We all have that one small, idiosyncratic fear that sounds absurd when verbalized. For me? Manhole covers. Lol, right? Before you mock, hear me out. It’s not just any manhole cover. It’s the ones scattered around my hometown of Delville. These drains have depths that defy physics.
My mates always ribbed me. “Oi, Tim! Avoiding the manhole monsters today?” they’d jest, dancing around them dramatically. It’s what teenagers did – poke fun at any semblance of fear.
One chilly evening, we dared each other to drop something down one, listening for the sound of impact. Steve dropped a coin. It fell… and fell… and… nothing. No echo of metal on concrete. Just silence. “Wtf,” he muttered, more puzzled than scared.
Ever the sarcastic ass, I quipped, “Maybe it reached China?” earning a few laughs.
Then Dave, the ‘scientist’ of our group, had an idea: tie a GoPro to a rope and lower it in. The plan was to reel it up after a few minutes, hoping to solve the mystery once and for all.
The display was connected to Dave’s phone. The initial footage just showed the sides of a mossy, dark, cylindrical tunnel. Down and down it went. Two minutes. Five. Ten. All while the screen displayed the descending view of what seemed like an interminable abyss.
It was around the twelve-minute mark that the humor in our group began to drain, replaced with palpable tension. Then, abruptly, the GoPro captured something. An open space. We saw old furniture, toys, newspapers, and other domestic items arranged like an underground living room. But that wasn’t the creepiest part.
We saw people. Or, more accurately, silhouettes of people – standing still. They didn’t move, didn’t breathe. Just stood there, like statues in a grotesque tableau.
As if sensing its presence, one of the figures started moving towards the camera. Its face came into view, and the dim light revealed a familiar face. My face.
The group gasped in unison. We hastily pulled the GoPro up, every tug accompanied by silent prayers. It seemed to take forever, but finally, it emerged from the abyss.
There was no debate. We decided to seal the manhole, using cement, soil, whatever we could find. Our town’s enigmatic drains remained our secret.
Or so we thought.
Weeks turned into months, and life resumed its monotonous pace. But the events of that evening cast long shadows. Every time I walked past a drain, I’d hear whispers. Soft, mocking, familiar whispers. My own voice, echoing back in chilling ridicule: “Maybe it reached China?”
My nights became battlegrounds of unrest. I’d hear muffled conversations from below my bedroom floor. On more than one occasion, I jolted awake, drenched in sweat, convinced I felt a cold hand grab my ankle.
Dave, being the self-proclaimed “scientific mind”, tried to rationalize the events. “Echoes, Tim. Sound travels weirdly in subterranean environments. We just… awakened some acoustic anomaly.” I chuckled darkly, appreciating the absurdity. An “acoustic anomaly” that mimicked my own voice?
The others experienced oddities too. Steve swore he saw coins spontaneously drop out of thin air onto his bed, identical to the one he’d tossed into the drain. Jenny, who’d laughed the loudest that evening, found her laughter echoed back at her from empty rooms.
One Saturday, a town fair was organized right above that accursed manhole. I protested, but who’d believe my madcap tales about manholes?
The fair was a hit. Kids laughed, music blared, and life seemed normal. But as evening approached, things took a bizarre turn.
People reported hearing their own names whispered from below. It wasn’t just us teens; the whole town experienced it. An elderly man named Bertie, hard of hearing and always dismissive of “young folks and their wild tales”, was seen kneeling by a manhole, his ear to the ground, tears streaming down his face.
The mayor declared it a case of “mass hysteria” (probably the first time Delville had any sort of ‘mass’ anything). In a town council meeting, bursting with sarcasm and skepticism, I offered a solution. “Let’s throw a grand party for our underground guests. Maybe they’re just lonely?” The suggestion was met with a mixture of laughter and disdain. The drains, however, would have the last laugh.
One by one, people started disappearing. A few at first, but soon, entire families vanished. Houses stood empty. As the town’s population dwindled, the whispers grew louder and more frequent.
One night, I was jolted awake by a persistent ringing. My phone buzzed frantically with messages from Dave. The texts became increasingly erratic.
“Tim, I can see it now… the depth, it’s… it’s not just physical. It’s temporal!”
“We didn’t look into the past or just a different place. It’s all connected, like… layers.”
The last text sent shivers down my spine: “They’re us, Tim. The people below. Versions of us. Echoes. And they’re lonely.”
Then, silence.
Armed with this chilling revelation, I began to frantically connect the dots. The disappearing townsfolk, the echoing voices, the increasingly lifeless town of Delville. Were we being… replaced?
I returned to the manhole with a flashlight and a desperate plan. I had to confront our “echoes”, plead with them to stop this madness. But, as I peered into the drain, all I found was darkness and my own voice mocking me. “Anybody down there? lol” my voice eerily echoed.
It was clear I needed to delve deeper. I decided to gather what remained of our original group. However, on reaching Jenny’s house, I found it eerily silent. The door creaked open, revealing an untouched dinner table with food still steaming, as if they’d vanished mid-bite.
My heart raced as I approached Steve’s place. I found him in his room, scribbling frantically. Walls covered in sketches of the manhole, overlapping layers, and myriad versions of us. He looked up, his eyes wild and panicked, “It’s a loop, Tim. We’re stuck in it.”
Suddenly, a familiar tune chimed from his pocket – the jingle of an ice-cream truck. Steve’s face went white. “That… that’s not possible. I remember this. This happened… before.” The realization struck us both at the same time. This was our echo.
Without a word, we fled to the town square. If our hypothesis was correct, the fair should be setting up again. And sure enough, it was, but with a twist. The townspeople weren’t the ones we knew; they were hollow, zombie-like versions going through the motions.
As the evening progressed, the whispers started once more. We watched as Bertie kneeled down, tears streaming. The mayor dismissed the whispers. And amidst this deja-vu, Steve pulled me aside. “This is it. We confront it now, or we’re next.”
As we approached the manhole, a familiar voice rang out. It was Dave, or some version of him. “You’ve figured it out, haven’t you?” he sneered. “This town, it’s a trap. A never-ending cycle. And soon, you’ll be part of the echo too.”
Steve lunged at Dave, but his hands passed right through him, like mist. Dave continued, “Every time someone throws something into the drain or whispers into it, they anchor themselves to the loop. Your token, Tim, was the laughter. That’s why they echo it.”
I stared in horror. “So, how do we break it?”
Dave smirked. “Why would I tell you? I belong here now. But since you’re so keen on escaping, here’s a hint. It’s not about confronting what’s below, but confronting yourself.”
With that cryptic advice, he vanished.
Confronting oneself? Steve pondered for a moment, then, with grim determination, whispered into the drain, confronting his deepest fears and regrets. After a heart-wrenching confession, he looked at me, tears streaming down his face, and slowly faded away, leaving only his shoes behind.
Feeling a mix of dread and hope, I approached the manhole. I spoke of guilt, shame, fears, dreams unfulfilled – every raw emotion. The town around me started to blur, twist, and fade.
I woke up to the chirping of birds. Delville looked… different. Alive. Vibrant. There was no fair, no echoes. Only the real, tangible townsfolk. No one remembered the events, but there was a palpable change in the air. An unspoken understanding. A shared experience.
I visited the drain one last time, ensuring it was sealed properly. As I turned to leave, I couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all.
But then, just for a split second, I thought I heard a faint echo of my own laughter from below.
Shaking off the eerie feeling, I walked away, knowing some mysteries are best left buried.