FICTION BY S.R. FOUST

S.R. Foust’s fiction placed Top 100 in the 2024 Bath Children’s Novel Award and was selected for Curtis Brown Creative’s Writing Your Novel six-month course. His short memoir won first place in a writing contest in Delaware. He holds a master’s degree with a concentration in communications from Carnegie Mellon University and lives in Maryland, where he enjoys kettlebell lifting, reading on his porch, and playing ukulele for his wife and baby son.

TUNNEL VISION
by S.R. Foust

They were dragging me across the ground. It was dark, and I couldn’t tell who was doing it. The air smelled like rotten leaves and stagnant water. The gritty asphalt scraped against my legs as they hauled me farther and farther. My heart pulsed like an alarm. The fear: suffocating.

A minute later, I was propped up against something loose and shifting. And while everything hurt, my head hurt the worst. I’d never broken a bone before, but it felt like my skull had been cracked in half.

They shined a flashlight into my eyes. Their faces, shrouded.

Slowly, my memory returned…in pieces.

“You all right, man?” a deep voice said; it must’ve been Russo’s. “You took a spill, man.”

“I’ll be fine,” I mumbled. “How long was I out?”

“Don’t know,” another voice said, a little higher-pitched. Matt’s. “Should we turn back?”

I touched the raw, stinging wound at the crown of my head, and when I checked my palm, it was shiny and slick with blood. I craned my neck so they could take a look. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

No reply.

Their silence unsettled me.

At that moment, the only thing I could hear was the echo of water dripping from somewhere far away. A chill set down in the darkness around me then, and it grew very cold.

“I’m fine. Let’s keep going,” I said, and shivered. I wasn’t fine. Not at all.

*****

The topic of the tunnel had come up the day before.

“I don’t know,” I’d said. “Everyone knows that place is haunted. Not to mention probably infested with bugs?”

I acted nonchalant, but even the idea of seeing a ghost in that tunnel caused me to hold my breath, aware of my own heartbeat. Or what if somebody attacked us? Maybe homeless people hung out there. I’d heard the area was a dead zone, too. No phone signal. There would be no one to help us; no cavalry would magically appear if we got in trouble.

“Come on,” Russo said, grabbing a Snapple from the cooler (we didn’t risk drinking beer out on the porch yet), then shutting the lid and propping his feet onto it. “Fifty bucks says you can’t last five minutes in there.”

“Yeah,” Matt seconded. “Whoever stays in the tunnel the longest wins, uh, a hundred fifty bucks. What, you scared, Johnny?”

I nudged Russo away, then reached into the cooler and cracked open a can of Cherry Coke. “Screw it, I’ll go. You guys might as well fork the cash over now.”

I texted my girlfriend, Molly, that we were heading to the tunnel to try and break the record, if she and her friends wanted to join us. She was a year older—a sophomore at the college—and way smarter than me, so of course she declined.

Just don’t die or anything, she texted back. That place is haunted for real.

Unable to think of a witty or confident reply, and a little spooked, I clicked my phone off and slid it into my pocket.

I don’t believe in ghosts, my mind muttered, and I chuckled to myself.

I packed some beef jerky and a can of Pringles from the pantry, then grabbed my sleeping bag from under my bed. Camping out in some creepy tunnel wasn’t exactly on my bingo card. But I figured at the very least, we’d enjoy a couple nights of adventure before the stress of lectures and homework began. Maybe we’d get a good story to brag about to our friends.

It was dusk when we reached Southend Drive. Russo parked his car at the end of the street (we had to leave the car and hike from there, to avoid any nosy cops), then we each got our camping packs and supplies from the trunk. Matt shook two bottles of rum in his hands, while Russo pulled out an axe that we could use to split firewood outside the tunnel for a campfire. I showed them the extra hoodies I brought, in case anybody needed them.

I turned my attention to my surroundings. Only the sound of locusts screeching and a train horn blaring in the distance reached my ears. This area used to be part of an old, booming coal town, so most of the surrounding land had been mined to the bone. My dad had told me stories about miners getting killed when the mines caved in. The earth had swallowed them whole.

Nowadays, there was only one house left standing this far down the street, and it was all boarded up and covered with graffiti. The roof was sagging in the middle, and black char coated the side near the chimney—evidence of a bad fire. It still smelled like smoke and ash.

Even though there was only one house left, inexplicably there were still working streetlights. They clicked on with a buzz, and I watched as Matt and Russo were cloaked in orange light. Suddenly, their camping packs seemed bigger than mine, and I worried I wasn’t really prepared for what was coming. My dad was a good man, but he’d never taught me anything about surviving outdoors. Meanwhile, Matt and Russo had story after story about canoe trips and ghost stories around bonfires.

We stopped at the DEAD END sign—a bad omen if ever there was one—right before the edge of the woods. Russo pulled three small flashlights from his pockets and handed one to Matt, one to me, then held onto the third.

“It’s feeling real now,” I said. “You guys sure this is how you want to spend the night? Giving me all your money, I mean?”

“Psshh.” Matt flipped me the bird. “Hope you brought your wallet with you. There’s no way I’m losing this bet.”

I expected some trash talk from Russo, too, but his face was blank, his eyes distant. I think the reality of what we were about to embark on was sinking in for him, too. He kept glancing over his shoulder toward his car—as though he’d tied a rope back there, tethering him to safety.

He turned to us, then held out his hand. “All right. Time to ante up.”

“Why do you get to hold all the money?” I asked.

“Because I’m the one who brought a map and flashlights, you dopes.”

Matt and I pulled out some wadded up bills, then thrust them into Russo’s hand. I gave him a sidelong glance. “How do we know you won’t just steal it?”

“I don’t need to cheat,” Russo shot back, shoving the money into his pocket. “I’m already thinking about what I’ll spend the cash on after I win.”

“No amount of money in the world’s gonna get you a girlfriend,” Matt said, and the two of us couldn’t help but laugh a little.

Russo grinned. “Funny.”

But the laughter died in my throat. Because it suddenly grew much darker, and the temperature seemed to drop by ten degrees.

I heard Russo and Matt trudging through the weeds and brush behind me, as I hiked into the woods. The air smelled like dry grass and coming rain, and the horde of locusts grew closer and louder with each step I took.

Nightfall began its sweep through the forest like a great dark hand, and under the full moon, I watched as my skin turned to gooseflesh and the hairs on my arms stood on end. Cold sweat dripped down my face; I tasted salt on my tongue.

In unison, we flicked the flashlights on, the dull beams only casting out a few feet, like frail fingers, before dying in the darkness.

“These flashlights suck,” Matt said, smacking Russo’s baseball cap from his head.

“Hey.” Russo poked around in the grass until he found his hat. “I brought spare batteries.”

I don’t know why, but at that moment, I pictured myself turning back and bolting to the car. I just couldn’t shake this feeling that somebody was following us. I felt watched.

I didn’t like trespassing, but I’d never hear the end of it if I chickened out. And Molly might think I was a coward. Couldn’t have that. Besides, there was beer money on the line. Who doesn’t like to drink for free?

A little while later, we stopped for a water break. But then my eye caught something. Nailed into one of the trees was an old sign with an arrow painted on it, along with the words Green Man’s Tunnel carved under the image of a skull.

“Why do they call it that, anyway?” I asked, between gulps of water.

“You serious?” Russo shined his flashlight at me. “You really don’t know?”

“Keep it down,” Matt whispered, “and dude, were you born under a freaking rock?”

I gave him a shove. “Just wanna know what I’m getting myself into here.”

“Little late for that.” Matt shoved me back.

“Knock it off, you guys. The legend goes like this…” Russo didn’t angle the flashlight under his chin or anything spooky like that. He didn’t need to. Because Matt and I immediately shut up and listened.

“They say the Green Man was a coal miner who got struck by lightning near the tunnel, making his skin glow green. People have seen his ghost here after midnight, looking for souls to harvest. They say it wasn’t just the lightning, though. The tunnel itself is haunted. A weird time vortex. Like, if somebody were to spend a month in there, they’d come out looking ten years older…”

“That’s creepy,” I said, my heart in my throat. “What happens if we spend a night in there?”

He shrugged. “Maybe we lose a month off our lives.”

“What a bunch of BS,” Matt countered. “The Green Man was a real person.”

“Yeah?” Russo and I said at the exact same time.

Matt nodded. “I know all about him. When he was a kid, his friends dared him to climb up a trolley bridge to check out a bird’s nest. He accidentally touched the trolley’s live wire, and it exploded, shooting 22,000 volts of freaking electricity through him! It melted his eyes, nose, and arm off, and the burns made his skin green. That’s why they called him the Green Man.”

“Whoa,” I said. “That’s, like, the saddest thing ever.” And all because of a dare. “Why’d they name the tunnel after him, though?”

“He used to roam around here at night. Never went out during the day because people were so afraid of him. My dad and his friends knew him. They used to bring him beer and cigarettes to get a photo together. They said he was actually a super nice guy. So, it was a shame that some a-holes called him Charlie-No-Face.”

“What a cheery story,” Russo chimed in. “But I like my version better. A dead coal miner haunting the hills at night. I’d see that movie.”

After another mile of hiking, the abandoned tunnel finally came into view. It stood about a hundred yards away, built into the hillside like an open mouth. Its concrete lips were crumbling, and the salt piles stored inside made for a grotesquely pale tongue.

There was no road leading in or out; it was just a random hole connecting nothing to nowhere.

The three of us walked shoulder to shoulder now, but our strides were far from in sync. We probably made for the worst platoon of all time.

“This is starting to feel like a really bad idea,” Matt said. But that didn’t stop him from taking his phone out and snapping a couple of photos, time-stamping our journey. “Not gonna lie. I’m kind of freaked out right now.”

“If you wanna turn back,” Russo said, “I’d be more than happy to keep your dough.”

Matt scoffed. “Whatever. You douche.”

With heavy steps, we crossed the dirt and gravel until we reached the mouth of the tunnel. It was quiet, like all sounds were being drawn in there to die. None of us cupped our hands and shouted into the darkness, like they do in the movies. I think we were too worried about what—or who—we might disturb.

“Wait!” Matt said. “Did you guys hear that?”

I glanced around but didn’t see anything.

When I faced the tunnel again, something flew out of it, shrieking, headed right at me. I ducked, then pushed Matt out of the way, too. We tumbled to the ground.

“It’s just a bat.” Russo frowned, eyeing us. “They’re everywhere.”

“Yeah, right.” Matt dusted off his pants. “I’ll put that on your gravestone.”

After an awkward and tense moment, we each took a deep breath.

Then we stepped into the tunnel.

“Smells weird,” I whispered, covering my nose with my shirt. “Like sulphur. Like somebody died in here.” I shined the beam at Matt. He was wide-eyed, and I could hear him whimpering. I set my hand on his shoulder. “Sorry, man. Stay cool. We got this.”

A few more steps in, we came to the salt pile, which was blocking the way. With the flashlight in my teeth, I started climbing. The salt scraped against my hands and funneled into my shoes. I could hear my friends following me up.

A few minutes later, I was already jumping down the other side, splashing down into a frigging puddle. Instantly, my shoes filled with water, soaking my socks.

“Oh, perfect.”

When I took another step forward, though, I no longer felt the ground beneath my feet. I tried to correct my balance, but I was wind-milling my arms, and I knew I was in trouble.

I shut my eyes. A falling sensation.

Time seemed to suspend, and I became dimly aware that my head hurt.

*****

I opened my eyes.

They had leaned me against a smaller salt pile. I touched my neck and felt a sharp prick, like a bite mark. I must’ve scraped it when I fell.

“You sure you’re all right?” Russo said. “That was a pretty gnarly hole you fell into, man. Took forever to haul your ass out. Was tempted to leave you.”

Matt snickered.

I didn’t.

“Forget it.” I waved them off. “I’m good.”

I fumbled around for my flashlight but couldn’t find it. I must’ve lost it down there…

Russo pressed a new one into my palm. “Don’t worry. I brought an extra.”

“Thanks.”

When I flicked it on, I noticed something on the ceiling right above us. A bat perched there, watching us. I was reminded of Edgar Allan Poe and the raven.

“How long has that thing been there?” I asked. “That’s a little eerie, right?”

Russo looked up, then shrugged. “It’s probably fine. Anyway, we need to set up camp.”

“Here?”

“Yeah. You were out for a while.” He leaned his axe against the wall, then turned on an LED lantern and set it on the ground. “Just two nights, remember? Then it’s bragging rights for life.”

He set his pack down and started pulling out water bottles and some other gear. I was still holding the back of my throbbing head, while he and Matt began setting up their tents. Durable-looking ones, not like mine.

Either way, I managed to build my tent—a flimsy one I’d found in my basement before leaving home. It had a hole in one of the corners, and I worried a rat might crawl in, seeking my warmth.

Once I’d finished and climbed inside, I unrolled my sleeping bag, then lay down. For a few minutes, the three of us just lay there in our separate, zipped-up tents in silence, too afraid to talk.

All I could hear was a maddening drip, drip, drip of water falling from the ceiling outside my tent—I hated that sound. Something had dropped in my heart ever since I’d fallen into that stupid hole. It was like a part of me was still stuck down there, completely alone.

Maybe I was? And this was only a nightmare? A chill crawled down my spine, like a thousand-legger. I shivered.

Eventually, however, the three of us unzipped our tents, lying on our bellies at the opening of each of our respective outposts. Russo turned the lantern off (too many bugs), but he had his flashlight on.

We were too tired to go back and chop firewood for a fire, and too anxious to drink any rum, but we still talked about all the normal stuff—girls, music, horror movies—until Russo brought up the Green Man. His face turned deadly serious.

“There’s another version of the legend, you know.” This time, he really did shine the flashlight under his chin, and the moss-covered walls made his face glow a yellowish green. “They say some guy murdered a bunch of people in here with an axe. That you can still hear his victims crying out for help late at night. Just screaming and screaming and—”

“That’s enough,” I said. “We get the picture.”

“Screaming and screaming—”

“Seriously, man. Shut up the hell up.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

Matt was laughing at us. “Dudes, chill.”

Suddenly, I heard footsteps approaching, and the three of us went dead quiet. Russo clicked his flashlight off, and the tunnel went pitch-black.

“You hear that?” I whispered.

The footsteps grew louder and louder. Then they stopped, as though someone was standing ten feet away.

A minute later, the footsteps began to fade, but was the sound moving deeper into the tunnel, or moving farther out, toward the entrance? In a way, it felt like the sound was passing straight through us, carrying with it a chilling sensation.

“What. The. Hell. Was. That?” Matt whispered. “Seriously, what the—”

“Shh!”

I couldn’t see my friends, but I assumed they were filled with as much terror as I was. Time seemed to stretch out, blur, then turn inside-out for me.

At that moment, I desperately wished I was hanging out with Molly. Or back home watching movies with my dad. Or walking in the park with my mom, if she was still alive. I thought about just leaving all my stuff right there and sprinting out of the tunnel. The thought of never seeing Molly or my dad again filled me with sorrow and panic, but I was too paralyzed to move.

I flicked my flashlight on, then climbed out of my tent. I heard a strange sound again. I shined my flashlight up the tunnel, toward the entrance. “Shit, what was that?”

I heard a man’s ragged breathing growing very close. I ran over to Matt and Russo’s tents. “Someone’s coming!”

They climbed to their feet. When I looked down at my hands, I realized I was holding Russo’s axe.

“What the hell?” Matt said, glancing at me. But he must have heard the noise, too, because his face was filled with horror. So was Russo’s.

“He’s here!” I said, as Matt and Russo bolted away from me, heading deeper into the tunnel. I watched as their flashlights shot out against the crumbling walls and ceiling.

No time to think—

I ran after them, sprinting so hard that my lungs burned. I tasted blood on my tongue. I ran harder than I’ve ever run in my life, even while holding the heavy axe.

My heart pounded as I made my way with the dim glow of my flashlight. I could see shadows moving in the distance, but eventually I lost sight of them. The tunnel seemed to stretch infinitely long.

I was lost, all turned around.

But I wasn’t alone.

The Green Man!

I could feel his presence in my nerve endings. Maybe I could hide. I flicked my flashlight off and held my breath.

I was standing somewhere in the middle of the dark tunnel, drenched with sweat, my whole body shivering with chills, my teeth chattering. And was that foam forming on my lips?

It was the strangest thing, a deranged torment I’d never experienced before. Because somewhere in the shadows of my failing mind, I knew we weren’t going to break the record after all. No, this was going to be our last night in the tunnel.

Suddenly, I heard footsteps creep up behind me. I raised the axe, spun around, and swung.

And at that moment, I knew that if this place wasn’t already haunted, it was about to be filled with ghosts.