The Underpass

Authors Note: No Trespassing, two very simple words that everyone understands, even those who don't speak English. It has become an universal warning for danger, for something foreboding. It also has become an invitation to uncover something secret... Only in rare cases, the warning gives us a reason why we shouldn't trespass, yet rarely we bother to ask the question. Why do we follow these orders, if we don't know why these orders are in place. Why do we follow them blindly? Easy! We assume it is for the greater good, as we are taught to obey the order, to trust just a decision. We are taught to never question its authority. We obey the order and stay clueless. Clueless of what dangers or what secrets may lay behind the barrier. Are you never curious what's on the other side? Well, let us say, some secrets are better left to be secrets...

A girl named Lucy Kinsley
Hello, my name is Lucy Kinsley and I'm 15 year old. A few days back I did an amazing discovery and this blogpost will serve as both my logbook as well as my diary. But let me start with the beginning: My story started in July, a boring summer as most of my friends were on vacation or on summer camp while I was stuck in the small township of Monty's Creek, Great-Britain. Population around the 5000. Mostly farmers or city folk, trying to escape the stressful existences they lived in the big city, in the exciting world. Hmm... The grass is always greener on the other side, isn't it?

In order to kill the boredom, I ran little errands for people in the village, mostly senior citizens with walking difficulties. Now, the thing with elderly is, one doesn't simply bring them their groceries and leave. The prime example of this was, without a doubt, Geraldine Lamb. And normally, that didn't bother me, I had nothing else to do and they are so happy when they can talk to someone. To finally have a visitor that isn't there to measure their blood pressure or proscribe medication. But that Friday was different.

Friday the 12th, I'll never forget that day. With family coming over from out of town, I had a curfew. My mother expected, (or in more truthful wordings, ordered,) me to be home at 6 PM. And my mother isn't someone you would want to disappoint. Having a curfew was one thing but explaining that to someone like Miss Lamb was a different story.

'Come on, dear. Stay, have another biscuit... Or more tea. I'm sure your mother will understand.'

I was sure that my mother would flay me alive if I dared to be late, but I kept that for myself. Instead I try to convince her I couldn't stay any longer, while discouraging her attempts to force-feed me biscuits. Miss Lamb was even worse than my mother as she didn't seem to understand the word 'No' and when I finally managed to leave, I had only ten minutes to get home! And the trip back home would take me, at least twenty minutes... My only option to make it in time, was by using the underpass. If I was lucky, I might make it under ten minutes. Yet, this plan had one big problem, the underpass had been closed, for longer than I could remember.

A big sign with "No Trespassing" written on it, discouraging anyone from using it, forcing people to go around it and lengthen their journey with a mile. When I arrived at the underpass, the sign was there, as threatening and foreboding as ever but I also saw a clear light on the other side of the tunnel. That sight did me wonder what would be worse, facing the wrath of my mother or facing the consequences of going through the underpass. As I didn't really had the luxury of wasting any more time, taking the latter risk seemed more preferable option and after making sure that there was no one who would have seen me and stopped me, I crawled under the sign, with my bike in hand. If the underpass was really so dangerous that nobody ever should go there, they would have used something more efficient to keep people way, won't they? They would have closed the underpass properly, wall up its entrances or so.

Back then, nothing seemed out of the ordinary, I drove through the underpass with no problem. The road was decent enough to drive and I saw not a single sign that indicated that the tunnel would collapse any time soon: no visible cracks, no erosion, not even the growth of mould... There was a bit of graffiti but which abandon construction didn't suffer from such mild vandalism, and graffiti didn't change the integrity of concrete, now did it? The only thing that struck me as odd, was a red line in the middle of the tunnel. A red line of an inch thick, marking the floor, the walls and the ceiling. It didn't look like ordinary graffiti, it was too simple, not extravagant enough. I didn't know why but the sight had something unsettling. Not that I had much time to think about it, as my time was running out. Trying to make up for the time I spent wondering about the red arc, I raced toward to exit the underpass as fast as possible and I almost collided with the sign on the other side of the underpass. But thanks to that shortcut, I got home in time and I didn't had to spend the rest of the vacation with house arrest. Everything was fine, right?

Problem was, it wasn't... Later that night, I felt myself unable to fall asleep. I just couldn't stop wonder why the underpass was closed. I had seen nothing that would justify such a decision. Even stranger was the fact that I never had questioned that decision before. For as long as I could remember, the underpass has been closed and yet I had no idea why. Maybe it is human nature to just follow instructions without knowing why. We just are taught that it was forbidden, that is was unsafe. But for some odd reason that answer wasn't enough for me. Not anymore. I had to know why the underpass was closed. There had to be reason and I was planning on uncovering that reason. Not only would it satisfy my curiosity, it would also give me something to do, something else than listening to Lamb's stories about her father war antics. (Don't get me wrong, the first time around these stories are interesting but after you have heard the same story, over and over again... Well, I can tell you this, the novelty quickly wears off.) And maybe I should also uncover the purpose of that strange red line, perhaps it marked a meridian, like the prime meridian in Greenwinch.

Research
My research started in the library. In our modern age, I could try to google it but people who ever tried to find something so specific on Google will agree with me, this way was by far the easier option of the two. I searched in books, I read old newspapers, with some interesting but incoherent results. From what I had gathered, the underpass was build in 1973, and was already closed in 1980 after two bodies were found in near the tunnel entrance. I couldn't find much details on their story however, only that it was presumed to be the bodies of a couple in their mid' 20s that were gone missing a few weeks prior and that they were robbed. The underpass was closed for 'further investigations' but I couldn't find any reports that they ever opened the underpass again. But in later years, more people had disappeared near the underpass, mostly drug addicts... People nobody really cared about.

So, other than a grim history, there was no actual reason to close the underpass. Then I thought, maybe there was something I had neglect to notice when I drove through it. After all, I was in a hurry my first time through. There was only way to be certain, to trespass once more. Armed with a flashlight, I returned to the place and ignored for a second time the sign that tried to stop me from entering. With the flashlight I scanned the ceiling and the walls: still no visible cracks, little erosion maybe, but nothing that looked like something to worry about. I looked at the graffiti on the walls, in the hope that they might tell me stories about this place, stories that my information from the library neglected to tell me.

As one could expect, most of it was profanity, others just boastful. But one writing in particular caught my attention: 'Go Away...'

I looked around and noticed a second writing, a few meters farther. Written with the same handwriting: 'Leave.'

At that point I actually considered that advice but when I looked around, there was nothing to see. I felt brave and ignored the warning. But closer to the unsettling red line, I found the most disturbing message of all. It was clearly written by the same author of the previous two warnings, same handwriting, but this wasn't a warning...

'It lurks in the dark... Look behind you...'

For a brief moment I could only watch at the writing on the wall, too shocked to move. With a heart that was pounding so fast that it hurt, I slowly turned around and aimed the flashlight at the wall behind me. While breathing heavily, I read a new message at the opposing wall: 'Boo!'

Relieved but also a bit ashamed for being such a scaredy-cat, I shook my head and decided that I should stop following instructions written on walls. Once my heart rate dropped back to acceptable levels, I continued my investigation, by checking the red line. It was a perfect line, no spots on either side and the paint didn't look like regular paint used by graffiti artists, more like the paint used for road marking. That could explain why it was spotless but it still begged the question, why? Why would anyone bother to paint a red line in a tunnel, covering the floor, walls and ceiling. What purpose did it serve, if it served a purpose at all? It could be some sort of joke by the people who made the tunnel, or some sort of silent protest. Still, that red line stroke me as odd. The idea that it was marking a meridian, was already disproven at this point, by my research in the library. Beyond the red line, I saw more graffiti, less than in the first part of the tunnel but with the same messages, the same old jokes and the same boasting that I could only attribute to lowlifes with too much times on their hands (if the graffiti was decent, I had called it was art but you would find more fine art in a kindergarden than in this abandon tunnel.) The red line had no reason to be here, but other than that, there was nothing out of the ordinary and the underpass be used for its intented purpose: to provide a short cut to the other side of town.

The Underpass Incident
For the coming week, I kept using the underpass, it was more convenient than the detour and it strangely felt good driving through the tunnel, a feeling of freedom, ecstasy, maybe even rebellious towards the authority who placed the signs. And surprise, surprise, nothing happened... At first... Nine days after I actually started using the underpass, it started to reveal its true secrets to me. And at no point in my life had I been so scared. While running some errands for Miss Lamb, I returned from the supermarket with her bags filled with groceries and once again I used the underpass. And once again, once I brought Miss Lamb her groceries, I was instructed to take place on her sofa and listen to the story how Derrick Lamb fought in Battle of Passchendaele, how he heroically fought against the Germans and how he barely managed to survive in the trenches. Lucky for me however, the story was cut short this time when somebody called at the door. It was her daughter, Catherine (her surname escapes me for the moment). After the usual pleasantries, I was off the hook and ready to go home, a bit to the disappointment of Granny Lamb but hey, we can't all get what we want. When I looked at my watch, I saw only one hour had passed, which with Lamb's storytelling skills could be considered a record. Maybe I could spend some time at the lake. But my joyful thoughts were roughly disturbed when I was halted by Caroline Winters, a friend of my mother. The moment she saw me, she ran to me and hugged me. Not really knowing what was going on, I remained silent and waited till she explained her sudden need to hug me. To my surprise, she was crying. With tears in her eyes she looked at me and said sobbing: 'I'm so sorry about your mother... When I heard it...'

'My mother?'

I had no idea what I heard and with a shock I started asking myself the question: What had happened since I had left the house that morning... 'She was so young... Way too young to go... And I'm sure that the other driver was drunk, I'm sure of it...' As the horror of her words invaded my mind like toxic gas, I was unable to react, I was unable to speak. The idea of my mother having an accident and died... My world fell apart and without thinking, I jumped on my bike and drove home as fast as I could, while fighting against the tears. I didn't care what impression I might have made on people that day. It was all of lesser importance when compared to the horrible news that Winters had brought me. It felt so unreal, it felt impossible. I raced through the underpass without paying any attention to it or my surroundings. When I arrived at the house, I saw her car on the entranceway. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, nothing that pointed at a crash. The boot was open, revealing that she just returned from the shop with groceries. What was going on? I stormed inside, trying to find her.

And there she was. In the kitchen, greeting me and asking me if I could take the rest of the groceries out of the car. But I couldn't react, paralyzed by her presence, could only look at her, trying to comprehend what just happened. Winters told me that my mother had an accident. She told me she had died... Was this a sick joke or something? My mother immediately saw that there was something wrong. She always could tell if I had problems. She asked me if something was wrong, something I denied too quickly. I told her that I was just a bit tired, while in reality I was just happy that she was still alive. I'm sure she didn't believe me but she did let it rest. Only when I tried to go my room, she reminded me of her previous request of taking the bags out of the car. I had completely forgotten that she asked me that question and such forgetfulness doesn't really help if you are trying to act natural. I smiled vaguely, apologised and did what was asked of me. Later that night, I couldn't put the idea of Caroline Winters, crying over the death of mother, out of my head. It looked convincing to me and Winters never struck me as a great actress. But what was going on? It was something that kept me bothering... Why had she been convinced that my mother had died. But also the rest of the story didn't end up. How would Winters knew about an accident, involving my mother before I did. Also the way she phrased it, was bizarre to say the least, like she was under the impression that I was aware of what happened to my mother. She didn't seem to question my presence at Lamb's house for a second, while my mother supposedly died that day, while every normal person would be expecting that I was mourning the loss at home or in the hospital, with my family. It was all so bizarre. Little did I know that this would only be the beginning.

The next day, my mother asked me a question that blew all my other concerns out of the water. She asked me where I had been the last week. Surprised by this odd question, I told her that for the past week, I had been running errands for Geraldine Lamb. My claims were immediately dubbed lies and followed by a demand for the truth. According to her, Lamb hadn't see me in ten days, having called my mother, wondering if I was ill or something. I was stunned, I couldn't comprehend what had happened. First, her friend told me that she died and now Geraldine Lamb was telling her that she hadn't seen me in days, not since... Not since I had used the underpass for the first time... Could there be a connection between these two events? It had to be. It was the only explanation. Her next question came even more as a shock: she asked me if I was using drugs behind her back. I denied said claim, of course but I'm not sure she believed me. She warned me that if this behaviour would continue, with me disappearing, I would be grounded. But I could care less about being punished at that moment. I had to find out what was happening to me. I had to find out if there was any connection between the underpass and my apparent disappearances.

Instead of taking the practical approach of actual experimenting, I started with doing some research first, looking if there were any similar cases, people who had experienced the same strange occurances as I had. My first searches remained fruitless and the need to return to the underpass, and try some theories, grew by the day. I don't know why I had those feelings, those needs, but I couldn't shake off the idea that all the answers I craved, could be found in the underpass and only in the underpass. It was a feeling that I knew I had to suppress, that acting on these feelings without knowing what I was dealing with, would be ill-advised and a stupid thing to do. After a good week of searching and speculating on explanations, I discovered a website that appeared to be able to provide me with answers. It introduced me to the concept of Timeline Synchronisation, a theory that claimed that it was possible for people to end up in a different timeline.

"With the help of a portal, in most cases a tunnel or cave, one can enter a different timeline, replacing their counterpart on the other side. Only timelines where the person haves a counterpart and where the counterpart is near the portal, most preferably using the tunnel or cave in their timeline, are accessible. Because of this specific criteria in most cases, this tunnel or cave will act as a regular tunnel or cave. If another timeline is in fact reachable, the person will likely not be aware that they have infiltrated a different timeline, due to the similarities in the timelines. In many cases, these 'travellers' only become aware of their visits to other timelines, when certain taken action remain unnoticed or unaccredited, when they are reported missing for a few hours or days or finally, because of subtle differences between timelines, stemming from prior the traveller's arrival. It is believed that portals can only be used in one direction which depends on the timeline."

The Doll Experiment
My first reaction to this explanation was disbelief, this was impossible, it was insane... I kept this attitude for a few days... Before coming to the painful realization that it was also the only explanation I could find, the only story that came close to representing my own experience. And for some reason, I couldn't shake off the feeling that site might had been on to something. My better judgement kept telling me that was bullocks, but still... I felt that there was only one way that I could be certain: I can to create an experiment that would verify the existence and accessibility of these alternative timelines. It took me a few days to come with a proper idea, as I had to be sure that what I tried would have me results that were clear. If there was even the slightest ambiguity about the results, they would useless to me. The results had to be irrefutable

These are my notes of the experiment, which I dubbed the Doll Experiment: The Doll experiment had as goal to prove the existence of alternate timelines and the possibility to access them. The experiment was actually quite easy, I had to create a token, an unusual object and place it in my desk. I chose to made a little doll of wood and twigs from the forest, a skill I had learn from my paternal grandfather. The reason why I had to use a new doll was easy: since it would be made for the purpose of the experiment, it would be only found in my timeline. I had no reason to assume that in another timeline someone was doing the same experiment, or if that was the case, I only would encounter such timelines. I placed it in a drawer of my desk to make it even more unlikely any of my counterparts would do the same. It would also diminish the change that my parent would meddle with things. They didn't had the habit of coming in my room, if I wasn't there but I rather didn't take my chances. Especially since my mother has started to suspect me from drug abuse. As a final percussion, I decided to only try my luck on days I knew they wouldn't be home, when they were at work or so. The other days I would keep my regular routine of doing errands for people, while evading the underpass. Now I had an idea what might lay behind that red ring, I thought it would be better not to use the tunnel when I wasn't performing any experiments. I had no need for it to complicate things and the last thing I could use, were more people reporting me missing. But with the doll in place, I could start the experiment.

If I used the underpass and returned home using the detour, there were two possible outcomes:
 * 1) The Object was still there and nothing meaningful had happened (unless I would encounter other contradictions with my timeline. )
 * 2) The Object was gone and I would have my proof.

My first attempts were futile, time after time, when I got home, I found the doll where I had put it. I almost had given up on my clearly foolish attempts to recreate an internet fantasy when finally something happened. I came home and went to my room, the doll was nowhere to be found. Excited, I opened every drawer and I looked under the bed. After careful consideration, I even dared to ask the woman who was my mother in this timeline about the doll. But based on her reaction, it was safe to say that the doll never existed in this timeline. For a moment I thought I was going crazy, that I seeing things and judging how the "other mother" looked at me, she had similar thoughts. There was but only one way to be certain that it wasn't just my mind playing tricks on me: by returning to what I called 'my timeline'. After making up some lame excuse about having forgotten something in Lamb's house, I left the house, hoping that my plan would work. If I failed... I had no idea what I should do as explaining my odd behaviour would likely be the least of my problems.

I followed the road I used to get here and a few minutes later I looked at the arc that formed the entrance to the tunnel. The signs looked as authoritative as ever but as usual, I ignored them. Arriving back home, with the feeling that I was behaving idiotic, I ran inside and tried to go to my room to check for the doll. If everything went as I hoped it did, I would find the doll. But before my foot could even touch the first step of the stairs, my mother called me back. With shoes of lead, I followed the sound of her voice and found her in the living room. She asked me why I didn't greet her when I came home, before asking me about my day. Nothing about the wooden doll, Nothing about my behaviour when I left the house... Not even the slightest hint that she questioned my hasty departure or that she was even aware of said events. As the truth was too bizarre to be an explanation she would accept, I told her that I spent my day at the lake, reading a book. And after I could ensure her that I 'only had been reading a book', I was free to go my room. When I returned to my room, and opened the second drawer on the left side of the desk, I had my confirmation. In the middle, on the book that my mother believed I had been reading at the lake, laid the doll. I wasn't going insane, no... The underpass was really a portal to another timelines and based on the fact that my actions in this parallel timelines didn't echoed back to my world. It didn't affect my timeline.

On the other side
So now you know my discovery, I discovered a working portal to other timelines. It is interesting how even slight alterations in history, leads to vast new worlds. The last few days I have visited timelines where events that never really had an impact on me personally, events like 9/11, or more recent the Boston Bombings, never have happened... Other times, I found myself in timelines with more personal alternation, timelines where my parents are divorced or where miss Lamb had died of a heart attack in 2009. In the last timeline I visited my mother is pregnant of a baby brother. In all fairness, sometimes I have had problems with returning to my own world, not because some physical or metaphysical force tried to stop me but because some timelines seems to be better than my own. But I can't stay in these timelines for too long, I know too much of the other timelines and too little about these new timelines. Such a pity...

I wonder where the portal will lead me today. Because that is another problem with the portal, I never know in which timeline I will end up. I only know that a parallel me, has to be present and alive in the parallel Monty's Creek. But I have to be quick today, just a quick look at the other side and then back home. My friend Caitlyn is back and I just have to tell her about this portal, she wouldn't believe what she sees! And of course, I will tell you guys all about this adventure as well.

Author Note: That was the final blogpost entry posted by Lucy Kinsley. Lucy went missing on August 20th, 2013. According to her mother, she left to see a friend who was back in town and wouldn't be late. Her mother never saw her daughter back alive. Four days after the mysterious disappearance, her body was found near the entrance of the abandon Monty Creek Underpass. To everyone's astonishment, her skin was covered with blisters, an autopsy later revealed that her lungs and her windpipe were covered by the same blisters and according to the autopsy she died of a combination of third degrees burns of both skin and lung tissue as well as pulmonary oedema. Biopsy and toxicological reports suggested that the cause of death was contact with a chemical agent, similar to sulphur mustard, better known as mustard gas. That said, the chemical used to kill Kinsley seemed more far more potent than the gas used by the Imperial German Army in World War I. Who or what did this to her, remains a mystery till this day. The only source that gives us a little inside on the subject, is her blogpost. We were ordered to remove the blogpost from the internet and cover up the true story of what happened to this girl. But I knew this couldn't remain a secret forever. I believe it is better to post the story, people have the right to know what happened, have the right to be informed. People have to be warned about this. I did however changed the names of the people involve as well as the name of the village... Believe me if I say I have good reasons to keep people away from this place.

Speaking of which, at moment of writing, I'm standing at the underpass, looking at the sign: No Trepassing. We were ordered to cover up "Lucy"'s death as much as possible, even counterfeiting her autopsy report (the official reports speaks of a mysterious acid thrower and the case have slowly become a cold case, forgotten by media and the people), but the original signs are still in place... No extra security, no fence, no walls... just two simple signs at each side of the underpass. Why don't we cover things up properly? Why didn't we never walled in the underpass? There hasn't passed a day that I didn't wonder why they never choose a more permanent solution. I believe it wasn't up to us to take that decision. Maybe there is something that simply won't allow us to shut if off completely. There hasn't also passed a day that I wasn't curious what I might find on the other side of the underpass. I know I will likely come to regret this... No, I know that I will come to regret this but I guess there is only one way to find out...