Short Story
Mr. Rhodes' car glided over the charcoal-gray roads effortlessly. He was preparing to return home with his family for a nice four-day weekend, a much-needed respite after lecturing rambunctious eighth-graders all week.
He kept his eyes trained on the path ahead as his surroundings smeared past on either side of the vehicle. Suddenly, the gleaming black truck in front of him halted and he gripped the wheel as his body jerked forward from the force of the stop. He muttered under his breath about inconsiderate drivers and strained in his seat to look past the car. Huh, Mr. Rhodes thought. Ahead, there was a long line of traffic that seemingly had no beginning. He didn’t give much thought to the congestion, figuring that the road was closed off or the recent October storms had caused some flooding. Throwing a glance over his shoulder, he reverted back and made a U-turn, and veered to the other lane.
For a minute he drove aimlessly, his shoulders hunched over the wheel. The only sound was the hum of the heater as it circulated through the vehicle and the tires churning underneath. It seemed he had no destination, no rhyme or reason to the undirected wandering. He was contemplating whether or not to haul his white Mercury Grand Marquis to the curb and pull out a GPS when a flash of orange caught his attention.
It streaked past his peripheral vision almost too fast to notice but now his mind was firmly focused on it. It was probably just a road sign, but still, he found himself wheeling around to take a gander. He narrowed his eyes but the image didn’t clear. Quickly, he shifted the gear and put his old car in park. His curiosity took auto-pilot and he fumbled to unbuckle his seatbelt before throwing the creaky door open. Instantly, a brisk breeze swooped around him, making his skin shiver through the fabric of his sweater. He huffed out a breath and it created a cloud in front of him. But he didn’t back down, for his curiosity grew tenfold as his eyes searched the brush for the orange sign.
His footfalls crunched over dirt and dead, wet grass. Droplets soaked his ankles and below, causing his socks to cling coldly to his skin. The orange glimmer flickered again, just beyond a cluster of trees ahead. He hesitated for a moment, but the lure of that strange flash was irresistible. He moved deeper into the brush, barely registering the muffled sounds of distant traffic behind him as he ventured further from the road.
The orange light grew brighter as he approached, but something about it didn’t sit right. It wasn’t steady like a streetlight or a sign—no, it was pulsing, almost like it was alive. As he drew closer, he noticed an odd, jagged opening in the earth, a small tunnel or cave partially hidden by dense thickets. The orange glow emanated from somewhere inside.
Mr. Rhodes paused at the mouth of the tunnel, heart beating a little faster now. He took a step back, but then a strange feeling washed over him—an urge to go inside, like a soft, beckoning whisper. It begged him to take a step inside, a walk through its curved entrance, just to satisfy his curiosity. It was foolish, he knew. Rationally, he should turn around, get back to his car, drive home, and be with his family. But something beyond reason pulled him forward.
He stepped into the tunnel.
The air seemed to shift and grow denser, pressing on his chest as each shuddering breath he released fogged ahead. The further he ventured, it chillied him down to his bones. The glow pulsed rhythmically, illuminating slick walls of damp stone as he descended. He could no longer see the sky behind him, just shadows pressing closer. But his curiosity outweighed his unease as he pressed on, drawn deeper and deeper.
The tunnel twisted and turned, but soon, Mr. Rhodes could barely tell which way he’d come from. His head whipped back and forth, searching for an exit or entrance, but there was no trace of light, and even the orange glow was gone now, and in its place was only pitch-black darkness. He stopped, realizing with a start that he was completely lost. His breath came quicker as panic began to rise in his chest.
Desperation groped his heart, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. He paused in his journey for a moment, ruminating his options. Suddenly, the curved walls seemed to close in on him, making his breath turn shallower as he treaded dangerous waters. He didn’t know how long he stood there, pondering nothing but the fear in his body and his family in mind. He needed to escape.
Then, a sound echoed faintly in the darkness—a low, murmuring hum that seemed to come from the walls themselves. The sound twisted and transformed, growing louder until it sounded like voices. He pressed his hands to his ears, but the whispers only grew, filling his mind with disjointed words, names of people he’d never heard of, and dates that he somehow felt he should know. His eighth-grade history lectures swirled in his mind, mixing with these strange memories that weren’t his own.
It felt as though dozens of clammy hands wrapped around his body, enveloping their frigid fingers over his skin and sweat rolled down his brow. They pulled him this way and that, seeking his attention. They, whoever they were, definitely had it. Mr. Rhodes swiped furiously at his arms, his own futile attempt at ridding the sensation of being watched, of being touched. “Who’s there?” His voice was a low murmur, the sound seeming to protrude from his mouth as if it were a solid thing he could hold, as solid as the fear aching in his heart and the chewy atmosphere of the cave. The tunnel held no response, spare the echo of his words and his own growing dread.
He picked up his feet, now trudging through the tunnels pointlessly. The murmurs rose with his pace, quickening to match the speed of his pulsing heart. Time seemed to slip away as he wandered, his mind muddling and blending reality with strange visions. He saw flickering images of ancient battlefields, crumbling ruins, faces of soldiers and kings, a blur of historical epochs merging together in front of his eyes. The voices grew sharper, more insistent, and he found himself arguing with them, reasoning, explaining events as though he were still standing in front of his class. But the faces around him held empty eyes and frozen smiles, mocking him with expressions that seemed to promise he would never escape.
Hours—or perhaps days—passed in the suffocating dark, and Mr. Rhodes' sense of time and reality melted away. In his feverish state, he clawed desperately at the walls, hoping against hope for a way out. His hands were bloody, his nails torn, but he couldn’t stop. He scratched, scraped, dug into the cold stone, each strike sending pebbles tumbling down around him, each breath a struggle against the tightening walls.
Finally, he let out a strangled cry, the strength drained from his body. As he slumped forward, his hand hit a loose stone, and with a thunderous crash, the ceiling above him gave way. Rocks and dirt rained down, and within seconds, the tunnel was filled with the sound of collapsing earth.
When the dust finally settled, the tunnel lay silent, the only sign of Mr. Rhodes' presence a single, dusty paper from his lesson plan, drifting down to rest among the rocks.
