The Boston Tunnel Affair - Preparing to Return

Part 5
The Boston Tunnel Affair: Beneath the City, the Tunnels are Alive!

Bridgette’s Dairy
Wednesday, 14 January, 1925

               Mr. Smith suggested we retire for the night and plan our next move. Obviously we cannot go much farther in the tunnels without the acid fumes affecting us. Our lungs felt a bit scalded as it already was from our exposure. Mr. Rasicci wondered if we could access gas masks, perhaps there were some war surplus ones available somewhere in the city? To do so, however, would require waiting for daylight.

Mr. Smith also wondered if I would be willing to analyze the contents of the paint can. Obviously it was in the tunnel for a reason. It might be helpful if we could figure out what that reason was and put it to our advantage. I’m not sure how well I will do, but I did indicate that I would try. However, I needed access to a proper lab, which is how I wound up on the campus of Harvard University today. I can assure you, dear journal, that my sleep was not the most restful last night. I kept fearing that metal monster would come crashing into my room at any second, trying to prevent all of us from telling anyone what we had witnessed.

          Needless to say, we all survived the night, even if we got little sleep. Come morning, Mr. Smith made some phone calls and here I am, trying to remember how to do what I need to do. In all honesty, though, I have done chemical analysis several times in the last few years. I’m conducting tests on stone and even some of the plant matter around them, all the time. Occasionally, in a pinch where we are really curious, I’ll even do some analysis on other finds, including organic remains, at the sight. So I’m not completely rusty, just out of serious practice. Especially with a completely unknown compound. I’m going to start with the petrol family as my reference point, simply based on the smell of the contents. One has to start somewhere and that would be as good a point as any at this moment. With that, I’m off to continue with my work. I’ll return to write more as time allows.

  

This substance is proving quite baffling. I’d hate to think Mr. Smith’s efforts to get me in here are all going to come to naught for us. And regardless of the outcome in the lab, I will still need to do a future lecture on my research with the lithic monuments in Ireland and northern England. Not that I mind. To lecture at Harvard would be quite nice; however, I would also like to know what this substance is made of and just what it does, and the bloody thing isn’t cooperating.

While I am stuck here in the lab, the others have gone shopping for added equipment for later. I believe one of them located a supply source for the gas masks we’ll need to go farther into the tunnels. It might have been Mr. Rasicci using some of the resources available to him through the American Detective Association. Who knew there was an organization just for detectives? I suspect it often comes in handy, such as now. They are also going to purchase more electric torches and, if possible, some powerful ammunition with which to take on the vampire. There was even talk of silver bullets if at all possible.

Back to the chromatograph. I believe there are some results for me to interpret before I figure out what other tests with which to subject this intriguing fluid. Oh and Mr. Smith informed us this morning, in his own colorful manner, that these silver metal vampires are quite rare. I’m, of course, now wondering if there are non-silver metallic vampires out there running around. Boy did I call this one wrong. Intriguing.

 

I’ve got it! Well, I’ve got what chemicals are present in the mystery fluid. I just can’t figure out how to create more of it. Fortunately, there looks to be enough in the can for all of us. When applied to skin and clothing, it serves to protect them from the ravages of the acid present in the tunnel. This will be important, as the depth of the liquid looks to get progressively deeper. If we need to go very far in our explorations, we will be wading in the stuff at some point. Not really a prospect I relish, but it may be unavoidable. And if there is one thing I learned about myself during the War, it is that I can tackle that which I would rather not, if it is indeed unavoidable.

My analysis complete, I need to sign off for now. I suspect I shan’t be writing more until after our trip to the sewers. Hopefully I’ll still be alive to write it.

 

The Boston Tunnel Affair - Into the Tunnels

Part 4
The Boston Tunnel Affair: Beneath the City, the Tunnels are Alive!

There we all stood, looking down into the depths of the open pit. Horrid fumes wafted up into our faces as we aimed our torches about trying to get an idea of what was down there. Miss. O’Reilly was the first to notice a glint of metal in the shine of one of the lights, inquiring, and “What was that?” And of course we all flashed our lights around even more trying to find the reason for her question.

Off to one side of the tunnel sat an open can – the kind you can purchase paint in – of about a gallon in capacity. We couldn’t quite make out what was in the can from our position in the laundry room, so Mr. Long gracefully let himself down into the tunnel and handed it back up. Mr. Rasicci accepted it, setting it safely off to one side, positioned so that it was almost completely out of sight. The contents looked to be viscous in nature and smelled faintly of something petrol-related. I must admit an eagerness to get it to a lab somewhere and try to puzzle it out.

As Mr. Long had so easily demonstrated, it looked as though we would all have to enter the tunnel to continue our investigation. One by one we passed through that dark opening into the foul smelling space beyond, carefully avoiding the questionable liquid running in a narrow stream down the middle. Being the shortest present, I needed help from one of the gentlemen below to get my feet safely on solid ground once more. Getting back out of the tunnel would prove to be interesting and I hoped we wouldn’t be in a great hurry when it happened.

             Miss. O’Reilly was without a torch, so I passed her mine to use and instead activitated my other, aetheric sight with which to see our surroundings. They proved to be other than expected for being in a sewer tunnel. I fully expected to see smooth clay walls or even perhaps rough bricks, and these walls were smooth, but they also appeared as though they would be rough to the touch. Not that I wanted to touch them, mind you. I got the distinct impression that they might even quiver or give under the pressure of my hand. While I really didn’t want to really think about what those walls might have been made of, that curious little voice in my mind started pondering just that. Of course. Not what I really wanted to be thinking of while in the belly of the beast, so to speak. (Actually, given the growing smell of stomach acid, that observation might not be all that far off the mark.)

Things only continued growing more and more bizarre as we continued down the tunnel. I would have thought it was the growing affects of the acid fumes were it not for how vivid and bizarre my observations. Every-so-often, embedded in the material of the wall, one would see a random body part. At first, about 6 feet in, I noticed what appeared to be a small hand protruding in relief from the side of the left wall. It appeared too small to be that of an adult and yet it wasn’t small enough to be that of a youth or child. I realize that statement makes little to no sense, but there was just something wrong about it.

The next odd protuberance appeared to be that of a shoulder, sticking slightly out from the background material. However, one side of it was grotesquely large while the other was of a more normal size and shape.

I’m sure these observations will be haunting my dreams for weeks to come, especially since I reached the conclusion that the walls were indeed living tissue. This was at about the fifteen foot mark and it nearly sent me scrambling back for the opening in the laundry room. I saw many things in France to shake my sanity, but this experience had surpassed them in a matter of minutes. I was nearly done in again a few moments later after noticing a bat trapped against the roof of the tunnel. Its wings were held splayed open by some sort of webbing which looked to be much thicker than what a spider spins.

Added to the strange organic parts embedded within the tissue of the walls was the increasing need to press closer towards touching those walls as the channel of liquid in the center of the tunnel continued to become deeper and wider. Not a one of us was eager to discover just how strong that acid might prove to be and yet we were all loathe to actually touch the walls. How did we know that we wouldn’t be stuck fast and at risk of being absorbed into whatever that repulsive tissue comprised?

 

It wasn’t very far past where the bat was so horribly trapped that we caught sight of Labana. We simply rounded a bend in the tunnel and there she was in all her awful glory. Even with Mr. Smith’s warning of her true nature, there was no way the majority of us were prepared for what we now saw there ahead of us. She had shed the flesh worn earlier in the day and now stood before us a being made entirely of a silver-colored metal. Those who came on our excursion armed now pulled their weapons and began firing upon the monster. Mr. Long proceeded to engage her in hand-to-hand combat, a sort of martial arts of sorts. I suspect there is more to his heritage than the evident Native American blood.

 

He proved to be an impressive master of his particular art. Glancing back, I watched more than once as he launched himself from against those grotesque walls to land a kick or some other leap driven blow upon the vampire - a description that I was now more than prepared to accept.

Mr. Smith and Mr. Rasicci rained shot upon shot in her direction, thankfully missing Mr. Hand time and again. As for the rest of us, we made our way as quickly as possible back towards the opening. Fortunately the men weren’t far behind us and quickly helped boost us up and clear of the tunnel. Mr. Long seemed extremely loathe to give off the fight, but something in Mr. Smith’s tone of voice persuaded him otherwise and he quickly joined us as well.

 

Back safely in the laundry room, we took a quick moment to regroup and gather both our breath and our wits before deciding on our next course of action. Mr. Smith had a few choice words with which to describe the woman in the tunnels. I suspect he forgets that there are women present, although at the moment I really didn’t mind. My mind was focused on returning to my room where I could have a good stiff drink to help calm my nerves.

Just a Quick Note

I am getting more of the story ready to publish. There should be a new installment this Saturday, as long as I remember to set the publish schedule for it. I've been really bad about remembering that I want a new installment up by Saturday afternoon, so I'm actually trying to get several ready at once and then just preschedule them. Then I'll just need to remember when new installments have to be ready to go.

Also, I think I'm going to go back and change the post titles to the name of the current adventure followed by that installment's name. So instead of everything starting "Bridgette's Diaries - cute chapter title here" they'll be "The Boston Tunnel Affair - cute name here." That way it'll be easier to know when the adventure changes to a new story.

Oh, and if you're interested in more info about 1920s history, check out the sidebar to your right for all kinds of fun links.

Thanks for checking me out!

Melinda

The Boston Tunnel Affair - Up And Running

Part 3
The Boston Tunnel Affair: Beneath the City, the Tunnels are Alive!

(Frontispiece to the 1831 Edition of Frankenstein)

Bridgette’s Dairy
Tuesday, 13 January 1925

Dear Diary, I feel I must write this tonight, regardless of how tired I become. I doubt that I will get much sleep anyway. Therefore, I’ll record the day’s events in case I should not get the chance later.

            Keira O’Reilly and I arrived at the Boundaries of Science Conference quite safely. The conference is being held at The Grand Plaza Hotel in Boston, Massachusetts. We had barely finished our registration before being approached by a tall, slender man in a dark blue suit who proceeded to introduce himself to us as Mr. Walter Smith from the United States’ Bureau of Investigation. Mr. Smith then continued on to introduce us to Miss. Belle Devereaux, who is apparently a pilot – a flamboyant one, and Mr. Leonard Rasicci, a private investigator from Chicago, Illinios.

            We’re to puzzle out what has caused the disappearance of five people in five months from this particular hotel. Three men working in the janitorial department have disappeared from the boiler room while maids have disappeared from the 3^rd and 7^th floor, respectively. Their disappearances were apparently without any trace remaining. There were no clues that we knew left behind.

We moved aside to a small alcove where we could converse without being easily overheard. I believe the word for what Mr. Smith proceeded to do was “brief” us on the situation we had been asked to help investigate. A significant number of people had been disappearing from the hotel over the past few months. While foul play was suspected, it wasn’t the foul play one normally thinks of happening in America, such as the “mob”. Mr. Smith’s superiors believed there was something more sinister and possibly of a supernatural source at work here in Boston. Our jobs were to find out exactly what was happening and, if at all possible, put a stop to it.

The current suggestion was to keep our eyes and ears open and hope we noticed something amiss that would help unearth the root of the puzzle.

            Miss. O’Reilly and I scurried off to get settled into our room and then decided which lectures and presentations to attend during the rest of the afternoon. Mr. Rasicci wandered off to question various hotel staff and to poke around in interesting looking corners. Mr. Smith seemed to float about here and there, questioning people. He also poked in corners, and popped in to the occasional presentation. Miss. Devereaux apparently followed the same agenda as did Miss. O’Reilly and myself, as we noticed her presence in at least one of our presentations.

            During the very late afternoon, around tea time, we were in attendance at the presentation by one Robert Oppenheimer on the work of a Dr. Braumbauer concerning the reanimation of dead tissue using electrical impulses. It seemed extremely fantastic to me that such a thing could be achieved. Dead tissue fully reanimated as living, healthy tissue? That certainly falls within the realm of extreme science indeed. However, a few points that Mr. Oppenheimer raised certainly suggest room for further investigation. While I found Dr. Braumbauer’s claims to be rather extreme and outlandish, the concept is fascinating in a rather morbid way, suggesting shades of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstine’s monster.

 

But I digress. Sometime during the lecture, Mr. Smith apparently noticed someone he knew and quickly left the conference behind them. Glancing back, I caught sight of an extremely beautiful woman dressed entirely in red. As he didn’t seem to indicate he wanted any assistance, I tried to apply my attention once more to the presentation before me.

We managed to attend a reception after Mr. Oppenheimer’s presentation. Miss. O’Reilly impressed Dr. Werner Heisenberg with her astute questions, prompting him to offer her his business card and an offer for further conversation at some point during the conference. In my new friend’s defense, she did ask some rather pointed, intelligent questions concerning Dr. Braumbauer’s line of investigation.

Our little group of adventurers was also lucky enough to be invited to dinner with this very talented group of men, giving us further opportunity to ask questions of not only them but also others in attendance. While I very much doubt any of them have been haunting this Boston hotel for the past few months, perhaps a further line of inquiry into our mysterious disappearance will be suggested by some comment or the other. One never knows from which direction inspiration will appear.

            Fortunately, Mr. Smith reappeared near the end of dinner. I was starting to get worried about his absence, although he does seem more than capable of extricating himself from troubling situations. He gave the rest of us what I supposed would be called a “knowing look”, suggesting we all make our exits and regroup together once more. Shortly after, we do just that, although I must admit some reluctance on my part. The company was stimulating and fascinating, awaking in me an interest in science once more that has taken me a bit by surprise. However, I am sure those who sent me here, while understanding, had an entirely different intent in mind. I pull myself away from our esteemed company with a hope that our paths will cross again during the conference.

            We gathered together bit by bit in the lobby at the same location as our initial meeting and discussion. A Mr. Aiden Long has joined our group, apparently as a latecomer. I’m not sure what to make of him with his darker skin and long black hair. Native American perhaps? He certainly seems quite foreign and exotic. And then he opened his mouth to talk and sounded more American than anything else.

Mr. Smith informed the rest of us that the woman he had followed out of the lecture hall had in actuality been a vampire. I mean, really? A vampire – vile creature of literature as well as of folklore? And here I was thinking him such a competent man.

            While I’m swallowing down my shock at his seeming superstitions claim, he continued telling us about these so-called vampires. Apparently these vampires are made of a strange metal. They are quite evil, taking the skins of we humans to wear as a disguise, enabling them to pass as human while walking amongst us. I knew this conference was all about the fringes of science, but this has most definitely moved firmly into the realm of science fiction or, perhaps, outright fantasy.

 

I’m not at all sure what to make of this turn in events, but I shall try to keep an open mind. Surely there is some explanation that will make sense without violating the very laws of nature. I realize this stance may not make sense to those who know me and know of what I can do, such as those within the Society itself, but really, there are boundaries and then there are, well, scary stories to tell in the dark. We shall see.

To get back to the story, Mr. Smith had followed this vampire, Labana, to the laundry room, where she disappeared on him. He did find an opening in the floor which led to the sewer system running beneath much of Boston. Apparently she slipped down the entrance to the tunnels directly beneath the hotel. He then suggested we all regroup in the laundry room on the ground floor of the hotel in a few minutes’ time. It was agreed and we all scurried off to change and gather our electric torches as well as whatever other supplies we thought prudent. I’m grateful for the foresight involved in packing a pair of trousers for this trip.

Once we had met up again in the laundry room, Mr. Smith led us back behind the large, commercial washing apparatus full of scrubbing boards and giant wringers to a spot on the floor where the faint outlines of a trap door could just be seen in the dim light. With deft fingers he opened a pocket knife and used the largest blade to pry up the edge of the door. The opening revealed was approximately 2 by 3 feet, easily big enough for a person to let themselves down into the tunnel. The fumes wafting up through the space was definitely on the vile side, but not really what you would expect. This was supposed to be an opening into the sewer, but it didn’t have the stench of raw sewage or even of vile, stagnant water. In all honestly, it was so out of context that it took me several minutes of being in the tunnel to place it. What we were smelling was stomach acid! Why the sewer tunnels below the hotel would reek of stomach acid was beyond me, at least at the time.  Unfortunately, the reason would prove hard to believe if one wasn’t actually present when we discovered the answer.