Tunnels (2 page)

 

My Bio

By Katherine Goldstein

 

Katherine Goldstein (December 1, 2003-not dead yet!) is a monumentally hot American girl who lives in a repressed vegetarian family with her mother (aka the General), father, and brother. At the age of eleven, she found the biggest tunnel system in the U.S., which ended up uncovering all the secrets of the free world.

Likes: exploring, any book by Louisa May Alcott or Alethea Eason (
Hungry
ROCKS!), antiques—especially old books and journals, her father's Big Band records (ask your grandparents if you've never hear of it), Indie music, crystals and geodes, cheeseburgers, and David Perkins, the cutest boy ever.

Dislikes: rules, math, her demon brother Sam, cleaning up Jenny's poop (especially stage five clingers), being subject to her mother's ever-changing diet of choice, and any member of the cheer squad at school.

DID YOU HEAR THAT?

"If we can find some kind of passageway, then I think we'll be on to something."

"Wait just a minute, Buttercup. Let's clarify
. You
'
ll
be on to something while I've been dragged along as usual." Evan patted his hair in place, which he does constantly along with getting mani-pedis. And going to Get Your Glam On to see the latest in guy's skin care stuff. You could say he's seriously into a personal beauty regimen.

"Will you just relax and keep your eyes and ears open?" Just my luck we'd be caught trespassing by some minister dude because Evan's busy examining his cuticles.

Besides, I had a lot of other stuff on my mind without having to worry about getting caught where I shouldn't be. Yesterday, Mom let me go to the library to pick out a mystery novel for English. Of course I ended up in the archive room again and looked in more boxes from the nineteen twenties. And I hit the jackpot. There it was, another article in
The Citrus Grove Facts
. Right on page one. In the article? The best proof yet the tunnels were real: a poem which was definitely in code, giving me a huge clue.

SIX MONTHS IN VALLEY PSYCH WARD ENDS IN DEATH

Joseph Cooper died Monday of a self-inflicted wound while still
receiving treatment at Valley Psychiatric Hospital. This newspaper received a rambling letter today from Mr. Cooper, which we chose not to publish in its entirety for the sake of Cooper
'
s family. However, we wish to honor his memory by sharing a poem he included within the letter. He was, after all, a man of honor and kindness before his slip into the abyss of mental illness. Though we know not what the content means, we will leave it to our loyal readers to draw their own conclusions. One note: Joseph Cooper
'
s family stated this poem was written by his father, who died when Cooper was six years of age. His mother kept her son from visiting the tunnels on his own. By the time he was of majority, all memory of their location was gone. The family went on to say the poem became one of the sources he used for trying to locate his elusive tunnels.

Four street corners—each is holy

Though I wait under one only.

Bricks above, I wind below,

A secret hidden where no one knows.

Once I got thinking, it seemed pretty simple. But why wasn't it simple for Joseph Cooper? There was only one place in Citrus Grove with churches on every corner—that had to be what the first line in the poem meant. Kind of a no-brainer, and why we were at the old brick Methodist church right now. Even if Evan wasn't so happy about it.

"Let's just get this done," he said as he tapped his foot in an annoying
Can
'
t you hurry it up?
way. Annoyance was his normal state of being, but I'd hoped he'd be excited for at least a nanosecond.

"Hang on, Ev," I said. "We could be making history here."

"Like some stupid rhyme is going to give you the key to the so-called tunnels," he said, waving his arms in front of his face. "These cobwebs are disgusting and you're certifiably cray-cray."

I shook my head and didn't bother answering. That's when I noticed the bronze plaque on the wall beside us.

RISING OUT OF THE ASHES, January 17, 1900

Huh. Weird. Absolutely no clue what that means. Ashes mean fire, right? But I didn't have much time to think about it because I needed to catch up with Mr. Patience.

We made our way past some creepy topiary shaped out of large bushes. You know, bushes sculpted into shapes by some gardener with too much free time? Only they weren't the cool ones like at Disneyland. These were life-sized angels (I think) with what looked like tootsie rolls coming out of their backs instead of wings. Hope they got a good deal from the guy who did that job.

"I think they're watching us," he whispered. I wondered if he was kidding, but his eyes actually had an
oh-crud
look.

"Don't be silly, Ev—"

Achoo!

Evan screamed loudly enough for both of us. I yanked him behind one of the bushy monsters. Being thirteen, and a full year, two months, and fifteen days older than me, you'd think he'd be the one doing the yanking.

"Keep it down!" I whispered as I peeked around the deformed angel. There was no one in sight, which was super strange because a) the sneeze sounded so close, and b) if somebody was watching us, wouldn't he tell us to beat it off the church property?

Unless the sneezer didn't belong here either.

"See anything?" My brave friend was squeezing his eyes shut now. I almost told him yes just to mess with him.

"Nope," I said instead as I scanned the outdoor hallways lining the courtyard. So many shadows made it hard to tell what was out there and it sure didn't help that it got dark so early. Autumn was so irritating with its short days.

"Let's hurry—I've got to be at my tutor's soon." My watch said I only had forty five minutes. Not much time when you're trying to crack the mystery of the century and you've got a posse of one who still sleeps with the lights on.

I waved my arm for him to follow me. The stairs I wanted to use were around the corner. Four churches stood on each corner of where Olive and Center streets intersected. We were at the only one made of brick. I
had
to be right about the clue from the poem.

There's a lot of traffic this time of day so we crawled along the church wall, behind tall cypress trees lining it. When we got to the old staircase, we scooted behind the wall which hid it from the street. I counted fifteen stairs to the bottom.

"Hey, did you see that?" He pointed back toward where we came from.

But when I looked, there wasn't anything strange. Distracting me seemed to be his number one goal and boy was it irritating. Every second counted. "Come on, Ev, quit stalling."

"I'm not stalling," he yelled at me, "there's some guy over there hiding behind the pillar. Stared me right in the eye then gave me one of these." He held up his hand, made the shape of a gun…and aimed it right at me. Nice.

"What'd he look like?" I was staring in the direction he'd pointed, but wished he'd just get over it. We had work to do.

"He had a long beard and lots of hair." He made the beard gesture below his chin like we were playing charades, showing me it was extra-long. "His clothes were old and dirty. You sure you didn't see him?"

Instead of answering, I ran over to the courtyard and disappeared behind the line of pillars to check things out. Evan was yelling for me and he sounded super scared. Even though I was a little scared too, half of me didn't believe him. Half of me felt it was his way of getting out of helping me. But even if he
was
right, it didn't change much for me. He just needed to get his mind off the mystery gunman so we could get busy.

But guess what? I found absolutely nothing. Empty hallway, no sign of anybody. All I saw was a heart carved into the pillar with G.P. + E.V. inside it, which didn't exactly prove we were being watched.

Sprinting across the grass, I found Evan sitting on the stairs and hiding his face. "Hey," I said, out of breath, "coast is clear."

He peaked out from between his fingers because, yes, he'd covered his eyes again. My hero. "You sure?"

"Don't worry," I nodded as I reassured him, "if there was somebody, he's gone now. Maybe just some lonely guy playing a trick on us. So can we get started?"

"Alright, but you are totally going first." He nudged me the way fourth-grade boys do when they're behind you in line and want you to hurry. Seriously annoying.

"Knock it off, E," I warned, using the wall for support as I climbed down the stairs. Uneven as most old stone stairs are, I could see me taking a header and trying to explain it to my mom.

My heart began beating fast, not only from being excited, but also a little worried. I knew I was going into a place that was too close for comfort. So I kept repeating to myself everything was okay, and prayed I wouldn't hyperventilate. Just in case, I'd brought a paper lunch bag so I could breathe into it if I started to feel like passing out. Mom taught me the trick a long time ago when I got lost in the stupid plastic tubes at Pizza Playground. Wish they'd outlaw them. Trust. The peer pressure's unbearable when everyone wants to crawl through them but you.

When we reached the bottom I wanted to kick myself. "Crud, E, I didn't bring anything to break the lock. Did you?" Why hadn't I brought my mini tool set Dad gave me at Christmas?

"Uh, let's see." He dug in both his pockets. "Nope, clean out of hammers. Decided it didn't match my outfit this morning. But here's a piece of gum. Maybe that'll work." He started laughing like he was so hilarious. "And here's a news flash for you—don't you know what you're about to do is breaking and entering?"

I didn't answer. Of course he's right—but was I going to let a little lock stop me? You wouldn't if you saw the door. Straight up out of a medieval dungeon—big and wooden with a black steel grate across the keyhole window. Yeah, it was spooky…but I still wanted to see what was behind it.

"Doesn't look like it's been opened in a while." The metal was rusty and lots of cobwebs stretched across the lock. "Got any ideas?"

"Don't ask me, Buttercup. I'm not touching it." He uses this name for me when he's irritated. Evan says if someone's acting stupid, call them by a nice name instead of going off on them. Then there's no permanent damage. Only I knew the truth of why he'd called me Buttercup, so technically this theory doesn't work with me. Just swap out
idiot
for
Buttercup
and you've broken Evan's code.

I sighed and wished I hadn't brought him. Sam would've been more helpful. He doesn't care what he touches and he even ate worms when I dared him once, so he'll do anything. Finally I just reached over and jiggled the lock. First softly, then harder. It rattled against the door and sounded all dungeony when it echoed. Way cool if it wasn't so creepy. For some reason I thought of Mary Queen of Scots who was locked in a dungeon. She was probably plenty freaked out—until her head was cut off, that is.

A weird shiver ran down my spine. Headless people, even ones five hundred years old, don't exactly make you feel good about trespassing in a creepy, dark tunnel. So instead, I thought about how much I wanted to find the tunnels and rattled the lock again. I forced my hand to stay there, even though some sticky old cobwebs grabbed onto my fingers. This time I tugged a little and guess what happened? The pieces of the lock fell apart and landed by our feet. Evan squealed as the door swayed open slightly, no more than an inch. Pushing it the rest of the way, I stepped through the entry, with him right on my heels.

"Calm down," I warned. "Let's take it slowly. Besides, I thought you weren't into breaking and entering."

"Technically we didn't break anything," he whispered, "you touched it and it opened. At least that's how I remember it."

Well at least he's not arguing with me anymore. I took a deep breath and stepped forward. My legs shook and it felt like my head was being poked by hot pins. Sounds weird, but you'd know what I meant if you've ever been super scared. But why was I so freaked out? This was holy ground, right? Methodists, churches, all good stuff. I may be Jewish, but I'm still down with other religions. Especially when fear's involved.

"Here, let me hold the flashlight so you can concentrate better." When he shone the light in front of us, the narrow passageway brightened and I saw what could definitely be called a tunnel.

But wasn't this too easy? Anyone could find this door and I'm sure the real tunnels I'm looking for are far more hidden. Not sure what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn't this.

It smelled musty, just like my Grandma's basement in Massachusetts. She always said it was because of the dampness of the earth. I felt the walls and they did feel cool and damp. The floor was also a bit uneven. "Watch where you're walking, E—the ground is bumpy."

The walls felt too near. Like I said before, close spaces and me? Not so much.
Never
played hide-and-seek when I was little and those stupid tubes were out after that one time. So I guess you'd say it's kind of ironic I'm going underground.

Shadows made the edges of stuff a little bit hazy, like there was no definition or outline to their shapes. Now my hands shook along with my legs. I felt for the paper bag in my pocket, and was glad to feel its rectangular shape.

When we got to where the tunnel made a sharp left, I stopped.

"Did you hear that, E?" I strained my ears, trying to hear it again.

"Nope, and I don't want to either," he answered, whacking at the air around him. "Crud, another cobweb. These things love me."

I would have laughed if I hadn't heard a weird noise. Squinting, I stared as far down the corridor as I could. Not easy since the flashlight lit up only six feet or so in front of us.

"Move the light around so we can see the whole thing," I said.

Which is when we saw how messed up the walls and ceiling were. Sharp pieces jutted out here and there like it was unfinished. Had someone just slopped some cement on the walls wherever they felt like it?

"Be careful," I warned, "the walls are rough. You'll get scratched up if you bump into them."

"I see what you mean." He ran his hand along the wall's surface. "Maybe it happened when they did the rebuild."

"Rebuild?"

"Yeah, after the churches were burned down by some crazy arsonist back in the nineteen hundreds. Only the foundations were left. Although I'm not sure the fire would have affected the tunnels."

I felt the sharp points again. "Maybe it got so hot in here the walls kinda melted and reformed."

"Not sure," he shrugged his shoulders. "Pops told me his dad was proud of the rebuild. Helped set the stones on the Baptist church in nineteen thirty. Bet he'd know what happened down here."

Something in my mind clicked. I remembered the plaque on the wall outside. Rising out of the ashes. Now it made sense, since he said the foundations survived the fire. And I think I began to understand why Joseph Cooper couldn't get the clue in his father's poem like I had. The poem his dad wrote that gave me a huge clue:
Four street corners—each is holy
and
Bricks above, I wind below.
What if by the time Joseph read the poem there weren't four churches, one on each corner, with one made of bricks? What if there was only one or two because the others were destroyed by fire? Could be why the clue didn't help him at all. And by the time I got around to reading it, all the churches were standing again, when the arsonist's evil work had been completely erased.

"Wait!" He grabbed my wrist and aimed the light at the ceiling, a few feet in front of where we stood, "Did you see—"

Achoo!

"Let's get out of here!" Grabbing my hand, he dragged me along for a minute until he figured out what he was doing and let me go. Pretty inconvenient time to enforce his no-handholding policy. It was enough to throw me off-balance, which he would have noticed if he wasn't so busy saving himself. By the time I looked up, he'd already disappeared around the corner and was yelling for me to hurry.

And I would have—if only I hadn't twisted my ankle. Sprawled out on my stomach, it was then I heard the sneeze again, followed by a loud squealing and flapping noise. Even though I didn't want to, I peeked up through my hair, but buried my head again when I saw it.

A black cloud of flapping wings swooping toward me.