The Boston Tunnel Affair - After Effects and Wrap Up

Part 8
The Boston Tunnel Affair: Beneath the City, the Tunnels are Alive! Bridgette’s Dairy

Friday, 17 January, 1925

We found out the next day that a good chunk of the immediate area had suffered from the death of the tunnel monster. Several streets were either partially or completely collapsed. City officials were puzzled as to what caused the damage, since according to experts as it didn’t seem to be an earthquake. Our brave little group will spend the next couple of days at the hotel before heading into New York City. At least, I know that is where Miss. O’Reilly and I are going, since we will be filing reports of the adventure with the New York chapter of the Society. As for the evening of our final trip into the sewer tunnels, I returned to my room to shower and take several good stiff drinks from my flask. I may need to renew my physician’s credentials if there are many more trips to America, as that is the only way to get your hands on alcohol in the States these days. Silly Yanks, don’t they realize we need something to steady ourselves after fighting accursed beasties to keep them safe? As for now, I just want to find a comfy location and do nothing but sleep for several days.

Monday, 20 January, 1925

New York City is amazing! Miss. Devereaux accompanied Miss. O’Reilly and myself into the city and has promised to act as a sort of tour guide for all of the necessary sights, which apparently include several department stores as well as the usual monuments. We are in a hotel right in the middle of Manhattan, near the famed Times Square. I must admit to feeling a bit like a hick in the big city, all wide-eyed and agog at the sights. It is nothing like London, which has its own hustle and feel. We shall spend a part of the afternoon writing up our reports for the Society and then take the next couple of days to rest and play tourist. I’m sure we all can use the time to refresh ourselves after such an amazing time of it in Boston. I’m honestly a little worried as to how the upper echelons at the Society will take the contents of our reports, given how fantastical the whole endeavor proved to be. I can only report the facts as they happened. And I suspect my worries may be for naught, as neither Miss. Devereaux nor Mr. Smith appeared too caught off guard by the vampire, Labana. Hopefully I can perhaps find some appropriate time to ask her more on the subject.

It is also disappointing that I shall probably never know more about the tunnel creature. In spite of the sheer horror and awfulness of it all, the entire concept of a living “tunnel” is still fascinating. While the death of the creature has also hopefully ended the disappearances, we still do not understand what was entirely behind them. Was Labana using them as a food source before eventually killing them slowly by exsanguinations? Was she dragging them into the tunnel as food for the tunnel creature? Or was the creature somehow luring them down into the tunnels to consume without any help from the vampire? We’ll never know. And, Dear Diary, you know how very much a scientific mind hates the idea of never being able to understand things.

We shall depart for England on the 24^th. It shall be nice to be back in my cozy cottage with all of my artifacts and books once more. And fortunately for me, Miss. Devereaux has offered to fly me over whenever I need to give my lecture at Harvard. Apparently she is quite the pilot. I am rather looking forward to it. Not only will it allow me to return to the States for another visit, but it shall be nice to add to my vitae. And the added time spent with Miss. Devereaux shall be nice. Perhaps then I can find out more of her past adventures with Mr. Smith.

I wonder if the Millennium Society will have any other adventures for me in the future. Hopefully they won’t be as sanity-sacrificing as this last one. I’m trying very much not to dwell upon what happened. I may be better ready to process and digest it all after our return to England, but as of now, it’s still too new and strange.

The Boston Tunnel Affair - It Ends Now

Part 7
The Boston Tunnel Affair: Beneath the City, the Tunnels are Alive!

Bridgette’s Dairy
Thursday, 15 January, 1925, Continued

          Up ahead the tunnel turned sharply to the left. As we rounded the corner, I saw the most awe-inspiring sight of my life. The tunnel was indeed a living entity, all be it one that I would be hard pressed to define or describe. Before us the chamber opened up, becoming both wider and taller. And there, just ahead, hung a gigantic heart. You could watch it pulse as it beat. Suspended behind it was an equally large pair of lungs, expanding and contracting as though they were actually engaged in respiration. As if that were not horror enough, perched upon the heart was Labana, drinking deeply from the blood that coursed through it. As embarrassing as it is to admit, I am certain I screamed - at least a small scream. Not so Mr. Smith, who quickly shot off two rounds from his big gun. At least one of them hit her square on, not that you could make out any discernable damage from where we stood. The second shot seemed to ricochet from her metallic exterior and careened into the nearby wall. I watched, fascinated as the creature quivered from the impact, perhaps even from the pain, and a trickle of bright red blood ran down the wall.

Shortly after Mr. Smith’s shots rang out, Mr. Long let out a battle cry in a tongue I couldn’t understand and launched himself at the metal vampire. Using the wall as leverage, he crashed into her with both feet, knocking her from her position of feeding. With a snarl, she swung at him with what I am sure was enough force to knock him into one of the walls. Thankfully he ducked that limber body out of the way before she could actually impact.

Mr. Rasicci had also pulled his gun and began to rain more bullets down upon the heart of the tunnel creature. Mr. Smith took the time to take a careful aim before firing once again upon Labana, scoring another direct shot.

During all of this, Mr. Long was in the thick of it all, going hammer and tongs against her. You could see him land blow after kick in quick succession. Labana was not entirely without her own defenses, as she continued to fight back, knocking Mr. Long on his back in the stomach acid on at least one occasion. In the end, he prevailed - landing a kick that snapped her head back and sent her falling into the acidic liquid sloshing around them. At a shout of warning from Mr. Smith, he came running back towards us as we all ducked behind the safety of the bend.

I’m not sure I could describe the explosion that followed, but I shall give it a try. Apparently silver metallic vampires explode after their bodies have taken enough damage. Labana now erupted in a rain of metal shrapnel in all directions, taking the heart and lungs of the tunnel creature with her. We watched as scraps of metal embedded themselves in the wall nearby, all accompanied with a hail of stomach acid and bits of organ tissue. It is probably fortunate that none of us had time to ponder what we had just seen, for a rumbling beneath our feet alerted us to yet another problem and we turned to run for the entrance back up to the hotel.

All around us came tumbling down bits of tissue from the living walls as well as the brick and mortar that made up the support behind them. It was as though the entire city were collapsing on our heads. We made it to our entrance, scurrying back up into the laundry room and slamming the trapdoor shut before the shock waves fully reached that far. When they did arrive, the floor shook mightily, but at least we didn’t have to worry about a backsplash of acid sloshing up through the opening and all over the floor.

 
 

Friday, 17 January, 1925

We found out the next day that a good chunk of the immediate area had suffered from the death of the tunnel monster. Several streets were either partially or completely collapsed. City officials were puzzled as to what caused the damage, since according to experts as it didn’t seem to be an earthquake. Our brave little group will spend the next couple of days at the hotel before heading into New York City. At least, I know that is where Miss. O’Reilly and I are going, since we will be filing reports of the adventure with the New York chapter of the Society. As for the evening of our final trip into the sewer tunnels, I returned to my room to shower and take several good stiff drinks from my flask. I may need to renew my physician’s credentials if there are many more trips to America, as that is the only way to get your hands on alcohol in the States these days. Silly Yanks, don’t they realize we need something to steady ourselves after fighting accursed beasties to keep them safe?

 

Game Product Review - Annals of the Drunken Wizard: Critical Hit-Exchanging Weapon Special Abilities

It's not 1920s related, but I have my first real product review up over at RPGNow. It's for a game supplement designed for the Pathfinder RPG. Please, go take a look if you have a moment. And if you enjoy Pathfinder, or even Dungeons and Dragons, maybe consider the product. (And yes, I did get a copy to review, just so you know.) I'm a little excited because not only is it a really fun supplement, but I also get a thank-you mention in it for having looked it over and giving my input on the thing while Bradley was finishing it up. Look for Tryllyam on the first page, which will link back to here. This is the first time I've ever gotten onto the thank-you page of someone's work and it left me a little giddy.

Here's a link to the product in question. http://www.rpgnow.com/product/113158/Annals-of-the-Drunken-Wizard%3A-Critical-Hit-Exchanging-Weapon-Special-Abilities-%5BPFRPG%5D?term=drunken+wizard

The Boston Tunnel Affair - Back Into the Sewers

Part 6
The Boston Tunnel Affair: Beneath the City, the Tunnels are Alive!

Bridgette’s Dairy
Thursday, 15 January, 1925

 

 

Dear Diary, we survived, although Boston may never be the same again and I’m still not sure what in Hell it was that we killed last night. Let me start back where I last left off.

We once again met up as a group, only this time we gathered in Mr. Smith’s room. Mr. Rasicci had managed to procure enough gas masks for the lot of us, thank goodness. I’m not sure what we would have done otherwise, or how fervently I would be wishing that I didn’t need to enter the sewer once again. Miss. Devereaux and Miss. O’Reilly had purchased some extra electric torches and heavy gloves. They even managed to find heavy boots for those of us needing them. And Mr. Smith got his hands on some silver ammunition for their various firearms. My small caliber pistol was of little use in such a fight, but I did bring it along with me, just in case. Its weight in my pocket offered a small measure of comfort, even if I didn’t have any of the special bullets.

I explained that I thought the liquid in the can would serve as a protectant from the creature’s digestive fluids and shared my suspicion that Labana lost her skin in the sewer because the fluid’s acid could not affect whatever metal of which she was composed. Of course, there is also the possibility that she just enjoyed running around looking like something from a science fiction penny dreadful. Or perhaps she was merely an exhibitionist.

We suited up in Mr. Smith’s room with the boots and treated our clothing and skin with the can’s contents. The gas masks and heavy gloves we added in the laundry room just before we entered the pit to the tunnel once again. Trying not to attract any extra attention to ourselves, we also took a back stairwell down to the ground floor. I think we were successful.

Once again, one of the men had to assist me in landing on the ground, as I didn’t want to enter the dreadful, acidic fluid any sooner than absolutely necessary. Mr. Long apparently didn’t have those reservations, as he started out walking down the middle of the tunnel, commenting after a few steps that I had, indeed, been correct in my assessment of the can’s contents. Nice to know he has faith in my abilities.

We retraced our steps from the previous evening fairly quickly, even if we did slow down considerably as we once again approached the location where we had encountered Labana. She was not there and we honestly had no way of knowing if she was currently in the tunnels with us. The thought did send shivers down my spine since I had no idea just how formidable an opponent she would be. Could she take out everyone in our group without any effort? Her metal body possessed a natural armor that was difficult to penetrate.

The entire time the liquid in the tunnel was getting deeper and wider. Somewhere around the 75 foot mark, there was no avoiding walking through it and soon we were all sloshing around in the fluid up to our ankles and higher. At a hundred and some odd feet, we encountered the most curious curtain hanging across the tunnel. It covered the entire expanse without any break except for where it hung free at the sides. It turned out to be created entirely of skin, although I’d be loathe to wager a guess on the type of skin. If it turned out to be human, I’m not sure I’d ever sleep again. Luckily, Mr. Smith was towards the front and, as such, was the one who moved it aside. Mr. Rasicci was kind enough to hold it back for the rest of us to pass. Upon walking by it, I noticed that the skin appeared to still be living. I am beyond indebted to him for his small kindness in holding the curtain open for us. My quota for weirdness has already been met for the next decade and I’ve a feeling that it is only going to get worse.

A few feet farther on, we came to what seemed to be a central location in the tunnels, or at least a connecting point, as three tunnels came together into a central, more open point that continues onward. Here the acidic liquid was much deeper, reaching up to my chest. Perhaps it’s a good thing that I’m the shortest in the group as anyone much shorter than I am would be in trouble. As far as I can tell, the protective fluid from the metal can is still working to protect us from the affects of the acid. Thank goodness for small favors.

Next week, the stunning conclusion...

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