Tunnel Timidity

The tunnel was a dark and morose lair of emptiness.  No one had been in it in years, not until that day.  I knew I would look back on that April night as it was happening, when the shadows of its void caressed me like bats raging for truth.  Sometimes I think about that day, when me and Millard strolled into the haunted tunnel like we knew what we were doing.  My thoughts have always gone out to Millard and his strange death on that dark April night.  Even though he was my best friend, he had always done the right thing.  But in my nightmares he was there, showing how he'd finally made the wrong choice. 

We bet $100 on our lives to a man they called Brutal, a cowboy who'd come into our town of Prescott, Arizona.  He and his gang seemed to cause a lot of trouble, even after our macabre experience.  He left two days after our Holocaust, which became a red mark on the town's history, but let's not get into that. 

I know that I am flashing back to those heat-filled days in Prescott and that I am tossing and turning in my bed.  My mind flashes like the sunset, awakening into a past of cold bitterness, and the tunnel.  

In this nightmare I am at the bar where Brutal Howell and his gang are playing a round of poker while Millard sits across from me, ordering his favorite mud pie.  And so my nightmare begins. 

 

Millard grinned after I ordered the same thing he ordered.  The chingy sounds of the slot machines wavered endlessly on this hot Arizona night. 

"How's Nelly?", I asked him, even though I knew he would answer with the usual, "fine".  And he did.  His blonde hair curled over his ears and his blue eyes glared at me, signaling trouble.  In these nightmares I always think- how content you looked on your death night, Mil, before it all happened.  But that peaceful look turned to worry at the sudden shift of a shadow.  I knew why his expression had changed before I heard the voice. 

"Howdy gents," came the voice of Brutal from behind.  "You boys want to earn some cold hard cash in a fine game of poker?"  I turned around and there was Brutal's dark eyes, rotting teeth, and moronic cowboy hat, which I thought later on had looked good on him, matching his character. 

Millard gave me a stern look of relief.  At least Brutal didn't have a bone to pick with us- that was the good part.  But the bad part was that if we said no, he would surely hand us a piece of his fist. 

"Maybe later", came Millard's struggling mouth as he sipped from his beer mug.  Brutal chuckled as he turned toward his bash brothers, who had gathered behind him.  A couple faces turned toward us but they only looked back after knowing it was Brutal and his gang-bangers who we were dealing with.  Evidently, Mil's refusal was causing some heads to turn. 

"Well, well, if ain't the mother inferior", he laughed.  "Hey Milly, got some fries to go with that milkshake hair of yours?", in reference to his unkempt hair.  Bellows of laughter came from behind him.  That made me rise, striking my fist on the table, as all the confused faces suddenly looked upon mine.  I was looking at Brutal with caution, but he only smiled in return, like he was my damn friend or something. 

"Look, we don't want any of your doggy language around us, so maybe you could take a hike and find some town your own size to pick on, maybe a town as big as Jupiter."  I said this without the slightest bit of hesitation, like I didn't even know this rabid mountain of a man was standing right in front of me.  Years later I would come to regret it. 

Startled sounds of ooooohs and aaaahs came at us from around the bar, as more people gathered to discover what was behind the commotion.  Brutal was staring at with me with eyes that had turned angry. 

"Boy, you're about as crazy as a widowed stripper", said Brutal.  "Now before I bash your brains in, I'll give you a chance to prove you're not worth a beat down.  You ever been to that tunnel out near the valley, the one they say's haunted?  They call it.... Tunnel Timidity." 

Dead silence.  No one, not in a million years would even think of entering that doomed place.  I looked over to the bar, where everyone was just staring at me.  It was the weirdest feeling I'd ever had in my life- fear mixed with pride, with all eyes on me, and a sense of embarrassment if things unraveled.  The bartender, Mr. Raggs, stood there with his hands clinging to a bottle of whiskey.  The slot machines had stopped their annoying symphony of noise, and the face of everyone who'd poured in from the casino were looking at me like they were jack-o-lanterns. 

"No", I said.  But now I did feel a sudden horror take hold of my ankles, slowly working its what up my body.  I remembered what they said about that guy who had accidentally wandered in there ten years ago.  "But I remember what happened to that guy, Fisher, and what had happened to his"- 

"Head," interrupted Brutal.  "They found his head in the gutter down by Rainbird Street.  Found his arm hanging from the ceiling of the tunnel entrance.  His car was blown up and burning on the road near the entrance, and his eyeballs-" 

"ENOUGH!", cried Millard.  "I remember Fish too, we all do.  He used to be friends with us.  Now you shut your mouth before I have Mr. Raggs call the sheriff!"  I turned toward him and saw sweat  

"Johnny?", Millard said. 

"Yes?" 

"What a wussy name," chuckled Brutal.  "What happened to that guy Fisher wasn't pretty.  They say the tunnel's haunted-" 

"None of it's real, Brute."  Now it was my turn to interrupt.  Deep down I knew it was real, that I had known Fish and seen the arm myself.  Even then I could not believe it had happened, but it was as clear as sunshine that the tunnel had done something to him. 

"Is it?", said Brutal. 

"You shouldn't read those damn tabloids." 

"Why don't you see for yourself, if you're so sure about of denying it." 

More murmurs came from the crowd.  The thought of going into the tunnel gave me the willies. 

"Tell you what Johnny, I'll give you $100 dollars, and spare your ass a beating, if you walk through the entire tunnel without running back out."  Gasps of shock, everywhere.  "And to make it more fair, I'll give you the option of choosing my fist or your guts on the tunnel floor." 

The crowd went hysterical with worry, trying to coax me into not going.  Even Toot-toot, the town comedian, looked worried about me.  I looked back at Millard and could only see terror in his blue eyes.  I didn't have anything to lose, and neither did Mil for that matter.  Our lives were going nowhere and even if we were mutilated by the tunnel, at least we'd get remembered for something.   

I pointed all this out after we left the bar to think it over.  Some of our friends told us it was the craziest thing they'd ever heard, dying a horrible death for no reason other than to get remembered?  Even Toot-toot gave us no encouragement to the decision we were leaning on. 

You already know what we decided.  Millard was horrified by this, but I remained determined.  And so came the terrifying night of April 22, 1999. 

 

An hour after leaving the bar we met Brutal and his gang at the Stop and Go station on route 23.  Millard was shaking all over, but he was also thinking the same thing I was: what did we have to lose?  Then he said something that stayed in mind forever- a thought that came to me as gigantic rush of hope: 

"What if it's not really haunted?  Ole Fish was probably just snatched up by some murderous fiends.  Hell, maybe it was even these punks."  There was a simple alternate explanation, that the tunnel had been a hideout for a gang out outlaws who took pleasure in mutilating the people they killed.  Or maybe it was a terrorist hideout- that would have been even worse. 

Brutal stood on the curb flipping a 50 cent piece in his hand.  More people had turned up than I'd expected.  It seemed the whole town had caught wind of our ordeal.   

I looked on, more faces turned, white and dangerous, full of wonder.  All I saw in them was worry and doubt.  Most of them were smoking and I could hear the murmurs and whisperings of those who were horrified at what could happen to me and Mil.   

As we pulled up to the curb, I stole a glance at him.  He looked sick and about ready to vomit, so I said relax and he took it with a smile. 

We got out and this time the faces looked weary and dreadful, almost like they were one.  They looked like 

(jack-o-lanterns in a dark room) 

they all had a truce in this action, almost like they were zombies. 

"So what's it to you?", said Brutal. 

Beyond him I could see the tunnel, that dark hole from which no one could escape.   

Millard and I glanced at each other.  I shuffled my feet and began to speak. 

"The stakes are high, Brute, but we've decided to go in the tunnel.  We'll go in the tunnel and come back breathing, so help me God." 

This time there were no murmurs, no looks of shock or worry on their faces.  It all seemed to sink into me in that moment.  We were doomed and I could see it in Millard's eyes.  We had made the wrong decision, and it was too late to turn back on it. 

We stood there for at least a minute in the dead silence.  Brutal finally spoke up after another flip of the coin.   

"Very well, then.  Off you go, to your miserable deaths," he spoke.  "I just want to know one thing first, Johnny."  I already knew what he would say, probably some smart ass joke.  "Do you want a pizza or a hamburger on your gravestone?" 

Faint laughs, not nearly as many as before.  I only looked at him with every ounce of hate I could muster.   

"Off you go then," echoed Toot-toot, who looked at us like we were morons.   

So Mil and I started walking toward our deaths with Toot-toot and Brutal by our sides.  Everyone else, God bless them, did not take a single step forward.  Ahead of us there were orange construction cones arrayed across the road.  I could feel the terror again, starting from my ankles and crawling up into my heart.   

Soon the darkness would be around us and the worried voices of those present would be begging for us to retreat.   

Into the void we went. 

 

Skeletons grinned at us with their skulls caved in, as the tunnel grabbed hold of us like a great shining.  My hand found Millard's and the voices behind us started to diminish, the silhouettes of Brutal and Toot-toot fading into the background.  We were scared witless, and there was nothing we could do about it. 

Somewhere off to the side I heard a scratching sound.  Although we couldn't see each other, I knew Millard was holding his breath the same way I was.   

"I will fear no evil," I heard him whisper.   

Suddenly the idea of this being an outlaw hideout vanished from my head.  That was way beyond me at this point.  This was no longer a dare, it was suicide. 

We walked on, hand in hand, occasionally kicking the remains of a skeleton we couldn't see.  Soon our night vision kicked in, and we could see the faint outlines of those bones in the darkness.   

Then I felt cold, shockingly cold.  I thought I felt something race through my soul, a sudden heap of depravity clinging to my heart.  And immediately I thought it was the devil. 

"Did you feel that?", I asked.   

Millard didn't answer.  It smelled like he had pissed his pants or shit himself, or both.  We kept walking.   

I could feel that cold devil's hand clinging to my heart, like it wouldn't let go.  I also felt my hand leaving Millard's.  It felt like I was going somewhere, somewhere were it was lighter. 

"Mil?" 

I closed my eyes and opened them.  Nothing but the sinister silence and the devil's hand on my soul. 

The tunnel alighted with a greenness so bright that it flooded the entire place.  My heart stopped as the green rushed through me. 

A maroon shape appeared out of the green, the head of a grinning pumpkin, a jack-o-lantern with a witch's mouth- an apparition that didn't seem real.  Yet there it was, staring right at me.  Then I heard Millard running.  His footsteps took the pumpkin with him.  The way was clear for me to keep walking to the end, so I did.   

Soon, there was light at the end of the tunnel.  Real light.