I work as a part-time contractor, specializing in flooring. It’s good, fulfilling work for the most part; I learned the trade from my cousins and it supplements my day trading income. I’ve been doing it for a few years now, and while I enjoy it, I’m sure my work stories would bore the average person.
That was until a few months ago. I had a job just on the outskirts of town; a large, but old home had recently been bought and the new owners wanted to renovate the basement, which had never been fully finished by the previous owners.
We had worked for awhile, and things were going fairly normally. We were working to remove the previous decrepit flooring. I was chiseling in the far corner of the room, when suddenly, the ground under me collapsed.
Before I even knew what had happened, I was splayed out in the dark, and pain screeched across my body as my head pounded. I was covered in debris and laid there stunned, trying to figure out what the hell had just happened. One of the other contractors peered over the edge at me, asking if I was alright. He was roughly three feet above me, looking down into the hole. I slowly sat up, and while I was pretty torn up, I wasn’t seriously injured or anything. I told him I was alright, and looked around. I noticed I was in some kind of tunnel; to my right and left, the dirt path drifted off into the darkness.
After I had been pulled out and cleaned up a little, I told the other workers what I had seen. As far as we knew from the blueprints of the house, there was no underground chamber or anything under the basement we should have been aware of other than the usual plumbing and electrical stuff. We halted the job and contacted the previous owner, who knew nothing of any tunnel below the house.
We filed a report with the city, as we were (literally) way out of our depth and had no idea how to approach the situation. They told us they would investigate, and for the time being, we weren’t to continue work on the property.
A few days later, we were contacted and told that because of the danger of the site, the new owners had been compensated and the city had taken ownership of the property and condemned the site. We were paid for our work, plus a little extra for the trouble, and that was to be that.
The other guys were content, but I have to admit, my curiosity was piqued. Like I said, this field isn’t exactly known for excitement outside of the industry, but nothing like this has ever happened to me or anyone I know. I mean, a secret underground tunnel? That’s the stuff of a good mystery.
I decided to talk about it to the local paper. At the very least, I thought it could give me a minute or two in the spotlight; who doesn’t want to be in the news? I met with one of their journalists and told my story. She grabbed some pictures of my scabs, and told me I was almost guaranteed to be featured. It’s a small city, and not much happens around here. I figured I’d get at least a blurb on their online publication or something.
Instead, the next day, I got an email from them, saying that unfortunately, they had to reject my submission. I was a little stung, honestly, but I didn’t take it too harshly; not like it was going to be life-changing or anything.
It wasn’t half an hour later that I received a knock on my door. I opened the door to a short, but well-built man. He was wearing a fairly plain button-up, a jacket, and some jeans, nothing out of the ordinary. He asked if he could come in, and said he was from the city. I agreed, and we went and sat in my living room.
“I’ll make this short, don’t want to waste your time” he said. “The city is asking you to keep the incident at the property up in Hillside to yourself. We are investigating things thoroughly, and do not want to cause any alarm to residents or attract any vandals or urban explorers.”
I was slightly taken aback, since while I was curious, I didn’t think it was that big of a deal. I agreed nonetheless, not wanting any real trouble. I did let him know that I had contacted the local paper, but they rejected my story anyway.
“We know,” he said, and his cordial demeanor turned suddenly grim. He stood up, and turned ever so slightly so I could a bit of a holster on his hip. “Don’t do that again. Are we clear?”
My blood ran cold, and I affirmed that I did. He nodded, told me to have a good day, and left. I was stunned. I didn’t know what to make of what the hell had just happened.
As I reasoned through things, I figured no legitimate city personnel would threaten me with a gun. I mean, he wasn’t even a cop. But who would care so much about this, or even know about it? How did they know I was talking to a journalist?
Over the next few days, it ate me up. Apparently, the other guys had similar experiences with someone “from the city” though not as drastic as mine. Most of them figured we had ran into something we shouldn’t have, and we should leave it at that.
One, though, Raphael, seemed even more invested than I was. I’d worked with him on a few projects before, and he was a little quirky to say the least. He called me privately, and proposed that we investigate for ourselves.
I said no way. After all, someone had enough interest in the situation to follow me and flash me his gun, supposedly on behalf of the city. Raph said he would go with or without me, but I told him even if I wanted to with him, there was no way we could get back into it. The house I’m sure was being watched and city workers taking care of the tunnel, and it wasn’t like we were equipped to go excavating all over the area the house was in.
He dropped it for a while, confronted with my sound logic. It was only a few days later that he sent me a picture of an open hole, taken at some hill. “Found this kind of close. Going to investigate, txt you when I’m out” his message read.
A pit grew in my stomach. Surely, whatever was going on was far above our heads and he was taking a big risk being nosy. I figured he would be caught and I’d get another visit asking if I knew about what he was doing, but part of me also worried that he could get physically hurt or even lost. What if they sealed him in there, or collapsed the tunnels?
My fear grew over the next few days as I didn’t hear anything from him. I began to worry more and more, and I thought about calling the police. But there was that curiosity creeping back. Morbid, gnawing curiosity. And a strange sense that the police, in this situation, would not be my friend.
I figured I should, at least, find the spot he went into to let the authorities know. Early the next morning, I drove out to the area. There are quite a few hiking trails there, so I gathered he started on one of those and made his way around until he found that hole.
My heart dropped when I saw his car parked in one of the lots, with three tickets piled mindlessly on his windshield. I started on the closest path, trying to find the spot he had sent a picture of. It was clear from his photo that he had gone off trail, but I was hoping to at least get an idea of where exactly he headed to.
After roughly twenty minutes of wandering around, I saw a hill that looked like it could be it in the distance. I made for it as quickly as I could, sweating up a storm; I cursed the fact I had only brought a single water bottle as I slammed it down my dry throat.
Eventually I reached the hill, and I began to circle it. It didn’t take me very long to find the hole. I froze at its entrance, staring down it. It was roughly the height of the chamber I had landed in when I originally had this incident.
“Call the police,” I told myself. But I didn’t. The gaping maw in front of me seemed to pull me in. Why I climbed in, I’m not sure. Fear for Raph, knowing a minute wasted could be the difference between his life and death? Fear of what would happen to me if the authorities got involved? An irrational desire to uncover the truth of it all myself?
Whatever the reasons, I clambered in, and started down the slowly drooping tunnel. I hadn’t prepared at all; I just had my phone flashlight, which poorly illuminated the chamber.
I slowly inched my way down, stopping every now and again to listen for anything. All I could hear was my own breathing. I continued, before calling out: “Raph? It’s me Raph, are you down here?”
No reply. I knew this thing had to be long, impossibly long; the house was a solid three minute drive from the recreational area. That might not sound like much, but when you’re crawling in a tunnel, it sure as hell is.
I resolved that if I didn’t find any trace of him in the next few minutes, I would turn around and bite the bullet with the cops. Not long after that, I saw an opening in the wall. Another tunnel, shooting down the left.
Right next to the new hole, I saw something etched into the dirt. A crude arrow, pointing up, and some letters next to it. They were quite hard to read, and I pressed my face and phone light close. The scrawlings were faint and jagged, but this is what I could make out: N-(?)-S-T-1-(?). I pondered for a second on what it might mean. Was it graffiti?
I hadn’t even noticed something was now in the opening. A rat’s face, peeking out of the darkness. I jumped back and yelped, slamming into the chamber wall. I caught my breath. I’ve seen a few rats in my day and I’ve never been scared of them. I shined the light on it, ready to tell it to go away.
My stomach dropped, and adrenaline flooded my body a second time. It wasn’t a rat. It was rat-like, covered in fur and whiskers, with huge ears and a protruding snout. But it was nearly man-sized, and it wore a ragged vest and tattered camo fatigues. In one hand, it held out a rusted revolver, pointed square at me. Between its teeth, it clenched a large blade.
I said nothing, paralyzed with fear. Its free hand began to motion for me to come toward it, and it turned to point down the chamber. I saw a long, fleshy tail below its legs as it shifted.
It pulled the knife from its mouth, and it began to speak at me. It was at once guttural and squealy, but clearly English. “Come,” it said. “I bring you to Major.”
I began to stammer, protesting and putting my hands up, my phone light clattering to the ground and shining up. “No no, I’m sorry, I’ll leave, please!” As I pleaded, it began inching towards me, nostrils flaring. In retrospect, it must’ve wanted me alive, otherwise it would’ve shot me. I heard something coming down the way I came. Glancing, I saw another shape inching toward me. I thought a second one had come.
Suddenly, a bright beam of light flooded the chamber, and I shielded my eyes. The creature let out a terrible scream, and I could hear the sound of scurrying. A deafening boom followed, a gunshot, which my ears have yet to recover from. I felt hands grab me and pull me back up the tunnel a ways. I looked up, and saw it was a human man. He let go of me for a second, and with great speed withdrew, primed, and threw a canister down the tunnel, which started spewing some sort of gas.
Instantly my eyes began to sting, and he screamed at me to follow him out, roughly pulling me forward. I crawled blindly after him, repeatedly scraping myself and hitting my head in panic.
Eventually we burst out of the tunnel into the sun. I laid sprawled on the ground, everything in pain. My eyes, ears, lungs, hands, knees- all searing.
Through blurred eyes, I saw the man intently looking down the chamber, a pistol of his own pointed down it. I recognized him as the man from the city that had threatened me at the start of all this.
After what seemed like forever, he put his pistol away and came to me. He asked if I was injured, and I shook my head. He helped me up and we walked a ways from the opening, but also away from the trail. He sat me down and began to yell.
“I fucking thought it was clear you were going to drop it!” he sat down, burying his face in his hands. “I fucked up. I should’ve trailed you longer. I thought you were done with it. Fuck.”
I said nothing, and he turned to me with an intense look on his face. “Why were you out here, and who knows you were out here?”
“I- my friend, my work buddy, Raph… he went down there, and I hadn’t heard from him. He worked with me, at the job-”
His face went pale. “He went down there? Fuck, I thought that guy was going to be the least problematic. This is bad. Really, really bad.”
He took a deep inhale, and after a moment of collecting himself, spoke. “Forget Raphael. Forget you ever knew him. No- fuck that. I’m already screwed, my superiors are going to crucify me. I’ll tell you this. Forget everything: your job, your apartment, anything you have here. Get the hell out of the country, and don’t tell me where you’re going to go, because I’m sure I’ll have to testify. Don’t ever speak of what you saw. I’m not saying this to cover my ass, I’m as good as dead. But if you want any chance of having a normal life after this. Go somewhere quiet, start fresh, and leave this all behind. And quick.”
He stopped talking to me, and pulled out a radio. He fiercely pointed toward the trail. I did not hesitate. I went all the way back to the trail, hopped in my car, and drove straight home. I sat for awhile, stunned, before slowly grabbing some important things. My cousin Dave had a place down in Mexico a majority of the year. Although I lost my personal phone, I still had my work phone, and I got ahold of him. I didn’t tell him much, just that I was in trouble and needed to get down there as quickly as possible to figure out my situation. After he verified I hadn’t killed anybody or anything like that, he agreed to help me make arrangements to get out there.
I won’t get into much detail, but I more or less fled without a word, taking only money and my passport alongside some clothes and stuff. I eventually got down to his place, a quiet little spot in a smaller resort town. He put me up for a little while, and helped me game plan my next move.
Of course, he wanted to hear what happened. I told him everything, over a couple drinks. When I finished, he swished his glass around for a second, thinking hard.
“You remember my dad, right?” he eventually asked. I nodded; I hadn’t known my uncle all too well, and he had a reputation in the family for being kind of kooky and a recluse. He had been in the Army during the Vietnam War, been dishonorably discharged, gotten into a lot of conspiracy nonsense, and ended up being divorced by my aunt when I was young and more or less disappeared from things, rarely seeing his kids or anyone else in the family.
“You see, my dad… most of the stuff he got into was crackpot garbage. But there was one thing he always raved about that he swore he had personally seen evidence of. You know the abandoned factory out in the valley?”
Everyone in the area did. It was no secret for locals that in the 60’s, the U.S. Army had requisitioned the facility as a testing ground for demolitions, and after the Vietnam War, packed up and left it abandoned again. My uncle had been a desk jockey at the facility, and was discharged for mentally unstable behavior.
“Dad was convinced there was more than demolitions going on out there when he was in the Army. He claims that he did some snooping around, and discovered that the demolition thing was a coverup for some secret research project.
”He took a deep breath and laughed a little, shaking his head.“This is going to sound silly… actually, no it’s not, not after what you told me. He thought they were trying to breed some kind of supersoldier there for use in ‘Nam. He was part of logistics and said they were always discreetly bringing in all kinds of lab equipment alongside the normal stuff. And there was one shipment he caught a glimpse of, that had a bunch of pet supplies for rats. He got this idea that the Army was attempting to splice rodent DNA into troops. Ya know, because of the whole Viet Cong tunnel system and the ‘tunnel rats’; he thought they were trying to take it a step further, literally making soldiers with rat DNA to infiltrate the tunnels.”
“His story was that when he tried to bring things up, they dismissed him, until he attempted to expose things himself and got himself caught and discharged on faulty psychological grounds. Given how he was, we always figured that he was kind of crazy, and that they were probably in the right.
”We both sat in silence for a little while, and I strangely started laughing. “I guess he wasn’t so crazy after all, then?”
Once I got set up, things were okay for awhile. I found ways to apply my skillset to my new area and work jobs to get by. No government men came after me. I had more or less made it out.
Why am I posting, then? Well… I’m not sure. Just like my decision to enter the tunnel; it’s undercut by that lingering sense of curiosity. I can’t say I want to be found, but I almost do. It’s lonely, and I have nobody to share this experience with out here. And I’m wondering what all ended up happening. My life is kind of a dead-end now, working just to pay for the basics. How do you go back to normalcy after something like that?
I’m sure this will end up across someone’s radar. I don’t know if it will end up with a bullet to the head in the middle of the night, or me taken to some kind of secret interrogation facility, or what. But I feel compelled to share, and I accept whatever fate is coming my way.