1. Opening
If there was such a thing as the opposite to the luck of the Irish, Dave MacCall was certain he had it. The luck of the Welsh perhaps?
Somehow, despite his best preparations, something always seemed to go wrong in a big, but fixable way on all of his jobs. They cost time and money, made each job harder than it should be, but Dave always got it done.
When the hole opened ten minutes after the ribbon cutting ceremony, while Mr Ito was still on site, Dave couldn’t believe it. He had overseen the surveys, had double and triple checked all of the land registries. There had never been a mine within ten miles of this site, according to all available records.
So, obviously, a hole opened up leading to an unknown shaft while all the head honchos and money men were still there to see it happen.
He’d been happily walking around with his up drunk champagne, nodding at men and women he didn’t know, admiring the cut of their expensive suits when his foreman had sent a runner over with the news.
“What do you mean there’s a hole in the middle of the site?”
The man was unhelpful “That’s what Mr Ford told me to tell you.”
Dave saw the eyes of the people who would not appreciate this news one bit starting to turn their way. He couldn’t have this conversation here and now. He plunked his glass down on the tray of a passing waitress and gestured for the man to lead him t he problem.
“Just keep schtum until we get out of the party.” He told him.
He tried to slip away, but he saw Mr Ito’s gaze hold on him. The Japanese businessman narrowed his eyes, but Dave flashed him a winning smile and a thumbs up to wave off any worry he might be causing. Ito smiled thinly before returning to his conversation.
Out of the big tent hosting the party, Dave and the man hustled over towards the small crowd gathered in the middle of the patch of land where the factory was going to be built.
Wilson Ford was easily visible, at nearly seven feet tall the foreman never blended in to the background.
“Wilson, what’s this about a hole?” Dave demanded.
“You got that backwards, Dave. We need to know what this hole is about.” Wilson said, pointing at an area which had been hastily taped off.
Dave approached the tape and when he saw what they were calling a hole, he felt all the spit in his mouth dry up.
Hole was the wrong word for what had appeared, this was not some gap in the ground leading down. What Dave saw was a depression in the earth, a fifteen foot long slope that dropped about seven feet down int the ground. At the termination of the slop was a black mouth, leading into darkness. The maw was framed by wooden pillars, supporting the void, stopping it from falling back in.
“You work fast, Wilson. Where did you get the wood for the support structure?”
“We didn’t build that, Dave. This is exactly how it appeared.”
Dave sucked on his teeth, thoughtfully “We checked this whole area for old mines. Why did we miss this?”
Wilson looked embarrassed “I don’t know. None of the maps show a mine near here, ground penetrating radar saw nothing. I honestly don’t know how we missed this.”
Now thoughts of how much this was gong to cost, what steps were going to need to be taken to make the area safe, all the really stressful stuff he thought they’d ready dealt with rusted through Dave MacCall’s mind.
God fucking damn it.
“Has anyone had a look inside yet? Do we know if this is something small or large?”
“No. We haven’t even had a chance to see if it is safe to walk down that slope yet.”
Dave sighed, he couldn’t risk getting the heavy equipment or inspectors around here while the money stood around having drinks. They were going to have to play this close.
“Right, Wilson, put together a small team. Once the fat cats have buggered off we’ll have a looksee down there. Until then, go have a cuppa, boys. Work will wait until I know its safe.”
2. Inspection
Hours later the party was done, the tent packed away and all the catering staff had finally left. Dave finally felt secure enough to get work started on the inspection.
They pulled in a couple of floodlights to keep the area visible while the sun started to set. He promised the hand picked team triple time for working on this through the night.
The slope was found to be be steady with no voids beneath it as far as they could tell. Dave was confident that he wouldn’t lose his inspectors to a sudden sink hole.
The three men he sent down still made every step forward a cautious one, not fully trusting equipment that had managed to miss an entire mine beneath their feet.
Dave and the rest of the crew stayed behind the tape, safety was his primary concern. He communicated with his team over the radio.
“We’ve reached the opening.” Bryn said.
“How’s it look?” Dave asked “What do you see?”
There was no reply for nearly a minute, that was unusual, Dave could see his team bu they weren’t communicating. The three of them were shining their torch’s into the mouth. From their body language, he could tell they were puzzled.
“Speak to me, boys. What’s going on?”
“We can’t see inside.” Bryn replied.
“What do you mean? Is the entrance blocked?”
“No. It’s weird, boss.The torches don’t light up inside.”
“You mean your torches are defective? All three of them?” Dave could feel his blood pressure rising, bloody cheaper out on the equipment, hadn’t they? That would explain why they’d missed this. He’d have a strong word with management and procurement once he’d sorted this problem.
“That’s not it. Better you come down, it doesn’t make sense if I explain it. You need to see it with your own eyes.” Bryn, normally so calm and collected sounded rattled. That wasn’t right.
“I’m going down.” Dave told Wilson, handing him the radio.
“Is that a good idea?”
“Apparently I’m not going to get a sensible answer unless I do, so its the only idea right now.”
By the time Dave reached the bottom of the slope, the sun had the and the area was solely lit by the floodlights.
Nodding a greeting to the team, Dave’s first order of business was to look at the wooden supports holding the mouth open. They were old, but solid. He could see no sign of rot or decay on hem. They put him in mind of trees more than anything else, old, solid, but alive. He couldn’t explain why that thought came to him.
Satisfied that they weren’t going to break and collapse the opening on him, Dave asked Bryn what the problem with the torches were.
Bryn simply turned his powerful torch on and pointed it to the sky to show that it was working. Once he was apparently satisfied that Dave had seen its efficiency, Bryn pointed the torch into the void. The light penetrated two steps and vanished. Not hit a solid object and terminated there, it simply did not penetrate further than two steps.
The other two pointed their torches as well, shining them separately and then together so they converged as a one bigger beam. None of the light would go further in than two steps.
Dave felt his spit drying up again, his bowels churned and he wanted nothing more than to run away from this blackness, this all consuming darkness. He could tell by the way the other men were shaking tat they wanted to do the same. He couldn’t do that though, if he ran away from this hole, h’d be laughed out of the business, no matter what these other three said. He’d become the man who was scared of a hole. He wouldn’t run a construction site again in his life.
He had to stay.
“You boys, go back up the slope, not much more you can do down here. Have someone bring me a pole, a stick, a shovel, anything that is longer than the two steps the light reaches.” He took the radio from Bryn before they left.
His team didn’t run back up the slope, but it wasn’t a walk either. They didn’t want to betray their fear to the men above but at the same time they wanted to be as far away from this strange empty space as they could. Resulting in a half jog, half skip as they ascended. Dave could hear the chuckles from above at the sight but he didn’t join in, it was all he could do to not copy them.
He had to stay down here, being certain that if he went back up the slope he could never bring himself to come back down again.
“How’s it going, Dave? The boys say you want a pole of something?” Wilson sounded puzzled, Dave didn’t blame him.
“I need something that isn’t me to stick into the hole.”
There was a long pause “What’s going on down there?”
“I don’t know yet. Just bring me something to poke with.”
A few minutes later Wilson himself came down with a sift foot pole and a length of rope.
“What’s with the rope?”
“Bryn did his best to explain and I know you. If we can’t find something with this pole, then so on is going to have to go in and you will probably do it yourself.”
Dave felt bile rise in his throat, he hadn’t consider stepping into that all consuming darkness at all. The very though of it was terrifying, but now Wilson had sad it, he knew he probably would.
“We’ve been working together too long.” He told Wilson, trying to hide his fear.
Wilson grunted and handed the pole over.
“Keep your torch pointed on the pole.” Dave told him.
Holding his breath, Dave slowly pushed the pole into the darkness. Even with Wilson’s torch illuminating the metal, the tip of the pole vanished at the same spot that the light from the torch did. Dave kept pushing it in until three feet of it was lost to view. There was no resistance, despite not being able to see it, he could tell that there was empty space behind the curtain of darkness.
He had pushed the pole through at waist height, reasoning that it would be the easiest way to maintain balance. Now he lowered the tip of the pole down, searching for the floor. Dave felt the impact as he then down and judging by the angle of the pole when it did so, the floor inside was the same height as outside.
Wilson reminded silent and Dave glanced at him to see sweat dripping down his foreman’s face.
Without speaking, Dave started to sweep the pole back and forth across the floor, searching for rocks or obstructions. There was nothing, it was perfectly smooth. He didn’t even feel the small stones and rocks he expected to. The only time it touched anything was when he reached the walls or lifted it up to the ceiling.
Satisfied that there was more behind he darkness, Dave withdrew the pole and inspected the part that had vanished out of the light. The pole looked fine. It had collected no dust, no mud, no trace of anything from inside.
He showed Wilson the pole and the other man just grunted, sweat now pouring off of him.
“You doing ok?”
Wilson shook his head “This is wrong. It feels wrong, Dave.”
Dave knew exactly what he meant, but nothing could happen until they had some answers.
“Measure me out five feet or rope. I need to see what’s there, or feel for anything that can help us understand.” He could hear his voice shaking even as he spoke. He did not want to go into that black space. It actively repulsed him, made every instinct long since hardwired into his animal brain scream at him to run away, go away.
“You measure me out five feet. I’ll go in.” Wilson said, his voice somewhat steadier than Dave’s.
Dave began to protest before Wilson held up a hand “Two things, one, you’re fitter than me. If one of us gets into trouble in there, the other one needs to be able to pull them out. You’ll pull me clear easier than if I try to pull you out. Secondly, you’re the boss. You delegate, that’s why you have staff.”
Dave understood the first part and is agreed with the second, h shouldn’t put his men into possible danger if he wouldn’t risk it himself, but he couldn’t bring himself to argue. Instead a wave of relief swept him.
“Let’s do this before we both change our minds then.”
Wilson nodded and began to tie the rope around his waist. When it was secure, Dave measured out five feet and held the rope in place.
“Ready?”
“Not even a bit.” Wilson whispered “Let’s do this before my nerve breaks.”
“Whistle, sing or just keep talking while you go in. Let me hear you’re ok.”
Wilson nodded and attempted to whistle, a dry raspberry was all he could manage. He looked to Dave, no humour in his face and shrugged. He started to sing “La la la” timelessly and stepped beyond the curtain of nothing.
Dave was ready to yank him back the second he stepped through is his voice was cut off, but it wasn’t.
“You’re in. Can you see anything?”
“No. I had my torch on but its not showing any light. I’m blind in here.”
Dave watched as the rope slowly uncoiled, tracking Wilson’s progress.
“What do you feel?” He yelled.
“The floor is smooth, definitely man made. This doesn’t feel like dirt, more like stone, concrete even. Its absolutely smooth, I’m cant feel any imperfections but…” Wilson’s voice trailed off.
“Wilson?” Dave got a good grip on the rope, ready to tug.
“Is that light?” Wilson wasn’t talking to Dave, his voice was too quiet.
“Wilson, talk to me.”
“Sorry, boss. I saw, I mean I thought I saw… No, never mind, its this dark, its playing tricks.”
Wilson was four foot of rope into the dark, Dave let him know.
“There’s still nothing here, its empty… What the fuck?” Wilson screamed and the rope yanked out of Dave’s hand as though Wilson had lurched forward three feet.
Dave got his grip back and started pulling against resistance.
“Wilson! Wilson, what happened?”
Wilson answered with a scream and Dave started hauling away on the rope, pulling with all his might. Every few pulls, the rope would yank back into the darkness and Dave would redouble his efforts.
“Don’t want to see! Don’t want to see!” Wilson started yelling, terror infecting every syllable.
Dave hauled as fast as he could, bellowing back at his crew for men to come and help.
The rope stopped pulling away, instead it moved from side to side instead.
Wilson screamed again, agony and terror mingling with pain.
His voice died away as four members of the crew reached Dave, he didn’t explain, just told them to pull on the rope as hard as they could.
Within moments they dragged Wilson out of the darkness and into the harsh, artificial light.
Dave heard at least one of the men behind him throw up as they saw the foreman.
The lower half of Wilson’s face was a red, made by the blood pouring from his empty eye sockets.
In each hand he held the remains of an eye, squashed in his powerful fingers.
“Wilson, what happened?” Dave asked.
Wilson laughed “Can’t see no more.”
He kept laughing, hysteria capturing him. His laughs had no mirth, they were screams masquerading as laughs and he couldn’t stop.
Overcome with horror, Dave dropped to his knees even as the men behind him pulled out phones to ring for an ambulance.
3. Investigation
By lunchtime the next day the police had cordoned off the whole site and sent all of the workers home.
Detective Inspector Belinda Garvey was in charge of the site and the team but didn’t know exactly what her next steps should be after closing everything down.
Wilson Ford had died en route to the hospital the night before, apparently still laughing right up to his final breath.
She had been forced to have constables forcibly restrain the manager, Dave MacCall when he insisted that she not send any forensic officers into the tunnel. He had been so adamant, so scared that she had relented, temporarily, waiting until daylight so that they could see what they were doing.
When the sun rose, the forensic team went down the slope to investigate the tunnel. They reported back that light would not penetrate more than a foot into the tunnel and they were unsure how to proceed.
She deferred to the head forensic officer, who wanted to send a two man team inside, along with a couple of constables for protection in case Ford’s injuries had not been self inflicted as fist reports suggested.
DI Garvey wan’t sure that was the right step. The reports she had been given from the witness testimony of the night before said that there was no light inside the tunnel, that torches did not illuminate anything. They needed to investigate, but how could they if the team were unable to see anything?
After a long discussion with the chief forensic office, she decided to allow them inside with the protection they had asked for. She inquired as to whether they would require safety ropes, such as the builders had used the night before. The idea was turned down, too easy for everyone to become tangled up. Besides, Ford had only gone a few feet inside, if there was any trouble they would be able to pull each other out.
Garvey wasn’t so sure about that, if they couldn’t see anything, which they all had suspicions as an over exaggeration of the situation, then how would the officers be able to find out where their colleagues in need were.
The forensic team were certain tat thy would be able to hear each other well enough and the tunnel was only seven feet wide, there wouldn’t be room for them to lose each other.
At 12.17 the four officers stepped through the dark curtain and vanished from view.
Radio communication was cut off immediately.
They could still speak to each other, but radio waves seemed as unable to penetrate the darkness as any form of light.
At 12.22 they heard the first yell of surprise.
At 12.23 they heard the first scream.
DI Garvey ordered the team out of the tunnel immediately and debated the wisdom of allowing them to enter without safety lines.
By 12.24 none of the team had exited the tunnel, Garvey sent tow more officers forward, with instructions to reach in and grab whoever they could but not to fully enter the tunnel.
The two officers knelt down, reached in and within seconds were pulling out one of the forensic officers. She mad badly mauled, deep scratches covered her face and her eyes had suffered extensive damage. Blood and skin were later found under her fingernails, she had ripped through her latex gloves while tearing at her own face. The immediately evacuated her to their temporary base to bandage her while an ambulance was summoned.
The screams inside the tunnel were fading, receding into the distance.
Garvey knew she had to do something, but didn’t want to risk sending in more officers blind where they could be injured or killed. She knew her career was going to take a hit from this, but she decided to relinquish control and requested that a senior officer be dispatched to take over the scene.
Her Chief Inspector arrived on scene at 2.12 and relieved her of command and sent her home after hearing her report.
At 4.56 one of the forensic officers crawled out of the tunnel. His eyes had suffered severe trauma, they were little more than pulped jelly that dribbled from the sockets. He could not speak coherently, only mewling like a terrified kitten.
By 5.15 the Chief Inspector had finished with his phone call to the Ministry of Defence and the site was officially placed under the jurisdiction of the army.
4. Invasion
Three days after the loss of the two officers in the tunnel, Major Eric Nevis ordered the bomb disposal robot in.
The days leading up to this point had been a steady march of activity. Engineers put up an electrified fence around the site. Scientists were called in to analyse the situation and a barracks was quickly put up on site. Senior officers conferred and listen of the advice of the scientists, who merely mostly unable to provide any information at this point. Watches and guard duty were organised.
The results of the science team revealed that nothing inside the tunnel was toxic, noxious or in any way dangerous to humans. The barrier of darkness was theorised to be some kind of electro-magnetic shield, which would explain the radio failures and could possibly explain the lack of light.
After hearing all the details of Ford’s inspection and the failure of the police investigation, no-one was in a hurry to send soldiers inside until they had a better understanding of the situation.
The chief scientist, Dr Grace Hill, said that while they could not find any reason for the results of the previous excursions, they could not say that those results might not be replicated if they started sending men inside.
The compromise was to send in the robot, controlled by wire instead of radio. It was fitted with three cameras, one infra-red, one night vision and one regular. It was also fitted. With an Omani-directional microphone to listen for anything that might give them a clue as to what was happening inside.
The surviving forensic officer had kept saying that “They wanted to see.” Who “they” were and how they had caused the injuries was still unknown. She had been sedated for the past three days, since whenever she woke up she would mutter about “they” and “them” for a few minutes before screaming continuously. The constable who had crawled out never spoke a single word and seemed unaware that he had made it out of the tunnel. His mind was broken.
Major Nevis watched the robot roll forward on its treads and vanish into the dark. He turned to the operator “Do you still have contact with it?”
The robot’s operator was a young corporal named Daniels, he was staring at the black screen on his console “I’m still getting readings. Can’t see anything one the regular camera, switching to infra red.”
There was a moment of quiet when the screen flickered as the input feed changed. It remained essentially blank, filled only with black.
“Trying night vision now.”
The same result.
“Do I proceed or withdraw, sir?” Daniels asked.
“Withdraw for now. You can’t see what you’re doing and if there’s something in there that can tip it over, you’ll never know until its too late. The bean counters dislike us breaking expensive machinery.”
Daniels grinned and moved his hands to the controls, before frowning.
“Problem, Corporal?”
“I’m not sure, Sir. I think I heard something.”
“Think?”
“If it was anything, it was very faint. Could have been noise from out here, but, I think I heard it on my headset.”
“Hold position for now. Keep listening. If you don’t hear anything you are certain of in the next five minutes, withdraw the bot and we’ll consider our next steps.” Nevis said.
“Sir.” Daniels affirmed, placing both earphones tight of his ears and closing his eyes to listen.
After three minutes he removed his headphones and looked to the Major “Its very faint, Sir, but I think it’s someone calling for help.”
The four man team from Hereford turned up in a Land Rover wearing civvies. Major Nevis explained the situation and all current available data to their Captain while the team left to change.
The Captain assured Nevis that his men had the best no-light imaging systems. They could cope with whatever was inside the tunnel.
Major Nevis hoped the man was correct, he had been down to that curtain of darkness and felt the world was wrong the other side of it. An unexplainable feeling of sadness and fear threatened to overwhelm him when he stood near it for too long. He did not, however, impart that information to the Captain. Nebulous feelings of fear were acceptable to experience, but to explain them to a fellow officer was unbecoming.
Nevis wished the Captain well and watched him depart to brief his team.
The team entered the tunnel at 14.33, as expected all radio communication was immediately lost.
Nothing was heard for the next ten minutes.
Observers at the tunnel entrance reported hearing gunfire at 14.45. At first the firing was reported to be multiple short bursts. This was followed by sustained, continuous firing until there was an explosion, presumed to be a grenade.
Nothing more was heard from the team.
5. Recruitment
Professor Duncan Wells never found out who came up with the idea. In hindsight, he would have said that it was a relatively obvious one.
One June morning just after finishing his lecture, he was approached by two officials from the Ministry of Defence. They requested his help with some of vital importance. They asked him to come immediately, to tell no-one where he was going and that he would be required to sign the Official Secrets Act.
Wells was surprised that had one in Braille ready for him.
Professor Wells arrived at site Blackline that afternoon. He was shown to a room, given some food and told the briefing would begin in one hour and that he could rest until then.
Carefully exploring the unfamiliar room, Wells found the bed and lay down upon it. He didn’t know what they wanted from him, he couldn’t think of many geological emergencies in Wales that warranted summoning a blind Professor. That was the bit that held his attention the most, he had been selected specifically because he was blind. His name was at the top of an exceedingly short list.
Someone knocked on the door and snapped him out of his nap.
“Professor Wells?”
“I’m awake.”
“I’m Private Gordon, I’m here to escort you to the briefing.”
Wells sat up on the bed “Be with you in a moment.”
Slipping his shoes on, Well shook himself to clear the sleep away. He didn’t feel refreshed, instead he felt more tired than when he had lain down.
“Napped a bit too long.” He muttered.
Opening the door he jumped when a hand gripped his elbow.
“What are you doing?” He shouted.
“Sorry, Professor. I was told to guide you to the briefing.”
“You don’t need to hold me to guide me, young man. I can make my way quite well by resting a hand on your shoulder. You gave me a shock.” Wells rebuked the soldier, but gently.
“Sorry, Prof. Lean on me then, I’ll lead you.”
Wells sighed at being called Prof, but placed his hand on the man’s shoulder and allowed himself to be led along a number of corridors until they entered a room where other people were talking.
“Professor Wells,” a thin, high pitched man’s voice spoke “thank you for attending. My name is Vanger, I am the, uh uh, co-ordinator of this venture.”
“Thank you for inviting me. I confess to not being entirely sure what it is I have come for.” Wells replied.
“Me either, mate.” A rough, scouse accent chimed in. “I was quite happy, sitting at home with the bird and listening to porn.”
“Thank you, Sergeant, uh uh, Treedle.” Vanger said, annoyed, “If you would take a seat, Professor, I shall begin the briefing.”
Private Gordon tried to guide him to a seat, but Wells shook him off, finding his own way. He didn’t need a guide for something like this.
“Thank you, Private, that will be all.” Vanger’s voice was dismissive, condescending and Wells was taking a quick dislike to the man.
When Gordon’s footsteps had faded away, Wells heard a door close and Vanger move back to stand in front of him and the Liverpudlian to his left, Treedle.
“Gentlemen, you have been asked to help the nation with a particularly strange problem. I will now give you a brief overview of the situation as we understand it, I will then, uh uh, tell you what it is we ask of you. Is that acceptable?”
Treedle grunted what sounded like agreement, Wells spoke a clear “Yes.”
“Excellent. Please hold all of your questions until I have, uh uh, finished.”
Vanger then told them about the appearance of the depression and the discovery of the tunnel entrance. How it looked like a mine shaft but there was no record of a mine ever having been worked near here. Vanger said that light ad radio waves could not pass more than two feet into the tunnel and that several people had gone in and come back out mutilated and mad. He then told them about the loss of two police officers and four soldiers.
Wells realised he was holding his breath. What did all this have to do with him? He could have checked to see if there were historical records or anything in the geological record to suggest mining may have taken place but low from the records. To be frank, there were hundreds of people in his field who could do the same and easier with older records.
“One thing that all of the human incidents have in, uh uh, common, is that all of them were recovered with extensive self inflicted wounds to the eyes. It is the belief of this task force that something about the dark induces a form of sensory deprivation and causes hallucinations that result in these injuries.”
Now it made else why they had asked for him, Wells wondered if the man beside him was also blind.
“So, you called me out of my medical retirement because I got blinded, is that it?” Treedle confirmed Wells’ theory.
“Indeed, Sergeant. Our prevailing theory is that persons who are, uh uh, blind, are much less likely to be susceptible to the hallucinations. Therefore we propose to send you two gentlemen into the tunnel for further, uh uh, research.”
Sergeant, former soldier, Wells supposed that made some sense then immediately discounted that thought. Did they expect the man to be a ninja at martial combat in the dark?
“Sergeant Treedle, we asked for you due to your combat experiences in Afghanistan.” Apparently they did. “Professor Wells, we have asked you because we need some idea of what the purpose of this tunnel is and what might be causing the strange field of, uh uh, darkness.”
“Really, mate? Do you think I’m some kind of blind martial arts expert or something? Just because I was a soldier doesn’t mean I can fight well now I can’t see.” Treedle sounded angry.
“Oh, I, er, uh uh, apologise.” Vanger was flustered, they really had thought Treedle could fight in the dark “It was our understanding that you had kept up with some form of sel defence after your discharge? More specifically we asked for you due to your experiences in fighting in tunnels. The committee thought someone with a passing familiarity to the way sound moves in them would be an, uh uh, asset.”
Treedle laughed “I’ve learned enough to hold someone off if they get close. Maybe even choke them out if I’m lucky. Anyone could take me out from range easier enough.”
Vanger leapt on this “But that is the, uh uh, point. Anyone in that tunnel will be as restricted in their vision as you two! Literally no light penetrates the curtain of, uh uh, darkness.”
“So, what you’re saying is that anything living in there has spent its entire life in darkness and knows just how to use it to hunt? Not exactly filling me with confidence Mr, uh uh, Vanger.”
Wells just managed to keep the smile from his face at Treedle’s mockery. He coughed to cover it and asked “So, what exactly is it you want me to do in there? I presume you have asked for Mr Treedle because you want me to have some sort of security?”
“We want you to take samples of the tunnel. Store them for later examination or stud them there and then. We must know what this tunnel is, how big it is and any other dangers it may, uh uh, present. Gentlemen, we need you to be explorers.”
His voice rose to stirring heights, but the effect was broken by Treedle belching, loudly, before declaring “Why not. Seems like a laugh.”
This time Wells couldn’t keep the smile from his face.
6. Exploration
Neither Wells nor Treedle noticed anything different when they stepped through the so-called curtain of darkness. The only difference they noted was that their radio, which had been receiving a constant tone, suddenly went silent.
“We’re in then, Prof.”
“Please, call me Duncan.”
“I’m Michael, call me Mac.”
“I will. Shall we proceed then, Mac?”
“If you like. You don’t want to scrape a wall or something?”
“No. This close in they could reach through and do it themselves. Let’s get a good distance in. I will stay close to a wall, however, so that I can feel if the texture changes.”
“You do what you need to, Duncan. I’m just going to try to enjoy the stroll.”
They kept close enough to each other that they could hear their breaths and steps. Each of them had a cane, military issue, to check the floor ahead of them for any impediments.
They had only been walking fo five minutes when Mac told him to stop.
“What is it?”
Mac’s reply came from below his waist, the other man was knelt or crouching “Found a body. Feels like paper overalls. Think this is their lost forensic officer.”
“Can you tell what happened?”
“I’m not CSI Blind Squaddie, Duncan. This guy is cold and he ain’t breathing. Its a corpse.”
“I’ll check his face, see if he has suffered facial trauma as well.”
“You do you. Come to me.”
“cometome”
“Did you say something?”
“Yeah, I said come down here then.”
Wells stepped away from the wall, towards Mac. He found the soldier’s shoulder and used it as a marker to kneel down on the ground. Reaching forward he found the unfamiliar material of the forensic officer’s body suit. Working his hands along the arm to the shoulder, he felt his way to the face. Something was crusted across the clean shaven cheek, blood he suspected. Tentatively he felt for the eye, he found a gap where one should be. That was enough to convince him, he felt no need to poke in the man’s other mangled socket.
“pokeypokey”
“What did you say?” Wells demanded.
“I didn’t say a word, Prof. But I think I heard someone say something.” Mac’s voice had a harder edge in it now. “Stand yourself up, let’s get moving.”
Wells stepped back to the wall and he heard the sound of metal scraping on something.
“Mac? Did you hear that?”
“It was me, Duncan. I’ve taken my knife out.” Mac whispered “Just in case one of the others has survived but ain’t right. You understand me.”
“I do.”
“Right, let’s keep going.”
For the next hour they walked in what felt like a continuous straight line. Mac insisted on a radio check every ten minutes, arguing that if they stepped out of the curtain, they wouldn’t be able to see it happen. They received no reply.
For Duncan’s part, he marvelled at the straight lines of the tunnel, they clearly were man made, but the walls were as smooth as the floor. They found no rubble, no debris of any kind. For the walls to be this smooth, they could not have been made in a pre-industrial time, before records were as meticulous. Indeed, he was beginning to suspect there were precious few, if any, companies able to do work this clean now. The walls were obviously not natural, they had been installed after the basic shape had been dug out. He found no more support pillars after the ones he had felt just before they entered the unelected. The strength of this structure was quite unbelievable.
“You got anything round, Duncan?” Mac asked after their latest radio check.
“I have a pen. I’m afraid I left my marbles in my other suit.”
Mac snorted at the poor joke “A pen’ll do fine. I just want to check something.”
Wells knew what he was thinking, he’d been thinking it too. “I’m quite certain this tunnel slopes downwards as well.”
“You are? I’ve only just started to notice.”
“It started not long after we found the forensic officer. It’s a slight gradient, maybe only five degrees.”
“downwithus”
“Speaking of the officer, do you think its weird we haven’t found the other copper yet?”
“It is possible that there have been passages on the other wall that we have missed.” Duncan said, realising the mistake. He should have made Mac walk along it.
“You don’t think we would have felt wind if that were the case?”
“I’m not sure. If this is a closed system, Weber would that wind come from. The air in here is remarkably still, don’t you think?”
Mac sniffed, loudly “There’s no smell either. This whole place is neutral. I’d have expected dirt or mud at the very least.”
Now he mentioned it, Wells realised Mac was correct. It wasn’t a neutral smell, it was an absence of it. He stepped closer to Mac an sniffed the other man.
“Easy, Prof. I know they say it ain’t gay if you can’t see the other fella, but buy us a drink first.”
“You have no smell, Mac.”
“I do shower, you know.” Mac said, this time sounding hurt.
“That’s not what I mean. I can’t smell soap or sweat or skin or your hair, anything. Perhaps this curtain of darkness does more than eliminate light.”
“You think it blocks out smell as well?” Mac sounded incredulous.
“Sniff me. I’m sweating. You should be able to smell something.”
He felt Mac’s breath on his neck as the man sniffed.
“Now that is weird.”
“Weirder than light and radio waves not penetrating?”
“I’m blind. Light doesn’t penetrate anywhere I go.”
Wells laughed at that “I suppose that’s true.”
“smellyou”
“Prof, I’m bloody certain I heard someone speak then.”
Wells felt the tremor of fear flow up his spine “I did too. Do we call out?”
“Not a chance. Sounded a long way off. Just keep going.”
The pair started moving again, down the long, strange tunnel.
They found the soldiers at a t-junction. They had all gone down in a small circle. Wells discovered multiple wounds on the two he could bear to investigate.
“Reports said they heard a lot of gunfire.” Mac offered.
“I don’t know hat a gunshot feels like. But if these wounds are that, then it would appear they shot each other.”
“This bloke’s missing the lower half of his leg.” Mac called out. “Guess that’s what the grenade did.”
“Bangbangboom”
Wells jumped at the voice, from the sounds Mac did too.
“Show yourself.” Mac yelled, somewhat pointlessly Wells thought.
“Hello? We aren’t here to hurt anyone.” Wells called out.
There was no reply.
“Who the fuck was that?” Mac demanded.
“Maybe its the other police officer. They said those who made it out went mad. Maybe he’s lost his mind but can’t find his way out.”
“Well, the voice came from the tunnel on the right. Do you want to go down that way to see if its him, or do you want to stick to your left side?”
Wells thought, but neither option had anything to overly recommend it. If the officer was down the right tunnel, then he must have found food or water, give that according to Vanger, he had been down here for twelve days at this point. The left hand tunnel offered the chance to explore without running into a crazy police officer and whatever weapons he might have on his person.
“Let’s go left. This may sound callous but we were not sent down here to rescue the ones who came before. I would be no good in a fight and so I would prefer to avoid one i we can. If that is the officer, perhaps he will find his own way out, he does only have to walk back up this single tunnel to find his way out.”
“Can’t say I disagree with you there, Duncan.”
The left tunnel started to slope downwards at a more obvious angle within moments, it also led to a crossroads. The pair decided thy would keep going left as long as they could and when they could not, they would go straight. In this way they knew they would always either go right or straight on the return journey.
After five turns Mac said something that Wells was not expecting.
“I think I see a light, Duncan.”
“You see a light? See? I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I.” Mac’s voice had a definite shake. “Roadside bomb left me with such damage and scarring that i went blind. My left eye had to be removed. I’ve still got my right though.”
“Mac, I have both of my eyes, I was born blind. That doesn’t mean anything.”
Wells heard the click of a torch.
“Weird.” Said Mac.
“What is?” Wells asked, starting to worry about his company’s mental state.
“I’m pretty damn sure I saw a white shape moving up ahead. But when I use the torch, I get nothing.”
“It’s your mind, Mac.”
“Is it though? Why bother giving two blind guys a torch anyway? We don’t know if this thing works at all and how would we find out?”
Wells tried to think of something to say that would reassure the other man when Mac yelped.
“Something touched me.”
“It wasn’t me.”
“I fucking know it wasn’t you, Prof. Your hand ain’t cold and crinkly.”
“mineis”
“minetoo “
“andmine”
“Who the fuck is saying that?” Mac screamed, pulling away from Wells.
“seeus”
“seeus”.
“seeus”
“seeus”
Wells heard Mac’s feet pounding, the man was running!
“Mac! Where are you? What’s going on?”
“Jesus, Duncan. I see. I see them. Why can I see them?”
Mac’s voice echoed around the tunnel, Wells completely lost track of him.
“Come back to me. Just follow my voice. I’ll stay here. Mac, just come back.”
“Duncan, don’t look. If you can see, don’t look.” Mac was screaming, his voice ragged.
“I can’t see. That’s why we’re here.”
Mac screamed again, a terrible, pained scream that started as words and dissolved into the worst noise Wells had ever heard.
“I don’t want to see. Don’t wanna see. Don’t make me see. Dontmakemeseee. Notwannaseeeeeeeeeee. Noseethroomeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”
Wells wanted to go towards the sound, actually, no he didn’t. He wanted to run away, far away. But he couldn’t abandon Mac. Wouldn’t let himself give in to fear. Whatever had happened to Mac, he had to know.
He kept to the left side of the tunnel, following the sound of that awful scream, even as it started to fade, becoming a faint whine and then stopping.
“Mac?” Wells heard a plaintive note in his voice and hated it.
Silence answered him.
Three more steps found him at another crossroads, which way had Mac gone? The scream had echoed so much he couldn’t tell what direction it had come from. After a minute’s terrifying silence in thought, he decided to stick to the plan. Take the left path and hope Mac had done the same in his madness.
Ten minutes and two more left turns later, Wells was certain that Mac had not gone left at the first crossroad. He felt tears on his cheeks and understood he had been crying for some time.
This was too much. He was a geology professor, not an adventurer. He would go back. Let them end someone else in. Them them fill the whole place with poison gas or a thousand bombs. Let it be sealed away and ignored. They could do anything, he didn’t care any more. There as nothing but the same stone everywhere they went.
He turned around and placed his right hand on the wall.
Impossibly the stone was different.
What had been smooth and dry was now jagged and damp.
Wells withdrew his hand in shock.
“Can’t be happening. Can’t be.” he told himself, willing belief into his words.
Tentatively he reached out and found the wall. The wall that was no longer stone. It was soft, like loam, wet, he could feel some viscous liquid drip over his hand and he withdrew it at once, wiping the stuff desperately on his trousers.
“See Us.”
“Let us see.”
“Must see us.”
“See with us.”
The voices whispered at him, around him, encircling him.
“I can’t see, you fucking idiots. I’m blind!” Wells screamed swinging his cane back and forth wildly, desperate to keep his tormentors away.
“See him.”
“See for him.”
“Make him see.“.
“Help him see.”
“Force him.”
“Gentle touch.”
“Cold light for eyes.”
“Make.”
“Force.”
“Help.”
The voices swirled and mocked, threatened and offered.
Wells swung his cane and the nook off, sprinting, trusting that the floor which was still solid would remain so.
The voices died away as he left them behind.
The clack of his cane on the wall in front of him did not give him enough warning before he ran into it face first. The soft, wet, alive wall absorbed him for a moment before spitting him out to the floor. His sunglasses remained, stuck in the wall as he fell.
The fluid, the secretions, covered his face. It dribbled in his mouth, tasting of mud and sadness.
Wells spat and wiped and screamed and cried.
Panting for breath, he forced himself up to his knees, completely turned around and lost. He patted the floor, still solid and flat, thank God, searching for his cane. He couldn’t find it and began to weep.
He allowed himself a full minute of uncontrolled emotion before starting to fight it down. He could not stop his breath from hitching entirely, but he did manage to slow it down.
Rising to his feet, Wells stretched out his right arm and felt for the wall, bracing himself for that inevitable moment of contact. It wasn’t there. Shuffling slowly sideways, he kept reaching out. Still no wall. This tunnel was wider than the ones he had been in before. The space ahead of his questing hand remained empty.
For the first time he began to imagine where he was, picturing a vast cavern Visualising a pit down to hell, the edge of which he would not see before he slipped over it.
Panic charged his hart and he could feel each beat of it slamming into his ribs.
Still nothing. Nothing forever.
Lost in the dark.
Lost below the world.
Trapped in hell.
Surrounded by evil.
Nothing was all.
Nothing to see.
Nothing to smell.
Nothing to taste.
His hand plunged into the wall.
7. Alone
Some hours later, Professor Duncan Wells concluded he was more lost than any man had ever been.
Taking each right turn and straight path had not led him back to the entrance tunnel. Retracing his steps never deemed to return him to the same junction he had just left.
The voices would return to circle him and mock him for not seeing them. They cajoled him to see. Demanded he see them. Cried piteously when he ran away.
Each encounter with them spiked his heart and made his adrenaline pump but now he suffered more and more in the aftermath of each one as his body flushed itself clear. Exhaustion had stopped threatening to overwhelm him and was instead making a concerted attack on his mind and body. Every step was a marathon, every thought was a complete thesis.
He could not go on any more.
Slumping to the floor, Wells curled into a ball, resting his head on his arm and before he knew it, he was asleep.
8. Defiance
Wells had completely lost track of time. He was thirsty. Not quite so desperate that he was willing to try drinking the fluid that flowed down the walls but he wasn’t far off.
He had no water or food, Mac had been carrying their provisions beyond the single bottle of water that he had drunk who knows how long ago.
How deep underground was he? In his panicked flight and desperate searches since, Well had been unable to find a single passage with a upslope. Every retraced path only led to more downward tunnels.
Had it been hours or weeks he had walked alone? Had he ever had company? Was Mac real or a remembered figment of his imagination?
Even the voices had not returned, if they had ever been real to begin with.
His blindness had been no proof against the madness which lurked down here. Instead of visual hallucinations, he had simply suffered auditory ones.
They had been wrong, whoever they were on the committee with no name.
Who had that obnoxious man been? He one that had sent him down here to his death. Venter? Virile? Venomous Vapid Vunt?
It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.
So why did he keep walking? Keep searching?
He couldn’t answer that.
The answer was that he was mad. A sane man would lie down and die in peace. Only a madman would continually try the same thing over and over again hoping for a different result.
“Just lay down and die.” He screamed at himself, jumping at the sudden sound. He had not realised how all encompassing the silence had become.
“Just give up.” He muttered, fearful to break the silence again.
But he did not lay down. He kept waving, one foot and then the other. Grunting in pain from overworked muscles, stubbornly refusing to rest them, Professor Duncan Wells kept moving downwards in the hungry darkness.
9. See
He didn’t know when he had found his way into the chamber, his hand had left the wall and by the time he realised it he was too far away and too lost to find his way back. The lack of a wall to find broke him. He needed the comfort of that slimy, living, disgusting, beautiful sensation.
Wells bellowed his frustration to the empty world and heard his voice echo.
His voice echoed.
It could only do that in a larger space than the tunnels had provided.
“Hello.” He yelled.
“Hello.”
“Hello.”
“Hello.”
“Hello.”
“Hello.”
“Hi Duncan.”
“Hello.
“Hello.”
“Hello.
His voice bounced around the space. But not just his voice.
“Mac?” He asked the emptiness.
“Hiya.”
“Where are you?”
“Here. There. See me.”
Wells started to cry, half laughter, half terror.
“Still blind, Mac. Still can’t see a fucking thing.”
“We can help.”
“Who’s we? How can you help me?”
“Let us help.”
Wells pinched the bridge of his nose, finding comfort in his old expression of frustration.
“How do I let you help me? What are you taking about?”
“Say we can.”
Professor Duncan Wells was exhausted, he was dying, he was los. He just didn’t care any more.
“Fine. Whatever. You can help.”
“Good lad, Duncan.”
“So, how are you going to help?” Wells found amusement in his voice and was shocked to feel his face stretch into a smile. By God, he thought this was funny.
“Going to make you see. Going to see through you.”
“Mac, my loud Scouse friend, I don’t have optic nerves. They never formed. How exactly will you make me see?”
He felt a finger pushing on his left eyeball and flinched away.
“Stay still. We don’t need them. You don’t need them.” The finger pushed again “See.”
Wells’ brain conjured up an image. A figure. A human. A man. A man with hair darker than his skin. A smiling man who had someone else’s finger stuck into his left eye.
He was seeing himself. He was actually seeing.
He was seeing through Mac’s eyes.
The man got closer without moving.
No.
The man, himself, stood still, it was Mac moving closer.
The finger pushed all the way into the eye, the hand followed. Then the arm.
His own face filled the entirety of his vision, then his eye was all he saw.
Darkness fell again and he wanted to cry.
Blinking, he realised he could see again. But now he saw from his own perspective.
“What’s happening?”
“You’re seeing through my eyes, but I’m looking out of yours.”
The darkness that surrounded him was fading, he could see a warm glow suffusing through the walls.
“It’s beautiful.” And it was, the living, pulsating walls and floor shone with a warm light. He had no other words for it.
“Will you help us all?” Asked Mac. “Will you see for us? They’ve been here so long. They crave sight again. They want to see.”
Wells saw multitudes surrounding him, faces full of hunger and hope.
“Yes,” he wept “I will help you all.”
10. Surface.
Brighton beach was jammed with people. People splashing in the sea, others sunbathing. Some overly active souls were racing each other along the sand. It was a glorious July afternoon and all was right in Ian Corven’s world.
The lads were off getting the beers in, he was holding down the table on the shingle, taking the opportunity to scout out for talent.
He loved this weather, all the bikini tops and occasional thong bottoms. He wished it was more like Miami had been, but he knew the fickle British weather wasn’t exactly conducive to the beach bunny lifestyle he had enjoyed watching over there.
The first inkling he had that his perfect day was going wrong was the deep rumble under his feet.
He thought that heavy machinery might be rolling along the road behind him until the stones under his feet started to shake and move.
Then the yells started.
There was a crowd down towards the water and they were pointing an shouting things he couldn’t understand. Then the voices turned to screams and the crowd tried to run.
Ian watched in disbelief as the stones split apart, falling into the widening crack that was streaking up the beach towards him. He was frozen, watching people of all ages slip and fall into the widening canyon.
Stones and bodies tumbled in a bloody and screaming pile down and out of sight.
The onlookers became escaping survivors, pushing each other aside, punching and hurdling bodies as their doom chased them.
As suddenly as it had started, the rumble and the motion of the beach stopped. The screaming, terrified crowd did not. Ian stayed at his table, twenty feet from the tip of the canyon and watched as children were trampled, pensioners roughly shoved aside in panic. He also saw helpers, people scooping up crying children to carry, offering support to the injured and infirm.
It was the best and worst of humanity in one swirling, screaming mass.
Then, just like that, it was over.
The mobile crowd was gone, all that remained was the injured, broken and dead.
“What the fuck just happened?” Will asked him, appearing at his shoulder holding a miraculously full pint for him.
Ian took the lager and downed it in one swift, nervous motion.
“Was that an earthquake?” Will asked.
“I don’t know.” Ian replied, numbed by the devastation in front of him.
The agonised cries of a young girl reached hi ideas and he was on his feet before he thought about it.
“We need to get down there and help who we can.”
‘Mate, it looks bad down there.”
“Don’t be a prick. People are hurt, we can help.”
Will didn’t look convinced so Ian appealed to his libido instead.
“Girls love a hero. Save a few kids and you’ll be drowning in pussy for a year.”
That worked.
“Let’s go earn some pussy.” Ian cried, clapping his hands together.
Ian regretted his motivational speech but whatever got him moving.
The pair of them had done basic first aid just last year an worked to remember what they had learned.
Ian carted a small girl with what looked like a broken leg and a broken arm up towards the bars where people were beginning to put together an area for the injured. Ian was certain the girl had been one he had seen trampled.
He found an elderly gentleman having trouble breathing. Ian managed to get the gent to his feet and helped him up the slipping stones to the aid area. Sirens filled the air with welcome noise as he dropped the man off and headed back down.
Ian was pulling a girl with blood flowing freely from a wound on her forehead up the side of the crack, canyon, whatever it was when he saw the man walking along the bottom, ten feet below him. He was so shocked by the guy’s appearance he nearly dropped the girl, who screamed at him and dug her nails into his forearm. The pain snapped him back to his situation and he carefully pulled her up and onto the stones.
“Can you walk?” He asked her.
“Yeah, it’s just a cut. If you hadn’t pulled me up though, I think we’d be talking broken leg.”
“Good. Head up towards the bars. They’ve set up an aid station. I’m going to help who else needs it.”
“Thanks, I’m Mary.”
“Ian.” He properly saw her for the first time. Cute, blonde, winning smile even with the blood on her face. Just his type.
Ian was about to ask for her number before she left when the screaming started again.
He pulled Mary down, to brace for the aftershock, but nothing happened. The screaming continued.
The pair of them looked towards where the screaming was coming from and they saw people trying to crawl away from the man he had seen deep in the canyon.
At first he thought the man’s head had swollen, massive lumps caused by flying stones, but that wasn’t it.
Those lumps were his eyes. The bulged from his head, the size of footballs. As he came closer, Ian could see they were multi faceted. A thousand, million pupils on each. They reminded him more of a fly’s eye than that of a man.
The yes bulged, swelled, rippled and then began to pop, spitting shapes far and wide.
Ian was going to be sick.
He stared at the man and felt, rather than saw, one of that multitude of pupils focus on him. It popped and he had the briefest glimpse of an old woman in a nightgown flying towards him. Then she was in him, in his eyes.
Ian started to scream, in his agony he didn’t even notice Mary start to scream as well.
11. The End
Duncan revelled in his sight, his many eyes. He saw everything. The sea, the sky, the stones, the people, the blood, the bodies, the death, the life. It was all so beautiful.
“You won’t leave me?” He asked Mac as his companions flew from him.
“I won’t, we’ve much to see.” Mac promised.
The others were grateful he had given them the world back. In the darkness they had dreamed of vision again. But they were greedy. He could understand that. They didn’t all want to seethe same thing and he was but one man.
Up here, each could take there own eyes to see.
So they had guided him through the deceitful, winding paths of Below. Controlling his steps so they could lead him to an exit.
The world was theirs to view again.
The sad and lonely would make the world anew. What sights there were to see, Duncan wanted to see them all.
Each pop and farewell was bittersweet but he gloried in them, in his role in their delivery to paradise.
Turning his back on the crowd as they were invaded and given sight anew, Professor Duncan Wells sat down and watched the blue waves crash in white foam across the dirty yellow and for the first time in his life.
He was content.
© Robert Spalding 2020
Ghost Stories by Robert Spalding 