Paranormal After Dark

by Rebecca Hamilton

  “Okay, any other questions?” Mack asked. “I’ll go after this one. You wait until the next one passes, then go.”

  The train roared beneath them and once again Tom held his face away, the speed of the train snatching the breath from his lungs. The carriages sped past, one by one.

  As soon as the last one passed, Mack swung himself onto the metal ladder and dropped, like a man half his age, down into the tunnel below.

  Tom heard the hollow thud as he landed, followed by the crunching of his footsteps as he ran towards the second exit. Tom held his breath in anticipation. All thoughts of the other dangers he’d encountered had vanished from his mind. He focused on this new and far more present danger. He’d expected the time to fly past—that he’d struggle to make it between the two holes in the time allowed—but, instead, the three minutes stretched out. Listening to Mack’s footsteps grow more distant, he couldn’t help but expect a train to come hurtling down the tunnel.

  “I’ve made it!” Mack’s voice filtered up to him, faint. “Wait for the next train and then come down.”

  “Yes,” Tom called back, suddenly irritated. “I heard you the first time.”

  Now that he’d experienced the amount of time he had, his nerves dissipated somewhat. Three minutes was plenty of time.

  The tunnel filled with the rumble of another approaching train and Tom prepared himself. He stuffed his torch in the back pocket of his jeans and strapped his bag tight to his back.

  Within moments, the train burst into view, the solid, metal shell a blur beneath him. And, just as quickly, it was gone again, the passengers hurtling towards their destination with no idea of the man who sat waiting above.

  Tom had no intention of leaping down the way Mack had, so he turned and clambered over the side and onto the ladder. The rungs creaked beneath him and he froze, praying the ladder would hold his weight. Carefully, he moved his feet down the rungs, his fingertips clinging to the edges of the wall built up around the hole. Getting both himself and his bag through the hole was a squeeze, but he got through and continued to descend the ladder.

  Suddenly his arms were pulled backward and he clung fiercely to the ladder.

  Someone’s got me! Oh shit, someone’s got me!

  The straps of his bag pulled on his shoulders and his first instinct was to fight against it. But the more he tugged, the worse the pressure got, and he was forced to go with it, edging back up the ladder.

  As soon as he moved up, the pressure vanished and heat rushed to his face. His bag had gotten stuck.

  “Shit!” he said, embarrassed for being so easily spooked.

  Tom twisted one shoulder away from the ladder, trying to tug the bag loose, but it held fast.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Mack yelled up to him. “Get a fucking move on.”

  “My bag’s stuck, I can’t get down!”

  “Dump it then.”

  Tom thought of the torch with its full batteries and the possibility of being stuck down here in the dark. He thought of the food he’d packed, of his mobile phone with all of his numbers, and he thought of the framed photograph of Abby and David he’d shoved in at the last minute. It was only ‘stuff’, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave it.

  Knowing the wriggling wasn’t doing much good, he tried to move back up the ladder. He climbed two more rungs, but the bag started to pull on his shoulders again, only now it pulled downward.

  He was stuck.

  Seconds ticked by and Tom realised he no longer had any choice about dumping his bag. Instead, his bag was refusing to dump him. He’d strapped the rucksack on too tight to allow himself any room to wriggle out. His heart crept up, filling his throat with its thick, thumping beat. Adrenaline fired through his veins and he frantically pulled on the bag in the confined space, pulling first one way and then the other.

  Once again, he was trapped in by his shoulders, but this time he had a train hurtling towards him.

  Tom started to panic.

  “I’m stuck!” he yelled to Mack, his voice sounding too high-pitched for his liking. “I can’t get free.”

  He twisted and reached his arm around and tugged as hard as he could on the bag. A part of the bag must have caught on the metal ridge that held the ladder to the rim of the hole and it was stuck fast.

  Tom roared his frustration and fear as he pulled with all his strength, but the cramped position he was in meant he couldn’t get any traction and the bag didn’t budge. Tears of fright pricked the backs of his eyes and the lump in his throat choked him. He’d never been so aware of time moving. Only now it wasn’t just moving, it was rushing, and all he could see in his mind’s eye was the lower half of his body, still exposed in the tunnel below, being obliterated by the front of an oncoming train.

  “Help me!” He screamed. “My bag is stuck and I can’t move! For fuck’s sake, help me!”

  “Just jump,” Mack yelled back. “Your weight should tear it loose.”

  “Oh, God,” Tom whined. Forcing himself to let go of the rungs of the ladder, he jumped.

  There was a moment of suspension, where he thought he would be left hanging, but then something tore and he fell to the ground with a thud that jolted the air out of his lungs. He didn’t allow himself to think about any pain. All he could do—all his life depended on him doing—was move.

  Tom scrambled to his feet, his torn bag still clinging to his shoulders, and ran towards Mack’s voice. He could barely feel his legs, as though someone had sucked the strength from them, but he somehow managed to run. He used the side of the tunnel to keep his balance, his hands slapping against the walls, his nails gouging chunks of dirt. Through his fingertips, he felt the walls start to vibrate, the sound travelling faster through the tightly knit molecules.

  A train was coming.

  Ahead of him was the drop hole, exactly the same as the one he’d come down. Mack had already beaten his exit so Tom pulled the bag from his shoulders and threw it down after him. He had no intention of making the same mistake twice. The roar of the train reached his ears and he knew he had only a matter of seconds before the huge metal worm cleared out its hole.

  He swung a leg over the side and started to pull the other one over when headlights appeared. The metal screech of the train thundered towards him. Tom didn’t even have time to think; he just swung his leg over and jumped.

  Tom hit the ground and rolled. His ankle jarred beneath him, pain shooting up his leg and into his groin. He hit his shoulder against a rail and cried out in pain.

  Above him, the train thundered past.

  Chapter 7

  DAVID CROUCHED IN a dark, confined place. The cold bit at his fingers and toes and he shivered. Though pitch black, somehow he could see, as though he were wearing night vision goggles or experiencing the night effect on one of his friend’s video games.

  David knew he sat deep within the bowels of the earth, encased within tunnels that had been lost with the passage of time. Walls were built up around him, their surfaces wet and sick with slime.

  Water dripped somewhere close by, fat and heavy droplets.

  Plop... Plop... Plop...

  The sound was hollow, like the tap dripping in the bath in the middle of the night; slow, steady, relentless.

  David had no idea how he’d got down here, but he thought he’d been here before. He was scared, but deep down something else called to him; a strange need that slipped through his veins like poison. The only comparison he could make was when he woke up thirsty, desperate for a drink—a craving, deep within his belly. The problem was he didn’t know what he so badly needed.

  Using the wall to help him, David stood up as best he could. He was in a cramped space, a ledge, but in front of him the space opened out into a tunnel.

  Someone called to him—a girl’s voice, a child.

  “David.”

  He frowned. Who else could be down here? In his mind, this was his place. Even though he was scared, he somehow felt he belonged.

>   With a strange sense of relief, he realised he didn’t feel ill any more. He no longer had the sickness from the chemo and the overwhelming tiredness had left him. He felt healthier and stronger than he had in a long time.

  Crouching again, David moved to the front of the ledge and climbed off. He stood in the tunnel now, but the tunnel wasn’t man-made. This was like the tunnel of a giant underground animal, its walls soft and pliable. The floor squelched beneath foot, dampness sinking into the material of his trainers.

  “Help us, David. We can’t get out. Why won’t you help us?”

  The voice sent chills scuttling down his back like tiny insects and his eyes pricked with tears.

  He opened his mouth to tell the voice to go away, but suddenly a thick, black tar filled his mouth. It clogged his nose and lungs, making him choke. His mouth stretched wide and the tar bulged outward like a balloon, swelling between his lips. He gagged, his hands reaching up, his fingers wanting to claw at the thing emerging from between his lips, but he couldn’t bring himself to touch it.

  The bubble burst and the black rushed out like a swarm of flies…

  And vanished.

  David gasped in the stale air of the tunnels, tasting the dampness and the underlying smell of rotting vegetation, though he didn’t believe any kind of plant had ever existed this far down.

  “Why, Davey? Why?”

  The voice came from behind. David spun around, but the tunnel was empty.

  “Who’s there?” he called into the shadows. His voice echoed through the emptiness, and bounced off the curved, moist walls.

  He wanted his mother. He wanted his father. He was just a scared little boy alone in a dark place. Any strength he’d experienced before dissipated. Any feeling of belonging was gone, fear replacing the emotion. A child’s laughter tinkled down the tunnel, but the sound was cold and dead and seemed to come from the walls, filtering from within the sludge.

  “I want to go home,” David said, his voice teetering on the edge of tears.

  Deep within the tunnel, something laughed. It wasn’t a child anymore, but something else.

  David squeezed his eyes shut. “Go away, go away, go away,” he whispered.

  He opened his eyes again and found himself back in his hospital room, standing in his pyjamas. Except now, the hospital room looked different. Where there used to be a wall and a door, a glass screen now made up the wall—like the type in crime movies where the police watched the criminal sitting on the other side, waiting to be interrogated.

  No prisoner sat behind this screen; instead his parents stood there. His dad had his back to David, but he could see his mum’s face—red and furious as she shouted at his father. He couldn’t hear what she said, but he watched her lips contort, her teeth showing, her fists clenched.

  Unable to hold back the tears any longer, David started to cry. He ran up to the glass and banged on the surface with his fists, but they seemed oblivious to him.

  “Stop it!” he yelled. “Stop fighting, I need both of you.”

  Tears coursed down his face and his whole body wracked with the sobs. He continued to yell at them, his voice distorted by little hiccupping hitches of breath. He felt utterly drained, emotionally and physically, but still his parents continued to fight.

  Suddenly his father turned to him, his eyes furious and narrowed with hatred.

  “This is your fault,” he spat through the screen. “All of this is your fault.”

  As David watched in horror, tendrils of black stuff crept out of his father’s mouth, like fast-growing roots. They slid over his face, sliding back up his nostrils, and covering his eyes.

  “Your fault,” he screamed through the black stuff. “Your fault! Your fault…”

  * * *

  DAVID BOLTED UPRIGHT in bed, panting as though he’d just done a ten-mile run. A combination of sweat and tears soaked his face and body, making his pyjamas and bed sheets cling to his body, and he trembled violently.

  The room was dark, with the exception of his nightlight. He picked up the blue, plastic transformer watch his father had given his for his birthday from the nightstand. Half-past ten. His mother wasn’t in the room and Davey hoped she hadn’t gone home.

  No, he decided. She wouldn’t leave without telling him.

  Your father just left, a mean little voice whispered in his head. He got fed up with having to look after you. That’s why your mom and him fight all the time.

  The voice sounded strangely like that of Stevie Rydale, one of the big kids at school who liked to trip him up if he wasn’t looking, or stick sharpened pencils on his seat as he sat down so everyone laughed.

  Shut up! David answered the voice internally. He’s gone to try to help me.

  Yeah, sure he has, the little voice said. You believe that if you want, you pathetic little loser!

  David held back another sob and reached under his pillow to pull out his blanket. He didn’t care if he was a big baby; right now he only wanted his mum and dad.

  He climbed out of bed, but his legs trembled as he placed his feet on the floor and tried to get his legs to take his weight. His drip was attached to a stand with wheels, so he could go to the bathroom if he wanted and not have to use one of those stupid funnel-shaped potties. He took hold of the stand to help him get his balance and managed to wheel it along with him as he walked towards the door. Mum wouldn’t have just left, he told himself again. She loved him.

  Dizziness and nausea threatened to overwhelm him and pain thumped behind his eyes. With exhausting effort, he pulled open the door and edged into the hallway. He looked down towards the nurses’ station. With huge relief, he saw his mother there talking to two of the nurses. They spoke in low voices he couldn’t quite catch, serious expressions on all their faces. He watched as one of the nurses—the fat one with the huge chest—reached over and patted his mother on the back of the hand in exactly the same way his mum patted him when she tried to convince him everything would be all right.

  “Mum?” David called out.

  Immediately, they all turned to him, big, fake smiles replacing the serious expressions.

  “Hey, honey,” his mum said. “What are you doing out of bed? I thought you were asleep.”

  “I had a bad dream. I dreamt…” His voice broke off and his mother clocked the look on his face. The smile disappeared as she rushed to his side.

  “Oh, sweetheart. You’re white as a ghost.”

  “I had a nightmare,” he said between sniffs. “I dreamt you and Dad were fighting and Dad told me it was my fault you didn’t love each other anymore.” Strangely, he couldn’t bring himself to tell her anything about the tunnels and the black stuff. Somehow he felt that part had been for him alone.

  His mother’s face crumpled and she crouched beside him so they were eye-level. The rims of her eyes were red and her face had the red blotchy look it got when she’d been crying.

  “Don’t ever think your father and I don’t love each other,” she said, sternly. “Grownups fight sometimes, but it doesn’t mean we don’t love each other. And saying our fighting is your fault is plain silly. Your father and I love each other even more because we have you. Having you means we will always be connected, do you understand?”

  David sniffed and nodded. “I think so.”

  “You had a bad dream, honey.” She reached out and stroked the few strands of baby-fine hair still left on his head. “It wasn’t real. Now, let’s get you back to bed.” She put one arm around his shoulders and took the drip stand with her other hand, carefully steering him back to his room.

  As they entered the room, David caught his mother glancing up and making eye contact with the two nurses before flicking down to him. What he saw passing between them was not just pity, it was sorrow.

  David knew that look. He’d seen it exchanged on the children’s ward before.

  They were looking at him like they knew he was dying.

  Chapter 8

  “SO, WHEN DO we get to rest?”<
br />
  Tom’s ankle throbbed from the jump into the tunnel and he was making slow time. Mack trudged on ahead, glancing back over his shoulder every now and then, shaking his head in frustration. But Tom had long given up caring; he was tired, hungry and in pain. The last place he wanted to be was down in the dark and he held Mack responsible for him being here. If he’d never met Mack, he would never even have known this place existed

  And I would never have the chance to save David.

  He tried to shake the thought from his head. Right now, he wanted to wallow in his own self-pity and thinking about his son only increased his guilt about not being by his side.

  “We can stop here if you want,” Mack said, holding up his hands, gesturing to the cold, hard walls and the even harder floor. “But, if you want to get some rest in comfort, I suggest we keep going for another half hour or so.”

  “Why, is there a hotel a bit further on?”

  Mack gave a thin smile at his sarcasm. “Sure, we’ll get you some room service.”

  Tom stopped and slid heavily down the wall, landing on his behind. “Well, as much as that sounds great, on the off chance it’s not going to happen, I think I’ll rest here for a minute.”

  Mack sighed his irritation, but he stopped and sat on the ground beside Tom. Tom bent over and carefully pulled off his boot. His ankle had swollen and the leather squeezed his skin. He winced and sucked air through his teeth as fresh pain speared up his leg.

  “I don’t think it’s broken,” Mack offered.

  “How the hell do you know?” Tom snapped. “I don’t remember seeing your medical degree.”

  “If you’d broken your ankle, you’d never have been able to walk for the past hour.”

  “Maybe I have a high tolerance to pain.”

  Mack snorted back his laughter and Tom couldn’t help the smile twitching the corners of his mouth. Even he had to admit he was verging on the edge of ridiculous.

  “Well, I’m still hungry,” he grumbled, pulling his bag towards him. He fished out a couple of squashed cheese sandwiches and begrudgingly handed one to Mack. He didn’t want to share out his limited food, but he wasn’t callous enough to sit and eat while the other man went hungry.