“No. You’re mistaken. It’s much more than just a tunnel, and we both know that.”
Joe remained silent. His look hinted at the tantalizing isolation he faced in his earlier years.
“It’s a gamble messing with the likes of you, Joe,” the Shadow said. “Thing is, I’m tired of seeing these tunnels so devoid of life. Sylvia and the other restless fifty-three are out of the way, and the folly business has dried up.” They walked through the tunnel side by side until Joe separated himself, pulling further away from his captor.
“We’ll turn this tunnel into a lair — a proper resting place for all fifty-four of them,” the Shadow said. “Leaving them to haunt the hotel would not be fair to Chris after he signed the dotted line. They’ve toiled for ages in the lobby above, waiting for a redeemer. A redeemer, Joe.” He kept on, “As long as you play by ‘my’ rules, I’ll help you get them here, but you’ll have to capture them. Let me be clear, I forbid you from taking out your rage like you have in the past. You’ve been damned in here a long while, and you know something… that was all your doing. I’m going to let you loose.”
“I’ve been trapped. Maybe I deserved it,” Joe replied.
They came toward a waterfall. Joe dunked his head into the spring just beneath to exit the conversation. His face and movements became youthful and recharged as he came up from beneath.
“That’s better,” the Shadow said. “The Spring of Life will have its way. Don’t expect involvement from me beyond giving them a nudge. We can’t keep welcoming ghosts down here. It wouldn’t be right. Get Chris more invested in the property up top. Leave him a few bread crumbs. As for the tunnel, I’ll leave that to you. We’ll give these weary souls what they deserve, a second chance at life… not in 1928… but in 1982, linking them up with fifty-four of the most vegetative beings on this side of the grave. I needn’t say more.”
Joe remained uncertain of the future. The tunnel could be a place for joy and for sorrow — two absolutes well solidified in his mind for years as he remained far from civilization. This sentiment was not all dark and sinister, and neither was he. But when nightfall struck, he struggled to control his sick impulses — a problem carried since his youth in an unraveling ritual that was always the same. He would light a fire in the tunnel, chanting unfamiliar words as he circled around it in a way that only he could — speaking in a glossolalia that grew louder and louder with time until he would fall to the floor unconscious. This was all in a momentary darkness in the brain that led to the hours where the Creeper within him and the darkest parts of Oak Hollow came to life. Their entanglement remained incomprehensible — but youthful defiance came at a cost. Life was different, and he remained trapped in a state of being far worse — in a fate that would lead him to places he should never again go.
Joe Bonsall’s rapid decline from being a spry, seeing young man to a tormented and lifeless soul gnawed away at him without mercy for years — like a rotting wood susceptible to the worst of termites.
CHAPTER SEVEN
As the night sky shined upon him, CHRIS WILKERSON inspected the back of the hotel property. He stared at the stars hovering above until he tripped on an unmarked panel raised slightly above the ground.
What is this?
He collected a crowbar from the adjacent, cream-colored storage building and worked to pry it loose. The small building’s positioning seemed to serve as something of a cover for the panel and the entrance and exit of its visitors. Chris gritted his teeth as he lifted the lid. Looking down into the hole, he noted metal rebar steps protruding in a well-defined line. Deliberating a moment, he descended into the tight, dark space, scaling its twelve steps toward the bottom. He arrived into the lower part of the shaft, staring upon the multi-footed gap to the floor. An open hatch led into the area below. Dropping to the ground level, he grunted.
Ouch. That was further than I thought.
He studied his surroundings. It was a long and dark tunnel with only the faint glow in the eyes of an unintroduced acquaintance and a few dim lights lining the ceiling.
This place is huge.
A scratchy and whiny voice called out as clammy hands grabbed him by the arm to pull him off the ground, “Let me help you, Chris. What brings you here? I didn’t invite you here now, did I…?”
Who’s this guy? I don’t know him.
Chris shook his head. “I guess not. I didn’t realize anyone was here. I was just exploring the property. I’m starting a new business. Creepy Nights… Riverton will be better off because of it… just you wait.”
“Creepy Nights, eh? I like a good creep out. As for Riverton, I don’t doubt your impending success at all,” the mysterious tunnel dweller said. “I admire your… ingenuity, but you have to admit… you know what this place was before, right?”
Chris ran his fingers through his thinning hair while pondering on the question.
“A hotel?”
“Ding ding ding! You have any idea how many terrible things happen in hotels? Any idea at all?”
Chris shook his head. “I guess not. Just what I’ve seen in the movies and read in a few of my favorite books. It’s fiction.”
The whiny-voiced individual grinned. “Well, I’ve been here much longer than I want to admit, and I’ve seen an awful lot of things, and let me just tell you. The reason… the reason this place is no longer a hotel anymore isn’t pretty.”
“What do you mean?”
The character motioned to Chris to move down the tunnel as he showed him around. “October 29th, 1928… Blood and screams. Lots and lots of them.”
Get real, weirdo.
“Okay, well… that’s in
