Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-28060931-20160414224219

My parents died in a car crash when I was four. My grandparents took it upon themselves to raise me. We lived in a large farmhouse in a rural part of Maine. My grandparents owned forty hectares of land, on which, was a large plain, a forest, and a field of corn. The house was big: it had three stories, and a attic along with a basement. The house was located in a small village. The houses there were sparse, due to the owners owning large portions of land for themselves.

I was a curious rather curious child. I was fascinated by exploration. I read books about Christopher Columbus and other explorers. I was amazed by their great adventures. I loved exploring the vast forest, even though my grandparents were reluctant to grant permission for me to explore the forest due to the harsh environment. They let me explore it because they preferred that rather then me ‘snooping' in the shed and attic. My grandparents outright banned me from entering into the basement, and shed, which was located about two miles from the house. I frequently visited the attic. After bringing a few old books, with queer symbols in them, to my grandparents attention, they banned me from entering the attic too.

There was trench, about half a fathom deep, which lead from the forest to the sewer system. I was maybe five years old on that day. The sun was scorching, the grass emerald green, the shrubs gleaming, My grandparents were on the porch drinking cold beer. I was messing about in my sandpit, which I helped construct. It was a summer day. I, out of curiosity, walked over to the trench. I was a creative child, always imaging that I was on some great voyage to discover a desolate land, on which a horrible evil lurks.

As I was fighting invisible monsters at the edge of the trench, I, abruptly, tripped and fell over. Since the edge of the trench was steep and slippery due to the rain last night, which was also the reason, why a swift torrent of water was rushing through the trench. I desperately clawed the ground to stop myself from falling in. I was, of course, over exaggerating. I was in a life threating scenario, or at least my five-year-old mind thought so, So it was only natural for me to panic.

I managed to grab a hold of a protruding root or branch. I was only a kid so my strength did not suffice in pulling me back up. I was holding on for dear life. Thoughts were rushing through my head. This is exactly why my creativity could have negative effects. I pictured myself drowning, or being taken away by the torrent to a land of evil, giant rats who would torture me. Adrenaline was rushing through my veins faster then I could think. I dug my leg into the dirt, I kicked my self up. I rejoiced as my fingers caught the grass above. I started to climb back up, then, suddenly, I lost my grip and sped back down, I struggled for breath as the torrent engulfed me. I flailed my arms frantically, but to no avail, My screams were muffled by water flooding my mouth. I was nearing the sewer entrance. I closed by eyes, and clenched my teeth until the veins in my throat grew taut.

I guess the horror, shock, and strong, hasty rush of water made me lose consciousness. I woke up drenched in both sweat, and water. I found myself in a dark tunnel. It was dimly lit by some distant sunlight streaming in through distant apertures. I took a while to recover, then screamed manically for help. After an hour of these desperate shouts, I broke down crying. I was wailing. I would never see my grandmother again, I would never kiss her and say how much I owe her. Why, oh why must this happen, I though.

I finally calmed down. I absorbed my surroundings. There was no doubt that I was in a sewer. The odour, from the lake of water flowing through the tunnel, was that of faeces and urine. I could barely see two feet in front of me. I tried to force any negative thoughts regarding my position to the very back of my mind:

‘It's okay you're all right, grand, fine. You are not trapped, are you? No, no surely this happened to millions. I rather be any where then here god please. What for? Your in no mortal peril.’

The thoughts were overwhelming: I broke down in a frenzy, I screamed madly, I yelled, I chocked on my own tears. It took, what seemed like hours, to steady my breath and move forwards in search for an exit. I was still silently weeping. My head started to badly hurt. I had lean against the damp, mossy walls as I walked into the dark, infinite void of darkness, and despair. I was forced to take a break, as I was to tired to proceed. I collapsed unto the ground and soon, out of weariness, I drifted of into sleep.

I woke up with a headache never yet felt before. As I realised where I was and remained myself of the situation I broke down crying. I was terrified. My young self could not have possibly contained the horror I felt, so I screamed furiously. Soon, I couldn't hear my screaming as a ringing sound took its place. The ringing hurt my ears, causing a much worse headache. The ringing soon ceased. I got up; but as soon as I did so I heard a faint harsh whisper coming from the darkness of the abyss that surrounded me. Then, another whisper, and another, and another. Soon, I was surrounded my unintelligible, harsh, ghastly whispering.

I started sweating. I could make out figures in the darkness. Ghastly, eldritch, figures in shrouded robes were floating in the darkness. The whispering increased in volume, and speed. My breathing was getting impossible to control. I screamed and ran, not even looking in front of me. The figures and whispering was getting to loud.

Then, silence, a long undisturbed silence. It felt as if it was my imagination. I was to horrified to do anything, I was paralysed. This paralysis lasted for a long time, but I regained my senses, and oddly my composure? I continued down the endless sewer path. I caught sight of a cobblestone bridge. I walked across it. My head hurt worst the ever.

I felt a horrible presence around me as If I was being watched. I walked across many dark corridors. The darkness was getting thicker the more I progressed. The headache persisted. I felt hopeless. I was like a trapped rat. There was no way out and I started to realise it. It seemed as if god abandoned me. I reached a niche in the wall. There was a aperture in the ceiling, from which sunlight was streaming. It illuminated a series of scriptures, and symbols resembling hieroglyphs.

I recognised these as the ones I saw in the books, in the attic. They showed odd, eerie creatures engulfed by shadows. At their feet, where humanoid shapes on their knees. This for some reason made me sick. I felt the shadows get closer to me. The whispering resumed this time more ominous and melancholy. I turned around and collapsed onto my knees. The headache was overwhelming. I noticed the shadows do something strange. It looked as if they were morphing into something.

They gathered into a thick, dense mass. Then, some weirdly contorted figure appeared before me. It had a child's face. But it looked menacing and furious. Shadows were swimming around this monstrosity. It wore a black robe and stood six feet tall. It whispered in a soft, enchanting voice. It whispered my name. It got closer to me, it sort of levitated towards me. My vision became distorted. The thing got closer to me. I tried to breathe but couldn't, I tried to scream but couldn't.

“Pledge legience to me and be rewarded just like the generations preceding you. Bestow your life and soul to me just like your ancestors. Praise me just like your kin.” It said.

I couldn't speak I just started crying. The monster screeched and launched itself at me. I yelled. The world faded from me.

After that it was dark, darker then you can imagine. Then I saw a glimmer of white light. I was dead, this was the tunnel to heaven. I walked towards the light, it increased in size and brightness. When I was near the end, I saw a figure clad in white staring at me. I thought it was Jesus. Suddenly, everything exploded with color. I desperately breathed in and out. I have not felt fresh air for such a long period of time.

‘Its okay, son,’ a sweet, melodic voice said. ‘ You are okay, we found you in a sewer. Your grandparents are concerned about you.’

I tried to think hard. I remembered some basic English and when my mind settled down, I formed the most coherent question I could:

‘Who? Where I? Me sewer where you, who are?’

‘Its all right. I'm Dr. Morris. You are in a hospital.’

Whether all I described was real, or a mere figment of my imagination caused by the mental breakdown I went through I don't know. But these horrific events inspired many night terrors. 