yards or so when Timmie stopped. “What’s the matter?” Raymond asked, alarmed. The sound of his voice echoed hollowly off the concrete walls.

“Nothing,” Timmie said.

“Why did you stop?”

“The tunnel curves up ahead. Down toward the river. The water gets deeper and you’ve got to watch your step. Stay close to the wall on your right.”

“Okay,” Raymond agreed.

They followed the gradual curve of the tunnel. Here, the dampness was pervasive; the walls were covered with a greenish slime and water dripped from them, making tiny splashes on the floor like gently falling rain. The only other sounds were the shuffle of their sneakers and their quiet breathing.

When they had gone another hundred yards, the tunnel curved again, sharply to the right. Another sound reached Raymond’s ears, and he stopped.

“What’s that, Timmie?”

“The river.”

“It sounds like water boiling in a kettle.”

“I know. Come on.”

“We’re not going around there?”

“Sure we are.”

“But... is it safe?”

“Sure. I’ve been down there before, lots of times. All you have to do is stay close to the wall on your right.”

“I think we ought to go back, Timmie.”

“What for?”

“I’m not going to pretend anymore,” Raymond said. “I’m really scared.”

“You’re acting like an old girl.”

“I don’t care.”

“Oh come on, Ray. We won’t go much farther.”

Raymond bit at his lower lip. “Are you sure it’s safe?”

“Positive.”

“Well... okay. But not far.”

“No,” Timmie said. “Not far.”

They began to move around the sharp bend. The rushing whisper of the river grew louder. Raymond hugged the concrete wall on the right; Timmie, holding the flashlight, playing the beam ahead of them, walked slightly to his left.

As soon as the curve ended, another began, twisting back to the left. Timmie started into the new curve. But just as he did, the narrow cone of light winked out and plunged the tunnel into total blackness.

“Timmie!” Raymond cried.

“It just went off,” Timmie said. “The batteries must’ve gone dead.”

“What’ll we do?”

“Don’t worry. There’s a place up ahead where the tunnel branches. The main section leads down to the river, but the branch hooks up and comes out on Orchard Street, by the school.”

“Let’s just go back the way we came.”

“It’s shorter to Orchard Street,” Timmie said. “We won’t have to go so far in the dark.”

“Can’t you make the flashlight work?”

“It’s no use; the batteries are gone.”

“I’m scared, Timmie.”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“The river sounds awfully close...”

“Just stay against the wall.”

“How far is it to the branch?”

“Not very far. It’s on the other side of this curve.” Timmie took hold of Raymond’s arm. “You’re in the Cub Scouts, Ray. One of the things they teach you is finding your way in the dark, isn’t it?”

“Sure, but...”

“Come on, then.”

Raymond swallowed, then eased his body forward; the deepening water saturated the thin canvas of his sneakers. The sound of the river became a hissing roar in his ears, and the dank, brackish odor of the water flared his nostrils. But Raymond kept moving, feeling the wall with his hands.

Ahead to the left, something made a faint scraping noise.

Raymond stopped. “Timmie? What was that?”

“What was what?” Timmie’s voice seemed to come from behind him now, and he realized that Timmie was no longer holding onto his arm.

“That noise,” Raymond said. “Didn’t you hear it?”

“Probably just a rat.”

“A rat? I thought you said—”

“It’s all right. Go ahead.”

Hesitantly, Raymond felt his way around the bend in the wall. And the smell in the tunnel changed suddenly. The new odor that came out of the blackness ahead was foul and sickening, like the dead cat he had once found in his back yard.

“Timmie!”

The scraping noise again, louder, closer, a claw-sound on the concrete floor. Raymond started to back up, to turn and run — and something caught hold of his leg, ripping through the trouser material, bringing a sharp cut of pain.

Raymond screamed.

A huge shape hurtled against him, drove him hard into the wall. Cold, slimy, with fur on it. Snarling and snuffling, breathing its dead-cat smell into his face. He opened his mouth to scream again.

Then the claws ripped into his chest, and there was more tearing pain, and that was all he knew...

Timmie stood against the wall on the other side of the bend, listening. The snarling and snuffling stopped; he heard the claw-sounds once more, the splashes and rustles of Raymond being dragged away through the water.

“Now we can be friends,” he said softly. “I know we can — just you and me.”

Timmie backed away, pivoted, and then switched the flashlight on. It’s nice to have a pet, he thought as he followed the beam back toward the tunnel mouth. I never had a pet before.

In the darkness behind him, the gnawing began.

“I don’t think this is such a good idea!” Peter said.

“Why not?”

“We shouldn’t be out after dark,” Peter said. “Not after the way Ray Wilson disappeared so funny last week.”

“You want to explore the storm tunnel, don’t you?”

“Well... I guess so.”

Timmie started down the grassy creek bank. Halfway to the bottom, he paused to smile up at Peter.

“Come on,” he said. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”