The Light At The End

I've never been a fan of tunnels. Going underground just seems so unnatural, like we're entering God's green earth instead of living on the surface of it (like we're supposed to!). It just creeps me out, I can't put my finger on why exactly. Perhaps it's the severe lack of sunlight, or the dingy atmosphere which comes with subway stations. The dim lights that flicker as diesel trains race past, that always unsettled me. The way the ground beneath our feet rumbles as the steam engines charge through the dark tunnels between stops, or how the ceiling above you quakes from traffic just above your head. It is simply eerie. I can never wait to get out of those hideous dungeons. What's worse, is the people that dwell in these dark undergrounds. You'll always see thugs on the subway trains or gathering around the waiting areas, as if these dark souls are attracted to such dark places. It always seems there is trouble in the most ugly of locations. Where darkness comes, trouble follows. Sometimes I've seen hooded figures under dark tunnels, perhaps walking to work or back home, I've had to travel right past these shady beings, keeping my head down to avoid any eye contact. For the longest time, I had been spared any hardship from these potential muggers, yet the threat always scared me. The sight of a shining blade of silver in the darkness is something I am sadly all too familiar with. It was on a particularly dark and stormy night, after the worst shift I ever worked, that I slumped home in the pouring, heavy rain, with thunder and lightning roaring in the background. I could've walked round the long dark tunnel ahead of me, traveled up hill on the surface of earth, where traffic passing by could see me clear as day, but I was glad to get shelter. You see, the rain was making me cold, it was agony against my skin, drenching my clothes completely in ice cold water. I had to get somewhere dry, even if it meant facing one of my most unsettling phobias. So, I entered the darkness ahead of me, it felt warmer underground than being outside, but still breezy. The walls of this tunnel were painted with grotesque graffiti, full of swear words and crude imagery! This gangster art was already making me feel anxious. I half expected to see hoodies with spray cans, aimed directly at my face, as I passed by in the dark. I convinced myself I was being ridiculous, so I continued to walk further into the dark, even though my whole body screamed for me to return back and face the rain above. I swallowed my fears instead and chose to flick the torch on my mobile phone on, to light my way forwards. There, at the very end of this long and narrow tunnel, was the exit, shining ever so dimly, far far away. I knew it was going to be a long and agonising walk, perhaps ten or fifteen minutes, maybe twenty. Yet, I wanted to face my irrational fears, to prove to myself that I was just being paranoid and letting my silly phobia get the better of me, so I stepped forwards, further and further into the underground tunnel, until I could no longer hear the rain, thunder or lightning behind me, only the sound of my footsteps. Crunch, crunch, crunch, the autumn leaves beneath my feet said. That was all I could hear, that and the echoes which bounced off my footsteps. The silence was deadly, I could feel my heartbeat race so strongly, it was like I could hear it. Beat, beat! I breathed heavily, condensation from my breath steamed upwards like smoke into the dark air. The longer I walked the more used to this isolation I became, it eventually became oddly cosy in a weird way, like I was entirely on my own in the darkness, where nobody could see or hurt me. I could strip naked and no one on earth would know (not that I'd want to in that cold weather), I started to sing, it made me feel less unsettled. My echoes sounded like a collective choir, singing right back at me. So I decided to amuse myself, yelling funny words and talking to my own responses. It was all fun and games until I heard the word; "help..." Echo right back at me, quietly under the much louder sounds of my own voice. I stopped suddenly, zipping my mouth shut. It couldn't have been another voice, I convinced myself it wasn't. That somewhere in my jumbled speeches, I said something that sounded like the word 'help' but it was just my own echoes remixing into a new alien sound. All I could hear was my own breathing. I looked behind me and the light from where I had come in from was just as dim as the one ahead of me, I was roughly halfway through this tunnel, with both exits being equally as far away. I felt trapped, stuck in the middle of this dark abyss. So I slowly crept forwards, my footsteps much quieter than ever before; I dared to venture further forwards into this darkness. I thought it would never end. Then, as I stepped closer forwards, towards the exit ahead that still stood at least eight minutes ahead of me, I saw a shining glint of silver, as if reflected from my mobile phone's light. I feared the worst; a knife in the dark, but I didn't want to believe it, I told myself it was just a glass bottle, smashed to pieces on the ground somewhere ahead of me. However the truth was something far worse. I turned off my torch light, as I could see the exit ahead of me clearly enough to travel forwards without the extra light. Suddenly the tunnel felt even longer than it did before, the darkness all consuming, the light at the end; seemed to shrink as the light on my phone died. I crept forwards even slower than ever before.

"Help..." The voice echoed ahead of me, so quiet it was barely audible under the sound of my own footsteps. I said nothing in reply and edged closer and closer. Then, to my absolute horror, something brushed past the light ahead of me. Something else was in the tunnel in front. I stopped and heard the voice again; "save yourself..." It coughed, this time it sounded much closer than ever before, I could hear the source of its speaker, coming from the bottom right corner of the tunnel. I could decipher that the voice was male, I looked in the direction of the mysterious voice and saw, with the tiniest of detail (due to how dark it was inside that dreaded tunnel); the shape of a man, holding his stomach, as the darkest shade of blood leaked from his wound. I couldn't even make out the man's face in that blackness, not even his clothes, whether he wore a tracksuit or t-shirt and jeans, I couldn't tell you that, but I could see just enough; that the man had been stabbed. Then I heard footsteps, but they were not my own, coming from ahead of the wounded victim. I looked up in horror, I never saw the killer, but I saw their knife. It was a long, blood soaked kitchen blade, sharp and fat, ready for slaughter. The handle had a black gloved hand around it, gripping the murder weapon tightly, then it danced upwards, pointing down in an attempt to attack me, I spun on my heels and ran! Back into the darkness behind me, I fled like the wind! The killer's footsteps raced after me, I could feel my heart rise in my throat, my vision became red with fear as I broke into a frantic terror of flight, but certainly not fight. The killer didn't speak, but his (or her) heavy boots made the most terrifying sounds I've ever heard! Marching behind me, thundering louder than the hostile weather outside or the alarming sounds of my cruel boss storming in to tell me off (like he did so often and nastily that very night), the killer's attempts at catching me made the most terrifying horror soundtrack imaginable. Worse than a thousand out of tunes violins or the scratching of nails against a chalkboard. It was the sound of death, Death itself approaching me, with its shining dagger, which reflected my running shadow and theirs on black ground ahead of me. The blade made a shadow too, one that danced from left to right against the narrow tunnel walls. Then I heard the killer laugh, it was a low and hideous sound, one that echoed creepily around the darkness. Soon I was screaming, I hadn't even realised it until the killer stopped mocking, my voice filled the audio within that claustrophobic space instead. That's why the killer laughed, because I was already crying in horror, without even knowing it! Part of me wanted to hit the monster, but my body just kept sprinting forwards, almost like my primal instincts took over entirely, I couldn't think, just run and run away, even though my heart ached like mad, even though my feet stung like fire, I just kept running, fleeing away, crying, sprinting, wailing, screaming, racing back down the tunnel from which I came from. I didn't want to be like that guy, crying for help on the ground, as my evil killer continuously tortured me, likely giggling at my demise, that was such a horrible, terrifying thought. One that made me run somehow even faster than ever before. Every muscle in my body screamed for me to stop, but I just couldn't, as the killer was merely inches behind me now, striking out with their knife, scratching my back from time to time, each hit was like a hard, crippling whip from a leather belt! I begged God that I wouldn't trip, begged him, pleaded with him not to fail me now, as my legs began to fail me, I felt wobbly, drunkenly swaying left and right, I even hit the right wall and nearly fell over onto my front, where I'd literally get stabbed in the back, killing me in the most agonising way imaginable, thankfully that didn't happen! I looked forwards, my vision was blurry and wet with tears of fear! The exit seemed further away than ever before, this never ending tunnel saw no escape! It was like a horrifying nightmare, worse than that, an absolute night terror from the darkest recesses of my human mind. Like all my greatest fears on earth, came true all at once in some explosive fit of terror! I screamed until my throat became sore and began to hurt worse than the blisters under my soles. It was all I could do, as my mind entered this delirious state of flee, escaping from this all too real threat. Without really noticing it, the footsteps behind me shushed significantly, the breathing of my killer slowed down, huffed, puffed and stopped laughing entirely. I didn't even know it, but I had already outrun the devil! Eventually I escaped the long and dark tunnel, shooting back out the way I came in. I kept running though, my mind convinced itself the killer was still right behind me, chasing me through the storm that still raged outside. Everything after that became a blur of emotion, I was nothing but a maniacal wreck, a man who knew nothing but fear. I imagined the monster behind me still, nothing but a dark shadow even in the daylight, inches away from devouring his next prey. I saw a police station, I screamed in triumphant victory, surely the killer wouldn't dare attack me here, would they? Then I collapsed, crash landing abruptly and painfully as possible, right onto the concrete ground head first. I felt my forehead split open, blood rushing down over my eyes and face, yet despite this agonising blow to my head, I was far too exhausted and weakened to even react. I blacked out right there and then, bleeding out to death.

Luckily I was saved. I awoke in the hospital, with thick white bandages all over my head and back. My limbs felt floppy and I couldn't even grab hold of the railing around my bed for more than five seconds. Everything felt heavy, like even the weight of a two hundred page paperback, was as heavy as a brick. I could just about wiggle my toes, but not much more. This didn't make sense! Last thing I remembered was running wildly away from my mysterious stalker, I had just run a marathon, fleeing far faster than I ever believed possible. How was it that I went from being an athlete to this pathetic little weakling who could barely lift his head? My eyes stung when I opened them too, my vision was blurry for almost two minutes, even after it adjusted everything seemed way too bright and out of focus. A shape approached my bed, I tried to scream, but could only manage this pained grunt, like that of an injured little kitten. I felt so small and powerless as this white blur began to take form, I feared my killer had come to finish the job! Then, to my utmost relief, I could see beige arms and legs around the white centre, it was a white dress, worn by a woman who appeared young, then old as my eyes began to take in her wrinkles. She had a beautiful, calming face, one almost motherly, aged roughly forty five. She still looked cute, gentle and very feminine for her age, smiling down upon me warmly. Her emerald green eyes were hypnotising (in a good way) to behold and I finally felt safe at last. It was like waking up from a years long nightmare, at last gazing upon the beauty of a caring nurse that cared deeply for her patients, myself included. I wept and forced a weak smile, which was the most I could muster. I tried to speak, but my lips drooped as lazily as my tongue. I suddenly felt afraid, all over again, what had happened to me?! Had the fall given me some kind of brain damage?! Did that mean I was now dumb or disabled?! I didn't know! A thousand thoughts raced through my mind, none of them good. The nurse must've seen the absolute terror on my face, because she began stroking my hair ever so delicately, calming me almost immediately. It was clear this nurse was a pro at her job, I could see that she'd been working here for decades, I imagined her starting young at twenty, eventually becoming the soothing angel I beheld before my very eyes within that beautiful moment. She shushed me politely and explained that her name was Helena Marsh, that a lot had happened since I arrived at this very hospital, yet it wasn't up to her to tell me. That was Doctor Harrison's responsibility.

"I'm going to fetch him, ok. We'll be right back, do you understand?" She asked nicely. I nodded my head slowly, the only response I could muster. Helena smiled cutely and stood up to leave, my eyes followed her backside, perhaps involuntarily for it felt like forever since I saw such curves upon a cute lady such as this one, even if she was a little too old to realistically be my wife. Being alone in that hospital bed felt depressing, I tried to move, but my body either refused or was in so much pain, that every motion became a Herculean task! I was clearly trapped in a sort of vegetable-like state, where the most I could do was simply look around in horror and try to scream, but only murmur and grumble, I could see my toes wiggle frantically under the bed covers, but my legs wouldn't work! My hands could just about form a fist, but it hurt like hell to do so! It hurt to swallow, it hurt to breathe, it hurt to think, it hurt to do anything! I was in hell! Then the nurse returned and sang to me gently, I never much liked singing before, yet her voice was way beyond heaven. It eased me back into relaxation, I breathed slowly instead of frantically and the pain faded away quickly.

"All in due time, Arthur..." Helena said, "we'll both help you get better."

"That's right." Doctor Harrison smiled warmly, holding his clipboard gently.

"Whu- wang..." I tried to say 'what's wrong?' but I simply couldn't! Yet the Doctor still understood what I said, as if he was used to hearing slurred speech quite often, which was an alarming realisation.

"You've just awoke from a comatose state, Mr White." He said and the words shocked me.

"How... Long?..." I replied more clearly, but it was extremely difficult to say so.

"It's been almost five years." His reply came with a dreaded silence, "four years and eleven months, to be precise."

As if that made things any better! I was angry, sad yet terrified. I knew what really happened to people who awoke from comas, it's not like the movies! You don't just time travel into the future and get up like nothing bad happened. Your body begins to decompose as you do nothing but sleep for years and years, your muscles shrink and fail you, because you're no longer using them! You lose yourself entirely, becoming this human machine who just lays there, slowly dying as Doctors and Nurses stick feeding tubes down your mouth and metal toilet bowls under your buttocks! Just the thought of lying here on this bed, for half a decade, just wasting away as my parents and loved ones debated on pulling my plug sent shivers down my scarred spine. I puked!

"Oh no!" Helena gasped, tilting my head up against the headrest, before wiping the vomit away from my mouth, like I was nothing but a defenceless baby, I felt ashamed and humiliated. A look of sadness must've been evident across my defeated face. I was done being afraid, now I only felt utterly hopeless, helpless and ultimately useless. I wondered if I'd have preferred death over a fate this traumatic.

"I know this must be difficult to take in." Doctor Harrison said.

"You... Think..." I replied painfully, looking away in sadness, down at the white floor tiles of that horrible hospital room.

"The fact you can speak so well, so soon is miraculous!" He tried to reassure me, but it didn't work. My gums and teeth felt too sore to reply, I simply stared into the abyss like a lifeless doll.

"Arthur..." Helena lowered herself so that she was my eye level, "Arthur... You can recover."

I looked away again.

"N- n- not f- fully." I stuttered, due to the pain, but mostly because of my emotions. I could feel the tears dripping down my face uncontrollably. My vision became all wet and blurry, just as it had done when I was being chased all those years ago. In that moment I wished the killer had murdered me. Then I wouldn't have to suffer through the humiliation of this living nightmare of complete and utter sorrow.

"Please don't lose hope..." Helena wept a little, but hid it almost immediately, gently holding onto my frail little hand. Her grip hurt ever so slightly, but it was oddly welcomed, as her hands felt warm and soft, dare I say somewhat arousing. I smiled a little, the tiniest smirk that made her grin ever so weakly.

"There are multiple exercises we can do together, Arthur. Ones that can restore some of your former strength. I won't lie and say that you'd be performing any marathons again soon." Doctor Harrison chuckled lightly. Part of me should've hated him for that, but I kind of laughed along too, even though it hurt to do so, I chose to challenge my own pain to express myself.

"Don't work yourself too hard..." Helena grinned, softly stroking my hair yet again, "it's going to take a long time before the pain stops."

"But it will stop, Arthur..." Doctor Harrison reassured me, "you're going to survive this, see your loved ones again. Live a decent life!"

"Th- thank you." I replied softly.

It took me over a year, before I could be wheeled out of the hospital by my parents on a wheel chair. I couldn't walk properly anymore, but in time I'd graduated onto using crutches and then eventually a walking stick. My neck still hurts like hell to turn, so I had this brace around my neck for several months after leaving the hospital and even to this day, my running days are truly done and over! I can just about walk to the fridge and back before breaking into a sweat nowadays and I'm only thirty nine. I can't say life has been easy since I first awoke from that coma ten years ago, or escaped that mad lunatic in the tunnel fifteen years ago. You see, I've had many night terrors almost every night since that incident and I believe the reason the tunnel felt so long and torturous in my mind was because that was my coma dream, (or more accurately nightmare) for almost five years straight, I was stuck in my own dark mind, which had become that neverending tunnel of pure horror and evil. In a way, the killer had become this sort of monster, a dark shape that was this menacing shadow of pure death and terror! I can no longer stand horror movies anymore, they scare me way too much! Even childish Halloween decorations give me the creeps nowadays and that's a great big shame because I used to adore horror stories in my youth, that was before I met the true meaning of the word horror though, in that long dark tunnel. I was only twenty four years old, back in the year of 2009 when that happened. I finally told the police sometime after I left the hospital in 2016, about my encounter in the dark tunnel. Unfortunately, this mysterious killer was never found, nor was his victim which I still so vividly remember to this very day, bleeding out in the ground in that terrible, horrible darkness. For the longest time, I began to believe that maybe I had simply hallucinated the whole incident. Maybe I had landed myself in a coma for other reasons and simply dreamt of that horror story, as some sort of internal hell, my darkest fears coming to life within my own inescapable mind. Maybe when I finally fled the tunnel, that's when I truly awoke from the coma? Then, I started hearing other horror stories about dark tunnels within my home city of Manchester, places where muggers stabbed those who refused to give up their wallets or other valued possessions. There was a news story in 2020 about a young teenage girl found bloody, beaten and dead down that very same dark tunnel I once dared to venture into. Her killer was never caught, just like my demon. The Tunnel Killer is still out there, I'm sure of it. It's only been four years since that story hit the newspapers. Who knows just how many more have died due to that mysterious killer? One thing is for sure, I'm never ever walking down any dark tunnels again, no matter how short or bright they may be inside, my PTSD simply won't let me, and you know what? I ain't even mad about that. Not one bit. Not at all.