THE CAVE AND TUNNEL had been dug by slaves in preparation for an approaching war. A place for themselves and their children to hide as they listened to the cannons and the guns and the screams of men. The valley not yet captured by the kudzu but alive with wildflowers and gatherings of maples and pines. A wagon trail weaved up and down the hillsides between cabins with chimneys and in the evening the sun set along the crevice of the valley in a bloodred wash of day to night. Coyotes stood upon the ridges in the moonlight and watched for prey and in the early morning the songs of working women settled into the damp haze like the ballads of lost and foggy souls. The tunnel ran deep beneath the hillside like a thick black vein and it had been dug by torchlight, callused hands driving spades and shovels and pushing wheelbarrows, working all hours of the night after having worked all hours of the day.
In time the opening to the cave had been covered like everything else. The kudzu methodical. Skulking across the land with a demented patience and it had taken a century but the rolling hills were now covered. Along a hillside an old house and chimney held erect beneath its green cover. Down from the bluffs the vines hung like ropes. Small thickets of forest had been conquered decades before, the vines climbing to the highest points and reaching out to the farthest limbs, intertwined and forming slumping canopies. Crippled trees and gathered brush provided mounds and humps across the valley and down below this stretching canvas of green was the blackwood where creatures crawled and sunlight fought through pecks of space between the leaves. A skinny spring ran crooked down a hillside, a rivulet of cold fresh water that arose from between rock and clay and twisted like a silver snake through the dark. And when the wind swept through the valley the leaves moved like ripples across an emerald lake and some claimed to hear a song or a calling or a cry as the wind rose and fell.
The opening was shrouded in a thick blanket of vines and lowhanging limbs and it was more of a hole in the ground. And the man fell into it. His foot found the emptiness and then his body followed, the vines and limbs that covered the entrance held him for a moment before his weight collapsed down into the darkness. He landed softly, fallen leaves forming a cushion, and when he got to his feet he was surprised to find he could raise his hand and touch the edge of the opening.
He tore away the vines and limbs and allowed what little light he could down into the cave. There was space around him wide enough to spread his arms and spin around and touch nothing. The walls were of a dark rich soil and decorated with cuts of rock and jagged tree roots and he poked his fingers into the earth. Rubbed the soil between his fingers. And then he turned in the muted light and saw the black hole of a tunnel.
He moved closer and he took a cautious step inside. The air suddenly cool and a faint wind. He held his hands out in front and moved further into the tunnel. His steps careful and his head brushing against the top of the tunnel and dirt falling down into his hair and ears. He lowered his head and crept further and further in and the light faded and from somewhere deep and dark came a low and steady moan. He paused and looked back over his shoulder, reached out his hand as if to grab a patch of light and carry it with him and he imagined his hands being snatched and his body being dragged along the ground. He turned back toward the dark and listened to the moan. Stared into the black and moved forward with careful steps, hunched down as if readying to be surprised. He stumbled and went down to a knee but was up again quickly and something brushed his shoulder as he stood. He flailed his arms and his knuckles scraped the dirt and rock of the tunnel walls and he let out a quick yelp that echoed and then disappeared as if falling into a well.
He rose and stood still, caught between curiosity and fear. The cool air chilled his skin and he rubbed at his arms and then he called out. Not in words but instead returning the same moan that summoned him. His mouth open and his voice wobbly as he moaned out into the dark and listened for what might come and as he waited he felt the sensation of someone or something standing right in front of him. The cool wind now came in stutters, like a breath in his face. And he imagined the breath pushing through frothy jowls and elongated fangs and he imagined red eyes and sharp ears and outstretched arms waiting to wrap him and drag him deep down into this black world and he took a step back and he felt the figure move with him.
And then he noticed that the moan had stopped and there was only grave silence. He was sweating now and he reached for the tunnel wall so that he could retreat. One careful step at a time. His fingers touching the wall and tripping once but catching himself and moving on until he returned to the dull light and it offered what he had been waiting for. The chance to turn and run.