THE TRENCH
Byron sits rigidly surrounded by darkness. The only sound is from him, his heavy, stuttering breathing which echoes eerily throughout the tunnel he’s captive in. He can feel the cold damp soil under his fingertips, the only area he’s able to touch as fear has frozen his hands to the ground by his sides.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t the expected ending to his adventure.
It was Byron’s idea to play army. He’d been watching the History Channel with his dad, a series all about the trench warfare of World War 1. Like most nine year old boys, war fascinated him. He was too young to see the suffering and horrors of war. All he could see was the adventure, the weapons which to him were grown up toys, killing the baddies. It was all one big game.
He went upstairs to Thomas’s room. There he found his six year old brother drawing colourful pictures with the crayons his Granny had bought for him the previous Christmas. Thomas wasn’t too keen to go out, into the copse at the bottom of the garden and play army at first but changed his mind when Byron offered to lend him his toy machine gun. Thomas ran down the stairs pulling the trigger rapidly on his borrowed gun. A red light flashed on the barrel coinciding with the rattling firing sound it made. He didn’t make his way to the copse straightaway; at first he went to the kitchen and eagerly rummaged through the utility drawer to find the torch. Thomas always took the torch whenever he went to the copse. He’d use it to look into the holes in tree trunks to search for Owl from the Winnie the Pooh books. Byron was going to take the game more seriously. He’d already painted camouflage lines over his face using his dad’s black shoe polish. He knew he’d be in trouble and told to wash it off if his mum had seen him painted in this way. On his belt he had attached a plastic sports drink bottle with an old shoelace he’d found next to the pot of polish. All that was left was to fetch the small spade his parents had got him in an attempt to encourage him to take up gardening, without much success.
Byron made his way to the shed. As he exited the back door he heard his dad call out, ‘if you’re taking Thomas to the bottom of the garden, make sure you look after him’. He always had to look after his little brother, something he didn’t mind doing. These were siblings who actually got on well.
With spade in hand, Byron made his way to the bottom of the garden. He could see Thomas running around the copse excitedly looking for holes in the trees. He was shining the torch into them looking for occupants before inserting the toy gun and firing off a few shots. Both boys were allowed to play in the copse unsupervised due to its size. It was impossible to get lost in.
The copse spanned the width of the garden, approximately one hundred and twenty feet. It was about one hundred and fifty foot deep but due to the layout and sparseness of the trees it was possible to see through it to the unused fields beyond. There was a path that weaved its way through the copse, places where no trees or shrubs grew. Whether or not this was a natural occurrence or manmade was open to debate although natural seemed the more likely answer as the copse had no public access so was therefore rarely walked through. The area where the rear garden stopped and the copse began was where Byron was going to dig his trench. This was a sensible choice as the tree roots would have made digging too difficult in the copse and mum and dad would punish him if he was to dig holes in their well maintained garden.
Byron started to dig his trench on his own. He tried to get Thomas to help but he was still pre-occupied with trying to find Owl or any other creature. Byron was going to do the job properly. First he cut a rectangular shape into the ground before carefully removing the turfs. This gave him the template for his trench, six foot long and two foot across. All that was needed now was to dig down. He was going to dig down to a depth of around thirty inches, any deeper and Thomas wouldn’t be able to see over the top.
The dig was going to be long and hard work, but Byron was determined. His spade wasn’t really up to the job. Although the blade was stainless steel it was too small for any serious excavation work. After about half an hour Thomas stopped playing his own game and started to help his brother with the digging. They shared the spade and took it in turns, although the amount Thomas could lift at any one time was hardly worth the effort, though Byron did appreciate his help.
Thomas sat on the grass next to the trench with the gun and torch in his hands, watching Byron thrust the spade into the soil. Suddenly the blade and half of the shaft of the spade disappeared fully beneath the soil; Byron released the handle from his hands. ‘I think I’ve discovered something’ Byron told Thomas excitedly. ‘What is it, By?’ asked Thomas. Both boys looked at the top half of the spade which was protruding from the soil. ‘I think we should keep on digging and find out’ Byron replied. He grabbed the handle and lifted the spade out of the soil then commenced to dig, quicker and more excitedly than he had previous. Thomas watched with eager anticipation before putting down his gun and torch and started digging with his hands, like an over excited terrier. It wasn’t long before a hole became clearly visible beneath their trench. Small at first, but soon grew as Byron chipped at the edges, which fell away easily.
Both boys stopped digging and sat together on the ground next to their trench, looking at what their digging had produced. In front of them was the outline of a trench, six foot by two foot. The trench had been dug into to a depth of around twenty inches. At the bottom of this was the entrance to a hole, the entrance now eighteen inches in diameter. Byron looked with mixed emotions. Excited at what they had found but also wondering if they would be in trouble, had they stumbled across something they shouldn’t have? Thomas had the questions. What is it? How deep is it? What’s in it? Byron took more notice of Thomas’s next question ‘do you think it might be a grave?’ Byron felt the need to reply, to stop Thomas from worrying, ‘It’s not a grave Thomas, well I don’t think it is’.
Byron came to the decision to go and tell their dad about what they had unearthed. He no longer wanted to take responsibility for something he was unsure of. He told Thomas to wait by the trench while he went back to the house. Byron had only walked a short way up the garden when a voice inside his head told him to turn around. He stopped and stood still. At first he tried to ignore the instruction but curiosity soon got the better of him. He turned slowly; a sense of fear came over him. The fine hairs all over his body stood up on end, what was he going to see behind him?
Nothing, there was nothing there. Nothing there unexpected. He could see the indentations in the grass where he had trodden, leading down to his trench. Next to the trench, dug into the ground was his spade and beyond that was the copse. Everything was fine; there wasn’t anything unexpected to see. A sense of anger began to build up inside of Byron. Where was Thomas? He was angry because the first thing he should have noticed was that Thomas was missing. Indentations, the spade, the copse, why were these insignificant things noticed before he noticed his little brother had gone.
Byron started to panic. He cried out Thomas’s name. Where was he, he could see he hadn’t gone back to the copse. Byron ran back down the garden towards the trench. The toy machine gun and torch were missing so Thomas must have had them with him. He called out Thomas’s name again but with no reply. There was only one explanation; Thomas must have climbed down into the hole. Byron jumped down into the trench and got down onto his knees, his whole body was shaking and in his head was the continuous command ‘I must find my brother, I must find my brother’. Byron lent forwards, placing his hands either side of the hole before lowering his head. A strange smell met him, a smell he hadn’t noticed when he first unearthed the opening. It was a damp, mouldy smell like a full laundry basket that hadn’t been emptied for weeks. This didn’t deter him, he had to find Thomas. He placed his head into the hole and turned it to his right, what he saw almost stopped his heart. The hole had collapsed; there was nothing to see but a mound of soil. Byron began to panic. If Thomas had gone that way he was bound to be buried alive, their play trench had become a grave. Byron started to claw away at the soil expecting to find the lifeless feet of his brother, he became frantic, moving soil at such a pace a JCB would be proud. Then he stopped. He could hear a distant scratching sound coming from his left. Byron hadn’t looked to his left; he’d only looked right and presumed the worse. Was that Thomas? Had he gone the other way? He was alive, he wasn’t buried. Byron’s soul was lifted. Byron turned his head to the left in eager anticipation, expecting to see Thomas.
Through the darkness Byron could see a faint light. It reminded him of a scene in a film he’d watched with his dad where an old steam train’s headlight approached through a railway tunnel. But this wasn’t an old steam train and it wasn’t approaching him, it was moving away. What was it? An answer came to Byron quickly; it must be Thomas with his torch. Byron called out Thomas’s name with excitement, he’d found his brother. No reply came back so Byron called out again. Still no reply but he noticed the faint light had stopped moving. For a brief moment there was complete silence, nothing happened. Excitement was replaced with worry when the light started to move again, this time coming back towards Byron. What if it wasn’t Thomas? What if this light belonged to something else? Byron tried to remove these irrational thoughts from his mind; of course it was Thomas, what else would have a torch underground? His body took over his conscious thoughts and forced him to remove his head from the hole. Byron waited at the entrance for Thomas to come out, and he waited.
It was no good, Byron needed to look again. Thomas hadn’t appeared and it wouldn’t have taken him this long to get out. He lent forward again getting closer to the entrance. The smell hit him once again but this time a lot stronger to the point where he thought he could actually taste something, something rotten.
Byron nervously and slowly lowered his head into the hole and turned to look to his left. Thomas wasn’t there but the light was and it was moving away again. This now made Byron angry; he called out his brother’s name again. Thomas was playing games with him, if he wasn’t going to come out of the hole himself he was going to have to get him.
Byron lowered himself onto his stomach and dragged himself into the tunnel. Thomas was going to be in so much trouble when he got hold of him.
Even for a nine year old boy the tunnel was cramped. Byron dragged himself inch by inch, foot by foot. At irregular intervals he could feel other tunnels coming off from the one he was dragging himself through. He wasn’t going to change direction though, he could still see the faint light in front of him, and this was his only form of guidance as without it he would be in complete darkness.
Byron continued to call out Thomas’s name but he never received any reply. He was beginning to get frustrated with his brother, why wouldn’t he do what he was told? Why wouldn’t he stop? This wasn’t like him, he was usually well behaved.
Byron continued to crawl. Soon he noticed that the faint light was becoming slightly brighter. The further he crawled the brighter the light become. Thomas must have stopped; he was getting closer to him. At last, finally his brother had got bored with the chase. Byron crawled a little faster and continued to call out Thomas’s name. He tried to reassure him that he wasn’t going to be in trouble if he just stayed where he was. Byron’s heart raced with the thought of him catching up with his mischievous little sibling.
Byron was now getting real close. The light shone straight into his face, he was almost at the point where he thought he could reach out and touch the torch himself. ‘I’m nearly with you’ Byron called out. Then it went out, the light was turned off. Byron stopped, his whole body stopped working. It was now pitch black, blacker than anything Byron had experienced before, black, silent and eerie.
What had happened? Why was Thomas tormenting him this way?
Byron was scared, really scared. He didn’t know what was going on. He was frightened to speak but he knew he had to say something. ‘Thomas’, just one word, that’s all he could muster. Fear had prevented him from saying anything else.
This time Byron got a reply. It wasn’t a reply he wanted; it was a reply that scared him to within an inch of his life.
A loud scream echoed through the tunnel but this wasn’t a frightened scream this was a threatening scream. Byron uncontrollably screamed himself. He could feel the shockwaves of the threatening scream vibrate around his tiny body. Tears began to fall from his eyes though he wasn’t crying; he was too scared to cry. Then he heard a thumping noise, someone or something was banging onto the sides of the tunnel. It sounded frenzied, like a wild animal trying to escape from a cage. Byron was a sitting target; he couldn’t retreat fast enough even if he could get his body to move.
The thumping stopped and another scream echoed out but this time, although still loud it seemed a little further away. Byron just lay there on his stomach waiting for something to happen, hoping nothing would.
It then went quiet; calm fell within the tunnel. The last remnants of the scream echoed away, the thumping had stopped. Byron was left alone with his rigid body in the complete darkness. What was that? One thing was for certain, it wasn’t Thomas.
Realisation then hit him. For the first time Byron didn’t care about Thomas, where he was, what he was doing. The only person he cared about now was himself, about Byron. He had to save himself, he had to get out. This was survival; even a nine year old knows about self preservation, it’s a natural instinct we’re all born with.
These thoughts seemed to thaw Byron’s frozen body and mind. He tried to turn himself but he couldn’t, the tunnel was too narrow. If he was going to get out he was going to have to crawl backwards. He began pushing away with his arms, moving his body in reverse. He closed his eyes, to him this justified why it was so dark.
Byron had only moved a few feet when he heard a rattling noise in front of him. The sound got closer and closer. Byron stopped and remained static. He kept his eyes closed and dropped his head into his arms. This time he did cry, he cried and prayed for his mum and dad to save him. The noise was right upon him although it no longer sounded like a rattling, more of a rolling. Byron lay still waiting for whatever was going to happen. The noise stopped as he felt something touch his forearm. He screamed and jumped; raising his head he thumped it against the roof of the tunnel. Byron pushed away as quick as he could, as he moved the rolling noise started again. It was following him, he wasn’t going to be able to get away. Byron stopped and again he felt something touch his forearm. He felt around with his hand unsure of what he was going to grab hold of. He then found it, it was cold and cylinder. He recognised what it was, it was the torch. He fumbled about feeling for the on button. He pushed on the button with his thumb and the light came on, at last he could see again.
His tears of fear turned to tears of happiness. The light had brought back his bravery; he was determined to get out and quickly. With the tunnel now lit up he could see an area ahead of him, an area where the tunnel walls were wider and the roof higher, somewhere where he thought it would be possible for him to turn around. He started to drag himself forward; a sense of optimism engulfed him. Byron reached the widened area of the tunnel; he was able to sit himself up. He turned himself around so that he was facing the way he had come.
Byron sat for a while, a sense of relief flowed through him. All he had to do now was to get back onto his stomach and crawl himself out of this tunnel. With the torch he looked at the walls of the tunnel around him. The walls where he was sitting were different to the smooth walls of the narrow part of the tunnel. Around him were deeps grooves scratched into the walls, similar to a cat post after a playful kitten had amused himself for a time. But these weren’t playful scratches. With a closer inspection he could see what looked like blood. It was blood, not flows of it but splashes amongst the scratches. Byron reached out with his index finger and touched the crimson liquid, it was still wet. He raised his finger and rubbed it against his thumb, the blood smeared across his fingertips. Out the corner of his eye he noticed something else amongst the scratches; he reached and pulled it from the wall. It was a nail, a finger nail, well, more like a claw about an inch long. It was black like a slither of jade with a sharp pointed end. This must have belonged to whatever else was in this tunnel with him, that’s what the thumping noise was. No more excavations, Byron had to get out.
Byron placed the torch in front of him and prepared to get into a crawling position once again, the torch started to roll away from him. Byron lent forward to grab the torch, and then stopped. The vibrations of the scream could be felt on his face, he sat bolt upright. The scream sounded more threatening and a lot closer than it had before. Byron could do nothing as he watched the torch, his light roll away from him. Whatever this was had circled him, now coming from a different direction, blocking his way out. The torch stopped; if he could get to it he’d have light. Maybe he’d have a chance.
He was going to have to be braver than ever to move towards the scream which continued to ring out, braver than most men, let alone any child. Byron summoned up all his courage and leaned forward once again. The screaming was becoming unbearable. The smell had also returned making him feel nauseous. Again Byron was stopped in his tracks and probably for the last time as he felt the last remnants of bravery leave his body. From the darkness he saw a hand reach out and grab the torch. Similar to a human hand but not like any he had ever seen in his young life. The skin was white and wrinkled, the fingers short and stumpy upon which were black inch long fingernails which looked like claws, one was missing, replaced by a small pool of congealed blood. The hand thrashed out and smashed the torch against the side on the tunnel. Out went the last of the light, the screaming stopped.
Byron sits rigidly surrounded by darkness. The only sound is from him, his heavy, stuttering breathing which echoes eerily throughout the tunnel he’s captive in. He can feel the cold damp soil under his fingertips, the only area he’s able to touch as fear has frozen his hands to the ground by his sides.
A scurrying sound comes from the tunnel behind him accompanied by what can only be described as laughter. Not the kind of laughter you would hear from a small child playing, more like a hyena who’s just brought down an antelope. Byron does nothing; he can’t move or respond as fear has taken control of his body. The laughter gets closer before turning into a pant, slow and controlled.
Byron feels a warm breath on the back of his neck accompanied by the damp, mouldy stench. The breath moves from side to side, first onto the right side of his face then his left. Then he feels four sharp points move up from the base of his spine to his neck. They scratch but very gently around his neck, the panting begins to sound more excited. The four sharp points become recognised as a hand as it grips his right shoulder, another hands grips his left. Byron hears that scream again as the hands pull him back quickly, dragging him along the tunnel. Darkness descends, not the darkness of the tunnel, or of the underground but the darkness of unconsciousness.
Thomas manages to pull himself out of the deserted badger’s hole. Unable to get out from where he entered due to the fact the tunnel had caved in behind him. He’d bravely found his way out of the darkness, finding this natural exit. He’s crying uncontrollably as he runs back up to the house, still with the toy machine gun in his hand. Thomas cries out to his dad as he gets to the back door. His dad appears at the door and see’s his youngest son crying at the doorstep. ‘What’s wrong Thomas? What’s happened? He bends down and gives his son a hug. ‘Take your time. Calm down and tell me what’s wrong’. Thomas takes a couple of deep breathes and wipes his eyes with his arm.
‘Dad, I’ve lost my torch’
THE END
John W Austin 2009
