After I put my stuff down in the guest room, I asked if we should stick around for a bit so I could say hey to his parents. Mike seemed to ponder it momentarily and then shrugged. “Nah, let’s just catch up with them tonight. We can grab lunch out and then go goof off for awhile. I think Mom’s planning on fixing a big dinner for us anyway.”
I nodded and followed him back out, stealing a glance back into the kitchen as we passed. There was no one there now, and we saw no signs of his parents as we went outside and got in his SUV. I was still uneasy about how strangely they had been standing in the kitchen and how Mike was acting, but I tried to set it aside, deciding that I would chalk it up to an overactive imagination unless something else strange popped up.
The afternoon was actually good. Mike took me by his high school and showed me his classroom. School was out for the summer and all of the rooms were in disarray from the custodians re-waxing all the floors, but it was nice to see a part of Mike’s life that was relatively normal. It was weird to think of him as a grown-up with a grown-up job, but he seemed to like it despite all his complaining, and I had no doubt he was a good teacher.
We then went to get something to eat, but the first two restaurants were closed despite it being early in the afternoon. We ultimately settled for a fast food drive-thru before heading to the bowling alley. The bowling alley wasn’t in as good of shape as I had expected based on what Mike had said, but then the same could be said for much of Coventry.
It was strange—portions of town would be in relatively good repair while others seemed to be entering a sharp decline. This can happen in any town, of course, but what was odd was how it was happening here. There was no rhyme or reason to it, with a well-kept building side by side with those headed towards ruination. There was no “nice” or “not nice” part of town, so far as I could see. There were still smaller houses in poorer neighborhoods and larger ones in wealthier areas, but the neglect and air of disuse was spread equally among everyone. When I mentioned it to Mike as we were getting out at the bowling alley, he just shrugged and laughed.
“Yeah, property values and stuff have been all over the place lately. I think it’ll get better with time though. I think that new tunnel is going to help things a lot in the long run.”
I almost stopped walking and forced him to tell me more about the tunnel. I should have. But I was enjoying being back around him, and it seemed like it was doing him a lot of good too. So I just smiled and nodded, pushing my worry down as we entered the bowling alley.
The place was relatively clean inside, though it was dimly lit in spots due to overhead lights that had gone out and not been replaced. Mike led me up to the counter where a young woman stood staring at us.
The girl probably was of college age, but it was hard to say for sure due to her appearance. Her curly brown hair hung in damp, tangled strings down the sides of her long, pale face. Her skin had an unhealthy, waxy quality to it, and the glazed look in her eyes made me think she was either high or suffering from a substantial fever. The worst thing was that she had these clusters of pus-filled sores festooning the skin around both nostrils. I had to fight from reacting as we approached, and when Mike asked for shoes, I echoed him dimly with my own size while trying to avoid looking at her further without being obvious. It didn’t stop me from noticing that one of the sores was starting to drip down onto her lips as she handed me my pair.
When we were away from her and at lane 12 putting on our shoes, I whispered to him, “What is wrong with her? That’s not acne.”
Mike glanced toward the front counter and then at me. “Yeah, she’s sick with something, I don’t know. That kind of thing has been going around lately. Luckily my stomach problems didn’t include killer pimples.” He tried to smile but it faltered. “I do feel bad for her though. Poor kid.” Glancing around at the empty lanes he let out a sigh. “I guess Friday afternoon is not the beehive of activity I was hoping for. Still, when’s the last time you had a nice quiet bowling alley all to yourself?”
Dinner was surprisingly normal until the end. Mike’s parents were older and a little odd, but more in the normal way you expect people to get in the last third of their life. They would talk over each other, repeat themselves occasionally, and take turns pelting me with questions about my life. It was kind of sweet, and it filled me with a sense of profound relief to just laugh and talk with these people that used to be a big part of my life without any of the disquieting strangeness I’d been seeing lately.
The meal itself was not great, but it certainly seemed healthy. Grilled artichokes and steamed kale along with a small cold salad that seemed to be a mixture of tomatoes, cucumbers, and some odd vegetable I couldn’t identify. I took a bite of it and my mouth filled with a pungent, smoky-tasting liquid that I assumed came from the inside of the vegetable. Grimacing, I caught myself before I swallowed and spat it out into my napkin. I didn’t know what that was, but I didn’t want any. I could even feel a light tingling numbness on my tongue and lips from it.
After we had finished eating and the conversation was starting to die down, Mike’s dad asked what we were going to do the next day. I shrugged and said I was up for whatever, with Mike adding in that he was thinking about taking me to the old state park west of town to go hiking in the morning. I remembered us camping out there with Mike’s dad when we were twelve or so, and I was already nodding enthusiastically at the idea of visiting it again.
Mike’s father smiled thinly as he looked at Mike. “That sounds just fine. Just make sure you take him to see the tunnel. It’s really something.” His gaze shifted to me. “You really won’t believe it.”
At this point I’d had enough. “Okay, what is it about this tunnel? Mike keeps talking about it, now you are too. Is it some kind of practical joke, or is there really a tunnel north of town?
Mike was looking nervous—possibly even scared—as he responded, his eyes going between me and his father. “No, it’s there. And it is very interesting, but we can talk more about it later.” Looking back at me, he added. “It’s not a big deal and we don’t have to see it if you don’t want to.” I saw his father staring at Mike out of the corner of my eye. I turned to face him while talking to Mike, catching the older man’s gaze again.
“No, Mike. I’m fine to see it. But what is it? Why do we have a tunnel around here anyway? Most of the land around here is flat. Did we suddenly grow a mountain I’m not aware of?” Mike’s father just stared back at me silently, his expression stony. When Mike didn’t respond, I addressed his father. “What about you, Mr. Mattis? Can you tell me why there’s a tunnel here and what’s so great about it?”
The man’s lips stretched tight across his face, slowly slipping back to reveal his gray, receding gums and his long, yellowed teeth. It looked less like a smile and more like a rabid dog bearing his teeth. He looked at me steadily, and I could see a trace of yellow around his irises that matched his mouth. He clicked his teeth together once, twice, and then turned his poached egg eyes back to Mike. “He’ll understand better when he sees it, son. You make sure he sees it tomorrow.”
With that, he stood up and tapped Mike’s mother on the shoulder where she was standing at the sink. Without another word, they both left the kitchen and moved out of sight down the hall. When I felt they were likely out of earshot, I looked back at Mike.
“What the fuck was all that?”
He looked uncomfortable. “You know how it is. People get weird when they get older. The tunnel is just something that got made a few months back and it was a big deal at the time. Part of some new road development or something maybe? But everyone thought it was great at the time, and some people still do. Small towns fixate on anything new, I guess.”
What he was saying made no sense, but he looked so desperate for me to believe him, for the conversation to be over, I just nodded. “Okay, man. Well, I think I’m going to get some rest if that’s okay with you. Kinda beat.”
He nodded, and I stood up to leave the kitchen when he caught my arm. “If you don’t feel right about things, if you aren’t comfortable here, it’s okay for you to go. I mean, I would understand if you wanted to go. Right now even.” His expression was sad and he was having trouble meeting my eyes, but as he said the last he looked at me clearly. “If you want to go, right now is a good time.”
I considered it seriously. I didn’t know what was going on, and I was feeling more and more like I was in the first act of a horror movie. But that was stupid. Things like that didn’t happen in real life. There was nothing sinister going on in this town. It was just a rundown little community whose best days were probably behind it. It was just my best friend who had been sick, was lonely, and who felt trapped in the place he had never really left. My best friend who had finally worked up the courage to reach out to me. I wasn’t going to abandon him just because I was a little uncomfortable and weirded out.
Shaking my head, I patted his shoulder. “No man, I’m cool. Just really tired. Let me get a good night’s sleep and I’ll be raring to go tomorrow, promise.”
He nodded, the sad look still on his face. “Okay, Park. I…okay.”
I gave his shoulder another pat and headed back to the guest room. I heard movement from one of the other rooms that I assumed was his parents’ bedroom, but I quickly ducked into my room out of fear that one or both of them were coming back out. I wanted to avoid another run-in for a bit.
Laying down on the bed, I realized I really was exhausted. Without even changing my clothes or turning out the light, I soon found myself fast asleep.
I woke up to rough hands carrying me by my shoulders and legs through the still-warm night air. I was disoriented at first, in part because when I looked up, I saw Mike’s parents and two other people I didn’t recognize were carrying me somewhere. Beyond them and between passing street lights I could see the blackness of the summer sky, and looking around I saw I was being carried up a street in a part of town I didn’t recognize. I wanted to struggle, but I was coming to realize that I had somehow been drugged. Every attempt to move my limbs felt like I was fighting against quickly drying cement.
I heard Mike’s voice a few feet back from the direction we were going. “Fuck, he’s waking up! You said he wouldn’t wake up before it was over.”
One of the men I didn’t recognize glared back in Mike’s direction. “He has to be awake to appreciate it, doesn’t he? He has to look to truly see it and understand.” That’s when we began to cross the threshold into the tunnel. We were moving at a distinctly downward angle now, and the air was growing cooler as they walked. Looking at the walls of the tunnel in the fading light, I saw no signs of concrete or wood. Instead, every angle of the tunnel seemed to be made of a packed earth held together by clusters of ebony nodules and gray tendons rippling and twisting through the earth and connecting one group of black barnacle-like protrusions to the next. I redoubled my efforts to move, and while I managed to pull my arm free from Mike’s mother’s grip for a moment, she quickly regained control. I cast my eyes around for any other avenue of escape.
That’s when I saw the stomach of the man who had yelled at Mike. His shirt had ridden up in toting me, and I could see what looked kind of like a handprint on his lower stomach. Except the handprint was abnormally long and narrow, with what seemed to be six distinct and spindly fingers. And the print wasn’t just some stain or even a burn. It was made up of the same fetid, blossoming sores that had been clustered around that poor girl’s nose.
I began to scream then, and a moment later I was on the ground. At first I thought I was being dropped intentionally, but then I saw Mike had shoved down handprint man and then done the same to his father. I understood he was trying to help me, but there was only one of him and I couldn’t fight. The thunder of gunfire echoed in the tunnel, and the muzzle flash lit up the darkness enough for me to see something moving towards us from further within the void.
I don’t remember what it looked like now, or how we got out of that tunnel. All I remember is Mike helping me into the driver’s seat of his SUV and pressing the keys into my hand. He was sobbing, and his left arm flopped uselessly by his side. He told me I had to go, I had to drive as best I could and get away. Drive back down away from the tunnel, keep going south until I hit the state highway and then pick a direction. Keep going until I got to a bus station or an airport.
I was more lucid now and interrupted him. “No, you need to come with me. I’m not leaving you here.”
His shook his head. “I told you, I can’t leave here.” He reached out and grabbed the sides of my face. “Park, you listen to me. You need to get away now and never come back. I may call or text you, but you never answer, and you never come back.”
I didn’t fully understand, but I’m ashamed to say I didn’t argue further. Whatever shadowy recollection I had of what was in that tunnel was more powerful that my love for my best friend. I drove away and made it to a bus station, then an airport. Mike must have been at least considering this plan for awhile, because I found my wallet in the glove compartment of his car, a new photograph tucked in with my cash.
I made it home eventually, and after some time just holding Stacy and our little girl, I told her what happened. Warned her that we could never go near that place or those people again, including Mike. I don’t know that she fully believed me, but she agreed. Then we heard my phone buzz.
She picked it up off the counter and I saw her face pale. When she showed it to me, I saw it was a new text from Mike.
Up for coming back to Coventry for a long weekend?
I took the phone out to the garage and hammered it apart. Changed the number and got a new phone the next day. Less than a week later it buzzed with a new message from Mike.
Up for coming back to Coventry for a long weekend?
We’ve decided to move now. I’m writing this from a hotel room we’re staying in until our new house is ready. The third phone, a burner, hasn’t been tracked down yet, so hopefully we’re in the clear. Still, I wanted there to be some record of all of this.
I’m holding the photo Mike had put in my wallet, and I’m trying not to wake Stacy with my crying. The picture is one Mike’s mother took of us when we were fourteen. We were getting ready to go trick-or-treating despite Mike’s father subtly hinting we were too old for it. I think we both knew he was right, but we also knew this was one of the few childhood things we had left. Besides, a week or two earlier my father had gotten notice that the local plant he worked at was closing the following year, which meant we were likely moving to another state in the next few months. So we were going to make the most out of the time we had left.
I look at that picture, reminded of all the memories and emotions I still have from my childhood and my friendship with Mike, and then I think about the last time I saw him in the rearview of his car. Standing on a lonely road, broken and terrified and so hopeless as he watches me go. Watches me leave him one last time. As I started to round the corner that took him out of view, I think he was turning to limp back to the tunnel.
I loved you, Mike. I’m so sorry.
---
Credits
Comments