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.
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