6. Sinister and Creepy

The man stands in the driveway, big and tall but completely weak. His eyes say it all. They’re white with defeat.

He moves toward me, and I tell him to stop.

I don’t want some epic, meaningful farewell.

“Chris—” he starts to say.

But once again I tell him to stop.

“Don’t do this,” he says.

I want to say the same to him but I already have, a hundred times. Don’t do this to us.

The weak, blind, stupid man in the driveway claims he’s my father, but he’s nothing more than a living, breathing waste of an opportunity.

I want to tell him this, but I can’t.

In the car an hour later, listening to my mother weep as she drives us away from the life that once was, I vow to tell that man those very words.

I choke on the grainy air and the memory vanishes.

My mouth tastes like dirt, and I open eyes that sting.

My back and side throb in pain. For a moment I wonder if something’s broken—I know what it’s like to break a bone or two—but soon discover that it’s just the impact of the fall.

I’m on dirt.

Fresh dirt, it appears.

The kind that might cover a grave.

I cough and keep tasting dust and grime on my tongue. Above me is the hole I fell through, the jagged opening of the floor.

I move and feel my entire body throbbing in pain. I’m going to be sore for a long time.

Something cool blows against my face. There’s a breeze coming from in front of me, not above me.

How can that be?

Even as my eyes adjust to the darkness, there’s nothing to see. The darkness is rich and smooth like chocolate.

I get on my knees and then stand, feeling my side and making sure a bone isn’t jutting out.

Sometimes it’s hard to keep my imagination in line.

My hands feel it again … the cold breeze blowing in front of me.

“Hello,” I call out, not to see if anybody is there, but to see if there’s a wall where it should be.

Just as I thought, there’s an opening in the space directly across from me. I feel around and touch soil and earth. There is a gap large enough for me to walk through if I bend my head.

I hold out my hand and start walking, expecting something to block my way. Yet I keep walking.

I walk hesitantly for several minutes.

When I glance behind, I can barely make out the entrance to the walkway I’m in.

My hair brushes against dirt and roots above me. I wouldn’t be able to stretch both of my arms out, this passage is so narrow.

Someone dug this out.

The question is why. The cabin looked as though it hadn’t been touched for a long time. Was this underground passageway part of it?

I keep moving, feeling the air grow colder, feeling my breaths become more ragged. Perhaps it’s fear, but I can’t seem to catch my breath or suck in enough air.

I realize this is bad. That if something happened and the ground gave way, my mother would never see her son again.

Yet something draws me in, wanting me to see where this leads, hoping that this will produce something magical and miraculous. Or sinister and creepy.

I move onward until I hear the cackle.

That’s what it sounds like. An echo of a sharp, strange laugh that seems to be coming from miles away.

Yet echoing down in this narrow passageway.

I stop and listen.

“Christopher,” a voice whispers.

I turn and look behind me.

“Christopher.”

The voice is low, whispered, yet sounds like it’s far away and screamed at the same time.

“Christopher, come to me.”

I swallow, and my mouth tastes dry, and I can feel the beads of sweat on my forehead.

I want to run, but am not sure which direction to go.

Again I think of my mother and why I shouldn’t be here.

You need to stay alive to take care of her.

“Christopher,” the voice says, then laughs again.

I bolt back to the place where I fell, and I scrape my arms and my face, and I finally reach the opening, and I tear through it and then see the way out above me.

For a minute I’m sure I’m stuck down here and I won’t be able to get out….

Then I see the strips of metal that seem bolted into the side of the dark earth.

Those are the rungs of a ladder.

I don’t hesitate as I start climbing.

These won’t break.

I don’t hear the voice again. Thankfully. As I get back up to the cabin, I wonder if I heard it in the first place.

Like I say, my imagination can do wonders.

I used to even believe that it could bring my parents back together.

But it can’t do miracles.