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Chamber Beneath
the Earth Note:
During Cold War An example of some of
my rather early creative non-fanfiction work.
However, despite the fact that it hasn’t been edited since its completion
about three years ago, I still find it highly entertaining. |
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I On the morning of June the sixth, I awoke to a
startling noise below my window. I scrambled from my bed to see what was
outside. Professor Farnlade (yes, the archeologist)
stood giving directions as to where his assistant should place the buckets. I
was not surprised. He was supposed to be here. The Professor had come last year to visit my
father and me, being an old science colleague of my father’s. On that
eventful visit, he discovered what modern scientists call “Dora”, or else
“the Dorshire Skeleton.” It consisted of the
remains of some Neolithic man, or, should I say, woman. Slowly and
cautiously, the Professor had been excavating this bone frame and other
artifacts discovered near it, turning our backyard into a sizeable dig site. I climbed back into bed and tried to become
drowsy again, (for it was only half past four) but sleep would not come. For
half an hour I lay staring at the ceiling, in the corner of which was a brown
water spot that appeared to be in the shape of Professor Farnlade did
not notice me when I first came out. He was speaking to my father about
getting another spade. “This one’s we’re done with” he said in his somewhat
raucous accent. “Car rolled over it, it did. Must replace it today. Can you
see to it, Monty?” Without waiting for an answer, he turned on his heel and
observed me. “Hey, Chris.” “Hullo Professor.” “Thought you said you’d sleep in.” “Well, I didn’t.” “Obviously.” He paused a moment, then added, “Would you like
to see the dog we’re diggin’ out?” I nodded, more out of politeness than from
inquisitiveness. “Come on then” he said. II We descended into the yawning hole in the earth.
Sunlight streamed down on us as Professor Farnlade
showed me his latest find. “See, they even collared this dog. See the leash?” (He held a piece of decaying
plant material gingerly in his hand.) I assented, somewhat bored. My eyes ran
along the length of wall. It was not a smooth wall, only a rough, packed
earth one. Then, I noticed something. One portion of the wall was not packed hard like the rest. I was
interested. With my fingers I began to carelessly brush at the dirt. Farnlade looked at me curiously. “Did you find
something?” “No.” “What is it, then?” “I don’t think anything” “Then why are you. . . “ His voice trailed off into nothing. He stared at
where I was still burrowing with my fingernails. Suddenly, I felt something
hard. Surprised, I looked too. There was a shiny, silverish
something. I excavated a little more, revealing the handle of a door. Farnlade, looking very stunned indeed, called out, “Jake.
Jake. Come down here, wherever you are.” A moment later Jacob Blore, otherwise called Jake, (he was the assistant) came
down the rickety ladder. “Jake, help me and Chris uncover this door.” What he really meant was, “Jake, help Chris uncover this door,” for the
Professor never did any laborious digging if he could help it. So Jake and I set to exhuming the door.
Revealed, it was simply a gray metal, silver handled normal-sized set of
French style doors. The Professor, feeling adventurous, suggested, “Let’s go
in!” And so feeling not in the least apprehensive, he tweaked the handle
slightly. I did not object, thinking it was probably just a closet. Inside was dark and peculiar-smelling. Jake
leant forward and flicked a switch. Instantly the interior was flooded with
light from the lengthy lamps on the ceiling. The smooth tiled floor was
covered in filthy scuff marks. It all seemed very much like an abandoned warehouse or office, yet unlike these
kinds of bustling, busy places, the chamber in which we were was deathly
silent, not to mention ill-scented. I suggested that we ought not to be here.
“And who is there to care if we are in here?” asked the Professor. I realized
the truth in this statement, and we proceeded, Jake
shutting the door behind us. There were many doors in the brightly-lit, malodorous
hall. Farnlade grasped the knob of one. It opened,
disclosing a dimly lit, comfortable room with a sofa, TV, dining table,
kitchenette, and four chairs round the table. The only source of light came
from a lamp on a side table by the sofa. The latter was facing the wall
before us, and so we could see only the back of that furniture piece. Farnlade pushed the door back more, but at a point before
it was completely open, it struck against something. We did not need a fully
open door to enter the room, so we slipped in. Farnlade looked to see what the door stuck against by
shutting the door a bit. As the door yielded to his touch, we saw what had
made the door stick. It was the corpse of a dead man. III Jake whistled. I stared. Farnlade
gasped. We all gazed at the dead man. He apparently had been killed not very
long ago, but how he died was not evident. We stood for a while, not knowing
what to say or do. Then Farnlade, taking up the
situation, quickly said, “We’ll leave him until we can bring the police.” I turned around just as he said this to look at
the couch. What I saw made me gasp. “Another man! Dead, like the first.” “Where?” “On the sofa.” Farnlade and Jake turned and saw also. “Two murders now. There may be more” said Jake. “How can you be sure that it is murder?” Jake shrugged. “Because it must be murder. Two healthy and strong men, dead in the same
room. . .” He trailed off. “Why cannot it be suicide?” I asked. “There are no letters confirming suicide” he
replied instantly. “Let’s go out now” said the Professor, clearly
quite shaken. We walked out into the hallway. I attempted to
open the door we had just come in a while ago. It was locked from the inside,
with a key. We were trapped in that
hallway, and there was a murderer stalking about. IV Naturally enough, we were all very nervous. How
would we get out of this treacherous place?! Well, there were still other
doors. Quite possibly one might let us out of this building underground.
Maybe . . .just maybe. . . The air in the hall suddenly seemed more
stifling. I opened another door. Inside this
door was a room full of switches, telephone lines, and all sorts of new
technological articles. Bending over in his chair, his face flat on a
keyboard, was another man. “Dead as a doornail” noted Professor Farnlade unnecessarily. I looked around. At least there
were no more bodies besides this one in here. We exited and continued to the
next door. The next room was like the first that we entered;
only we counted seven dead men
within. The following room had no one inside at all. It was then when the
Professor and I noticed that Jake had disappeared.
We scrambled around looking for him, but to no avail. The last time either
one of us had seen him was when the Professor watched Jake tie his shoe. That
had been ten minutes ago. Now where was he?! We went out into that dastardly
hall again. One door near the end was open. The Professor followed me into
the chamber. This was a bunkroom. On the beds lay dead men. It was frightful
to walk through there. Then I noticed Jake. Someone had put him on the bottom
part of a bunk bed, and the professor and I did not need to even touch him to
know he was dead. The murderer, then, was still at large, and maybe in this
very room! V We then turned around and headed out, I first, Farnlade after me. He turned out the lights in there. I
may certainly admit now that at the time, I was terrified. And my fears were
justified within no less than four minutes. For a moment after I left the
room, I heard a gurgling from within. I raced inside and switched on the dim
lights. The Professor Farnlade lay dead, strangled
with a belt, on the floor. I was determined not to let the killer escape me
this time. A dark figure moved to the next room. I followed. No one seemed to
be in the room. Actually, I mean anyone who was alive. There were two more
corpses. Otherwise, there was no one else, and absolutely no place to hide
except under the bed. Somewhat edgy about peeking underneath a bed which had
a corpse on top of it, I stooped and lifted the edge of blanket. As I did so, I heard a rustling come from above
me. I looked up and realized that the corpse was moving! Then I knew it was
too late to even move, for there were two hands round my throat in a second. A
familiar voice muttered, “You oaf of a girl! Why’d you have to go digging
around in walls, eh? Didn’t you know there was evil behind that door? Both
for you and me and that stupid Professor?”
“No!” I gasped “Well,” continued my captor, Mr. Blore, “Of course not. But before you die, let me explain
to you what this place is. I’m in with Yes I could, and very well too! “Anyway, I worked here at this confidential
nuclear operations lab until I put some poisonous drafts in the ventilators .
. . What’s that?” I had muttered something about which side this
lab was working for. “Oh. Then all went black . . . black . . . black . .
. black . . . VI During the late evening of June the fifth, a
certain man whom we shall call Mr. Robinson received a telephone call at his
office in the Pentagon. “Where is Jeremy Stowe?” the caller asked. “Has his
station been blown up?” “Who?” asked Mr. Robinson “Captain Jeremy Stowe. He was working at a
secret nuclear base somewhere near “Is this Mrs. Stowe?” “Yes. Can you possibly tell me where he is?
Yesterday he was supposed to come home at four o’clock pm, but he never came.
I waited until now to call you, because, you know, he might have shown up,
but he didn’t, and so I am very worried.” “I will check up on his base now. Thank you for
alerting us, Mrs. Stowe. Goodbye.” Mr. Robinson, now quickly went into action,
calling various people and places. He looked up in his large book of
scientists enrolled in assisting the “Hey, Frank?” “Hey Robinson! Wazup?” “Hear from project four lately?” “Yeah.” “When last?” “Sunday. The . . . uh . . . 30th.” “That’s it?” “Yeah.” “Thanks!” “No problemo!” After this call, Mr. Robinson decided that there
was something wrong with project ‘Banana’. He boarded his private plane and
headed towards Dorshire. Then he telephoned to
‘Banana,’ but receiving no answer there, he called head quarters to ask for if
an escort of military soldiers could meet him at the airport to assist his
investigation. He hurriedly alighted from his plane and joined his aides.
They all trooped off to the base. They arrived at the main entrance (still
boarded up by Mr. Blore) at the same moment in time
that I discovered the Professor dead. Swiftly, the escort downed the blockade
and raced into the main hallway, followed by Mr. Robinson. By the time they
had gotten there, Mr. Blore had already started his
monologue. Officials, to their utmost dismay, found a roomful of corpses.
They then heard the sound of Mr. Blore talking in
the otherwise silent complex. They rushed into the room just before I blacked
out, and that was why Mr. Blore screamed. They
arrested the culprit, having caught him red-handed strangling me. Soon, they
revived me. They could not rescue anyone else, for all (Professor included)
were long lost.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: I am making no money off of this, and this site isn’t either. However,
all of this is mine. That means that it came out of my own head at one time
or another. J.K. Rowling, as awesome as she is, didn’t make a word of this
up. Neither did Tony Blair. Nor any other person but me. Muahahaha!
That means you can’t take it or any of the characters and call it/them your
own. Score! |
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