79. A Familiar Face

The dirt underneath my tennis shoes sometimes crunches as I step over a rock. Every now and then air blasts through the tunnel like someone is trying to blow out the candle on a birthday cake. My one wish is to find Midnight and get out of here. Of course, I’m not even sure if she’s down here. This could all be one big setup by Gus.

Maybe he and his friends will jump me and beat me up and leave me for dead.

But I don’t think that’s the case.

I think Gus is terrified of his daddy and won’t do something like that. He can touch my dog, but he still can’t touch me.

Maybe that’s what you think.

At times it seems like the top of the tunnel is dripping or leaking even though it hasn’t rained for a while. I keep track of every turn I make on my iPhone by typing down the opposite of what I did. When I take a right-hand turn, I type left so that I’ll do that on my way back.

Of course, if I’m being chased by a zombie or a demon dog, I don’t think I’ll be casually looking at the fine print on the note I made to myself.

Maybe I’ll whip out my iPhone and try to beat someone’s head with it just like Staunch did to me.

The air is stale down here. Maybe I’m breathing faster because of my nerves, but it seems like I just can’t suck down a decent enough breath. The sounds echo. When I occasionally cough, it seems like something is erupting all around me.

I reach an intersection that connects with another tunnel. I can either keep going straight, turn right as I already have three times, or take a left.

You’re lost and have no clue.

“Midnight.”

Calling her makes me worry more. It makes me feel that even if the sleeping ghosts didn’t know I was down here yet, they sure do now.

“Midnight, you around here?”

I’m growing more annoyed, which means I’m growing impatient and starting not to care if I’m heard.

I decide to head straight. I don’t mark this down since I’m not turning. Maybe I’ll remember, and maybe they’ll never find me again.

Have people ever gotten permanently lost down here? Like the guy at the end of The Shining?

I really don’t like that thought.

At least it’s not snowing.

Yeah. That’s really encouraging.

I’m not sure how long I’ve been down here or how far I’ve walked when my flashlight goes out.

“Oh, come on.”

I think I shout this, because I’m seriously angry. I jostle the flashlight and turn it on and off and then undo the back and twist it back on to see if that does anything.

Nope.

Come on. I mean—really?

Then I remember my iPhone, which is sorta my generation’s answer to the Swiss Army knife. I go to turn it on, and it seems as dead as the flashlight.

Emphasis on the word dead.

I eventually stop trying. I shiver and bring my arms close to my body for the moment, and stop and listen.

Silence.

What was that?

It was nothing. I didn’t hear anything.

Something shuffling on the ground.

I might be imagining things. I don’t know.

I’m about ready to get the extra batteries from my pack when I definitely hear something ahead of me. A crackling sound.

Then I smell it and know what’s making that sound.

Something’s burning.

I stare ahead and suddenly see an orange and red glow. Up ahead the tunnel veers right, not allowing me to see the fire but to see the illuminating flickers of light coming from it.

Get out of here, Chris, run back.

I hold a hand up to my mouth, but think for a second.

Something tells me I need to see this.

It’s a trap designed by Gus. He brought you down here to choke.

I cough and try not to breathe in. My eyes are burning and tearing up.

I decide I have to look. Now or never, so I decide now.

I sprint straight ahead with one hand still over my mouth and the other one holding the big metal flashlight. At some point I still need to crack somebody over the head with it. That’s why I got it. That’s why it’s so perfect.

The tunnel is getting thicker with dark smoke and warmer as I get to where it turns.

Except when I look around now, I don’t find myself in a tunnel anymore. Instead I’m standing in front of a burning house. Not a casual flame that a firefighter could put out, but hellish, scary flames that look more like an inferno. I duck back because they’re so hot and I feel like my face is being burned, my hair getting singed.

Where am I?

It’s still hard to breathe, still difficult to fully look ahead without squinting.

The two-story house could be anywhere. It’s not in a neighborhood. It seems to be surrounded by woods, maybe at the end of the road or a long driveway.

Then I see a dark figure standing out from the flames.

A guy, not very tall, standing and staring at the flames. He almost looks like he’s part of them, but he’s not.

In one hand is what appears to be a gas can.

He did it, this guy did this.

I wonder if the tunnel ended, and that’s how I suddenly came upon this scene. Yet another part of me knows that the tunnel didn’t morph into this. I’m here, and yet I don’t think I’m fully here right now.

Sure smells and tastes and feels like you are.

The man standing in front of me facing the fire turns, and I see that he’s a kid just like me.

A kid who looks a lot like a young Pastor Marsh.

No, that is Pastor Marsh. That’s Jeremiah Marsh before he ever became a pastor.

I see an awful expression on his face even as I see the tears streaming down both sides of his cheeks. It’s awful, because the look is of pure and utter joy. Like a guy who has found his place in life.

He turns back around and keeps watching the house that he just burned down.

Is this what happened to you? Is this why you turned out the way you did?

I want to leave this place, this vision or nightmare that’s full of raging fire and hot despair. I want to run back to the tunnel. Yet just as I turn to go, something brushes by me.

Someone.

And then he’s next to the teenaged Marsh. The figure is a lot taller and skinny, and he puts an arm around Marsh.

He turns and faces the boy, and I see that it’s Kinner. This is Walter Kinner, my great-grandfather, taking a weeping Jeremiah Marsh in his arms and holding him like he might do his own son.

I don’t want to see any more. I begin to back up and I shut my eyes and I say no over and over again.

Then I remember what else I brought with me. Besides the batteries and the jacket. Something I’m not carrying in my pockets but rather in my memory.

I draw a blank. I know I should’ve written the Bible verses down. I can’t remember them.

“The Lord is my rock,” I say. “Reach down Your hand and deliver me.”

Then another one.

“Have mercy on me. When I pray.”

It’s something like that.

“I come to You for protection, God—Lord. Help me. Save me.”

The verses that I memorized—half a dozen—all blur and morph like the flames reaching out to the heavens and drifting to black.

“Be my rock and my fortress, God. Please protect me.”

I open my eyes and find myself back in the tunnel. I’m still holding the flashlight in my hand, and it’s still not working. Same with the iPhone.

Now I’m turned around and have no idea which way to go. The flames and smoke are gone, even though I can still taste them and smell them.

That fire was real.

I decide to just keeping heading straight.

And as I do, I keep whispering and saying fragments of the psalms that I thought I knew.

I guess God doesn’t really care as long as you mean what you’re saying. And I do. I really do.