Page 19 of Fed By Fear

There’s a chill in the tunnel, just enough for me to pull down my sleeves and fold my arms. We’re on the back side of the haunted house. It would make sense that this could be some part of the cemetery they built over. Maybe it’s a long-lost mausoleum built by a grieving man for his beautiful lover. Stone statues from days past never fail to stir something within me.

I shake my head, leaving my cemetery whimsy behind. Iwouldromanticize this absolutely horrendous decision.Get a grip.

The stone above me dips slightly. I hunch forward, wishing once again that I had my phone flashlight. Abreeze blows from up ahead. Scents of earth and fresh rain. That’s promising. Not the rot and putrefaction I was expecting.

The tunnel slopes again. My thighs are burning from the absolute duck walk I’ve squatted into. I’m practically sitting on the floor and the top of my head is still scraping against the stone.

Dropping onto my hands and knees provides my quads some relief. The tunnel is tighter now. My shoulders brush against the sides as I crawl. It didn’t look this small from the entrance.

Pain rips through my palm when I place it on the tunnel floor again.

“Fuck.” I clutch it to my chest as it throbs. There’s something sharp on the ground. I try to sit up to assess my wound but can’t. The tunnel has gotten too small.

Click click click. The strange sound reaches me from somewhere up ahead. I still, every muscle locking into place as I stare into the darkness.What was that?

The clicking comes again.

I need to get out of here. My shoulders and head lodge against stone as I try to turn myself around. The stone won’t give. It’s too tight a fit. I’ll have to go backwards.

The next time the clicking comes, it’s much closer.

Fuck, fuck. I have really fucked up.

I’m ready to admit that this was not my best idea. The weight of realizing I’m stuck in a dark tunnel with a thing that makes sounds I’ve only heard in creature features makes the tightness of the space feel even more crushing.

Why couldn’t this be like one of those washing machine fantasies? You get stuck inside and your hot, tattoo-covered, non-blood-related stepbrother comes to get you out and rails you into oblivion. I don’t have a stepbrother. Also, why am I sexualizing something so intensely unnerving? I’m fairlycertain theclick-click-clickthing is not a creature I want to be boned by. Why am I even thinking about boning? A claustrophobic tunnel is nothing like a washing machine.

This is why people have sex when they’re stressed and scared. We must be hardwired to seek pleasure when there’s an impending chance of a gruesome death. Better to die with a final serving of good dick than empty and alone. It better be good. Can you imagine getting screwed moments before a monster eats you and the guy is a terrible lay?

Note to self, keep a vibrator in your pocket at all times. That way you can ensure an orgasm before you perish at the hands of something that lives in a black tunnel beneath a cemetery.

Crawling backwards is about a thousand times slower than crawling forwards even with my adrenaline sky-high. Pain shocks up my hand every time it connects with the ground.

Click click click.

A desperate sound eeks out of me.

I raise my head again and again, testing the height of the ceiling and waiting for it to open up. I swear it wasn’t this small for this long before. Is the tunnel shrinking? Am I trapped? Is there even still an entrance to get out?

What the fuck was I thinking coming in here?

Back, back, back. The tunnel never expands. Something is very wrong.

A softness meets my injured hand the next time I press it to the ground. My fingertips dig in, recognizing moss. I raise my head. I’m outside the tunnel.

Keep moving. I’ve got to put as much distance between myself and whatever is in that tunnel as I can. My legs are Jell-O. My quivering arms are basically useless.

By some miracle I clear the exit and immediately take a massive breath. I sit back on my feet. Hell yeah.I made it.

Anxiety dampens my relief. The ghosts are gone. Why doesn’t that make me feel better? Have they fled whatever is coming this way?

In the midst of throwing my head back to briefly work the crick out of my neck, the words above the tunnel catch my eye again. They’re no longer in Latin.

I read aloud, “Blood spilled, beasts devoured.”

“A warning that should have been heeded from the start.”

Chapter 6