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THE UNDERGROUND THINGS
By Donald Sullivan
Wally looked up at the barred windows of the old prison as he followed the other two boys along the crumbling walkway leading into the abandoned institution. They had entered the grounds through one of several holes in the chain link fence, cut by homeless people who were using the old building for shelter.
The state planned to eventually use the old building for another facility, but for now the homeless had taken over.
Wally looked up at the darkening sky. "It's gonna rain, guys."
"Good," said Mark, "maybe it'll cool off a little."
"Won't matter when we get to the underground," said Randy, "they say it's cool all the time down there."
Mark, sixteen, was the oldest of the three, and it had been his idea to explore the basements of the old abandoned prison. Randy, Mark's younger brother at fourteen, always agreed with Mark, so naturally went along with the idea. Wally didn't like the idea, but after some teasing and coaxing by the other two finally gave in.
Wally shuddered as he thought of the underground. The underground was a maze of basements connected by tunnels, once used as maintenance facilities for the prison, and workshops for the prisoners to make license plates and other items.
An old homeless man from Haiti had once used the old prison for shelter. It was rumored that he was a Voodoo practitioner and had used the underground to make zombies of some of the homeless people who had died. Most people were skeptical of the rumor, but Wally wasn't sure what to believe.
The sky grew darker, and gusts of wind picked up and tossed trash that littered the prison grounds. Wally brushed away a plastic bag that had blown against his face.
Wally, at thirteen and the youngest of the three, followed the other two into the building. Because of the dark clouds outside, it was nearly as dark as night inside the building.
Mark, who had several times entered the building with his older cousin, led them through the building. He led them through hallways, past cells, and through what had been a dining hall. The place was dank and smelled of mold and urine. Mark had never been to the basements, but he knew how to get to the stairwell leading down there.
Wally jumped as a voice sounded from the darkness. "Where you boys think you're going?"
A skinny old man in a tattered tee shirt, jeans, and a baseball cap showed himself. He grinned, showing the three remaining teeth in his head. "Better get your asses outta here. This ain't no place for fun and games."
Mark spoke up. "It's none of your business, dude. We got as much right in here as you or anybody."
The grin disappeared from the old man's bewhiskered face. "There's places in here that's to be avoided. If you don't know the place, you can get in trouble. Stay here and roam around, but if you meet up with strange things, don't say I didn't warn you."
"You can't scare us," said Mark. He held his head up defiantly. "For your information, we're going down to the basement."
"Are you nuts? There's things down there that ain't natural. Zombies. Corpses that ain't dead. They hibernate down there in the pitch dark, but wake up when they smell the warm flesh of a living person. They feast on whatever living thing that goes down there, even people." He grinned again. "You boys wanna be their next meal?"
Mark laughed. "You don't scare me, old man." He looked at Randy and Wally. "The old dude scare you guys?"
Randy sneered. "Yeah, I'm about to pee in my pants."
Wally said nothing, but was having thoughts about backing out. He didn't know why he was hanging out with these two, anyway. They were always getting into trouble. Mark smoked cigarettes, and now Randy was taking up the habit. Sometimes, the two of them would get drunk on cheap wine.
Mark and Randy were both light haired, tall and well built for their age, but Wally was dark, and slightly built. He was small, even for thirteen.
"Hey, dude, we'll bring you back a zombie," said Mark, as he walked away from the old man. "C'mon guys."
They came to the stairs leading down to the basements. It was dark in the old building, but enough light filtered in from the outside to prevent total darkness. But as Wally looked down the staircase, the steps disappeared in total blackness.
"I don't like this." said Wally. "I don't care what you guys do, but I'm going back."
Mark laughed. "Look, Randy, he's turning chicken."
"Maybe there's something to that rumor about zombies," said Wally.
"Ha. You believe that bull? Look, that was just a bunch of crap started by the homeless people. C'mon. You agreed to come with me and Randy."
"Lots of people have said that voodoo witch doctors know how to revive dead people," countered Wally.
"They're a bunch of fakes," said Mark. "But go ahead and chicken out, and see if you can find your way outta here."
"Yeah," said Randy, "you could wander around lost and run into some bums in here that ain't so nice." Mark and Randy laughed.
Wally feared that they were probably right. "Just kidding," He mumbled. "I'm with you guys."
"Okay, guys," said Mark, "we've all got a flashlight, but we'll only use one at a time to save batteries. I'll use mine first.
They reached the room at the bottom of the stairs, and the beam of Mark's light picked up several rusted pieces of machinery scattered on the floor.
They went through a short corridor and entered an empty chamber about the size of a large living room. It was cool and dank down below, and Wally noted that there was no smell of urine in the basement as there was above, although the musty odor remained. They proceeded through two more corridors and a couple of more chambers, being careful to stay in a straight line. They avoided the side doors to avoid getting lost in the maze.
The chambers were all empty except for more machine parts on the floor. Wally's heart would jump into his throat every time they entered a new chamber, always expecting some horrible creature to jump out from the shadows.
The fifth chamber wasn't empty. Resting on a large table next to the wall was a long box.
"Hey, th-that looks like a coffin," said Randy. His voice was at a high pitch and was shaky.
"Don't sweat it, man," said Mark. "The prisoners made a lot of stuff here, including coffins. Prisoners die and get buried too, y'know."
The three approached the coffin. By now, all had their flashlights on with the beams trained on the object. When they were close enough for the lights to shine into the coffin, the three gasped in unison. Randy had been about to light up a cigarette, and the Zippo lighter slipped from his fingers and clanged when it hit the concrete floor. Wally felt faint as he beheld the thing in the coffin.
There it lay, a gaunt form, wasted to a near skeleton, its sickly liver-colored, wrinkly skin drawn tightly around its bones. Shaggy hair covered its skull, and the opened, bulging eyes of its hideous face stared at the ceiling. Its clothing was filthy, tattered, and blood stained.
The expression on its face was vicious, even in death, and its thin lips parted in an evil grin, showing yellow teeth. Around its mouth was dried blood and bits of flesh.
Randy was paralyzed. He stood there like a statue, rigid and mute, not daring to breathe. But even as he stared at the thing, he recoiled in horror as its eyes moved. It raised its head and a guttural, raspy sound issued from its throat.
Mark and Randy screamed and fled through the corridor connecting to the next chamber, but when Wally recovered from his paralysis and turned to run, his foot caught on an old metal part on the floor and he fell. His flashlight slipped from his grasp and rolled away, the light now extinguished.
He heard the guttural sound coming from the thing again, and then heard scuffling sounds. It was getting out of the coffin!
As he was desperately scrambling to raise himself from the floor, his fingers found a smooth metal object. Randy's Zippo, he realized. He clutched it in his hand as he rose to his feet. He had enough presence of mind to realize that the lighter should give him enough light to locate the door. His thumb spun the wheel several times, but the lighter produced nothing but sparks. He jammed it into his pocket.
He ran aimlessly through the blackness until he bumped into the wall. Crab-like, he groped his way along the wall hoping to find the door. He had taken but a few steps when he felt a bony hand grasp his left wrist. Terrified, he tried to pull away, but the thing had him in a vice-like grip.
Though he was near frozen with terror, something in his brain told him to resist. He must not give up. He still had the lighter, and he drew it from his pocket. He prayed that it would light this time. With his free hand, he spun the wheel and flame spouted from the lighter.
With shaking hands, he held the flame next to the hand that was gripping his wrist. It shrieked and drew its hand back. But its sleeve caught fire, and the fire rapidly spread over its entire body. Randy saw the door only a few feet away and dashed through it as the thing was screeching and rolling on the floor. Moments later the screaming stopped.
The lighter was getting hot, and he extinguished it. He moved as fast as he dared through the pitch blackness, all the while hoping that he had not found a door leading deeper into other chambers. His sense of direction had always been good, and he hoped it wouldn't fail him now.
He lit the lighter several more times to orient himself and to find doors leading out--he hoped. He listened but did not hear sounds behind him. Other zombies were apparently not yet aroused by the commotion.
He went through several chambers. On the way in, they had gone through four chambers and stopped at the fifth. He lost count of how many he had now gone through. Was it three, four? If he was going deeper into the basements, he would be sure to find more of the hideous things, maybe already awakened and waiting for him.
The lighter would soon run out of fluid and he would be in total darkness--and with no weapon to fight the zombies. He had better turn around now, he thought, and go back before he was too deep into the underground to turn back.
But suddenly he saw a dim light ahead, and breathed a heavy sigh of relief. He had been going in the right direction all along. Before he knew it he was at the foot of the stairs.
When he reached the top, Mark and Randy were not there waiting for him. He had not expected that they would be. They had abandoned him completely. There had been time for them to help him up when he fell, and there would still have been time for all three to escape.
While searching for the exit from the prison, he ran into an old homeless lady who was kind enough to lead him out of the building. He gave her the Zippo and a few dollars that he had in his pocket, for which she seemed grateful.
He was still tense, unsettled, and frightened as he hurried away from the old prison, but he was also angry. He vowed that he would no longer have anything to do with Mark and Randy--that was for sure.
***The End***
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