Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-32734223-20170731141801

I became a wildlife photographer to find stability in life, but when I fell into that crumbling bunker, I felt part of my soul leave my body.



  I remember most clearly of all that it had been such a beautiful autumn morning. Brisk and refreshing, the air full of falling leaves and birdsong. I had walked away from the beaten track and climbed a hill for a better panorama shot of the vibrant green valley. It was there that the ground gave way and I fell suddenly, falling with a hideous crunch, ankle-first. The following is a little hazy from the shock and intensity, the fiery agony was absolute, but I lay there screaming and weeping for what must have been close to an hour. Panic stripped away any shame or semblance of civility until only primal survival instinct remained.



 I knew to stop the bleeding I had to tear off a shirt sleeve to form a tourniquet around my thigh. As my eyes had gradually adjusted like slow old lenses, I fumbled hurriedly through my rucksack for anything that might help, I managed to retrieve some painkillers, bandages, water, my torch and phone. I applied the bandage after pouring some water on my caustically-stinging wound to clean it and applied the bandage. The torch was dead, of course, and my phone had no signal, but had a little battery left so I was forced to use that as a light source for a while instead.



 There was no way I could reach where sharp shafts of bright light now pierced violently into the ugly, tomblike cell, to climb back out. Certainly not with my injury. But by now I’d decided I was finished with panic and was determined to fight my way through this and breathe fresh air again as soon as possible.



 The derelict tunnel stank of something deeply unwholesome. Damp concrete and something I’d never smelt before. I also noticed, as I finished whimpering in pain, an inconsistent, deep mechanical-sounding whirring or grinding noise. Some kind of power source maybe, but how would it still be running? Forcing myself to stand, my ankle still screaming at me in torture, I took stock of my surroundings as best I could before deciding arbitrarily a direction. I was in a corridor, but could not see either end. The concrete was cold, damp and felt too processed to be lurking under such a nice area of undisturbed countryside. Furthermore, while the ceiling was high, the walls felt too close. Bad past experiences were inadvertently brought to mind and I shuddered. I couldn’t let fear drown me now. Had to push on.



  My joint and bones were crushing into each other like scraping teeth, while my bandage was already starting to soak through. I felt the wound throb. Breathing was short and fast from adrenaline. Beyond the pain and desperation to escape very little crossed my mind, except that vague paranoid feeling of being watched. Maybe it was the stress or injury, but I began to feel the bunker was haunted. There was something here utterly unnatural, I was sure; I was intruding.



 Old buildings are notoriously hazardous. I should know. My friend was paralysed when we went urban exploring. Trespassing at an old office block that seemed damp and unhealthy though stable. I was just through a doorway when the floor collapsed behind me and he fell, landing horribly. He begged me not to leave him to go get help, and I could relate to that now. Alone, injured horribly and lost, acting on animal instinct. This was why I preferred the wide outdoors to confined spaces and probably why old buildings felt so skin-crawlingly…wrong. Not to mention that old buildings can be uninhabitable, literally toxic, and poor ventilation can mean escaped natural gases may accumulate. They become something between man-made and natural at once: crumbling shells left wasted, forgotten, to be slowly reclaimed.



 After an indeterminate stretch of painful limping against the abrasive wall, scraping me like rough sandpaper, I emerged into a room with a profound echo. The smells of damp earth and rusting electronics were more potent here, but there were no real signs that nature had forced past the wartime defences. I hated how alien the room felt. A very specific feeling I still can’t put my finger on, that years later I sometimes wake up in a cold sweat about. The indescribable feeling clings to me like a pollutant, a scar. I knew I was not alone in that room. I didn’t know who it could be…my mind raced through thoughts of ghosts, trapped officers unaware the second world war was over, or even some top-secret rusting robotic experiment. I had goosebumps.



<p style="text-align:justify;margin-top:0px;margin-bottom:0px;text-indent:20px;color:rgb(85,15,15);font-family:"CenturySchoolbook",Century,Garamond,serif;font-size:19px;font-weight:normal;"> What I did find was a lot of old monitors, audio equipment and broken computers suggesting the brutal grey hellhole was meant to be some kind of listening post after the second world war, in case we lost. Or to monitor allied civilians to root out spies. Either guess lent the dusty equipment a more morbid feel and detached it from the above landscape. Whatever happened here was unnatural and morally grey-as-concrete.

<p style="text-align:justify;margin-top:0px;margin-bottom:0px;text-indent:20px;color:rgb(85,15,15);font-family:"CenturySchoolbook",Century,Garamond,serif;font-size:19px;font-weight:normal;">

<p style="text-align:justify;margin-top:0px;margin-bottom:0px;text-indent:20px;color:rgb(85,15,15);font-family:"CenturySchoolbook",Century,Garamond,serif;font-size:19px;font-weight:normal;"> Hurriedly, I searched the unaired room, my breath still in tatters and lower leg in pain, but found little more than a lighter and some documents. The latter seemed like an alien language, being so full of coded jargon. Perhaps an emotionally reactive exaggeration, but the people working here must have been so integrated in their huge machines and technical language they were more like robots than people. It was there, thinking this, while stood in a cold concrete bubble cut off from the natural world, that I discovered the source of the wheezing whirring. It was traumatisingly close. It was in that panicked final moment of dying light that my whole body tensed and I froze, holding my breath until I felt I’d pass out.

<p style="text-align:justify;margin-top:0px;margin-bottom:0px;text-indent:20px;color:rgb(85,15,15);font-family:"CenturySchoolbook",Century,Garamond,serif;font-size:19px;font-weight:normal;">

<p style="text-align:justify;margin-top:0px;margin-bottom:0px;text-indent:20px;color:rgb(85,15,15);font-family:"CenturySchoolbook",Century,Garamond,serif;font-size:19px;font-weight:normal;">The noise wasn’t decades-old machinery but...organic breathing. My phone died and total darkness took hold again.

<p style="text-align:justify;margin-top:0px;margin-bottom:0px;text-indent:20px;color:rgb(85,15,15);font-family:"CenturySchoolbook",Century,Garamond,serif;font-size:19px;font-weight:normal;">

<p style="text-align:justify;margin-top:0px;margin-bottom:0px;text-indent:20px;color:rgb(85,15,15);font-family:"CenturySchoolbook",Century,Garamond,serif;font-size:19px;font-weight:normal;"> I had shone my phone at the beast in the moment before the battery died. It seemed to be asleep. I was mildly relieved to see that it remained asleep as I crept slowly away, past a desk towards the wall, but my injured leg gave way, and I fell excruciatingly across some loudly-cracking debris. It was a skeleton. There was shuffling movement. I think at this point it had begun to awaken, which forced me to search for a way out even faster. I wasn’t able to retrace my steps due to how close it would bring me to the behemoth and I was completely swallowed in the dark, pushing against industrial walls in a panicked search for other doors. My silent frenzy was hopeless and I sensed movement behind me, across the room. The hulking entity had moved, it had to be awake now.

<p style="text-align:justify;margin-top:0px;margin-bottom:0px;text-indent:20px;color:rgb(85,15,15);font-family:"CenturySchoolbook",Century,Garamond,serif;font-size:19px;font-weight:normal;">

<p style="text-align:justify;margin-top:0px;margin-bottom:0px;text-indent:20px;color:rgb(85,15,15);font-family:"CenturySchoolbook",Century,Garamond,serif;font-size:19px;font-weight:normal;">  By sheer luck, I felt a rough rusted-metal panel. There was a door here, and, I realised, one of the documents I had found had a 4-digit passcode for the panel. Total relief washed over me and I knew I was going to make it through this. I visualised fields, hills and clean air. Feeling for the positioning of the buttons carefully, I gleefully punched the numbers in and shoved the heavy steel door.

<p style="text-align:justify;margin-top:0px;margin-bottom:0px;text-indent:20px;color:rgb(85,15,15);font-family:"CenturySchoolbook",Century,Garamond,serif;font-size:19px;font-weight:normal;">

<p style="text-align:justify;margin-top:0px;margin-bottom:0px;text-indent:20px;color:rgb(85,15,15);font-family:"CenturySchoolbook",Century,Garamond,serif;font-size:19px;font-weight:normal;"> Too heavy. The code was wrong. I was desperate, it had been so naive of me to believe a random sequence of numbers would be my salvation. I cried, collapsing where I was, still following the unseen movement across the room. I kept my sobs quiet, but I had lost hope, I no longer cared, intimidated beyond all dignity or self-preservation. Intense fear controlled my actions rather than thoughts of self defense, and in hindsight that is my only good explanation for the bad choice I made. The lumbering creature drew nearer, and on instinct I grabbed the lighter I’d found earlier in a desperate attempt to search the room again. After a few fumbling attempts I managed to light it.

<p style="text-align:justify;margin-top:0px;margin-bottom:0px;text-indent:20px;color:rgb(85,15,15);font-family:"CenturySchoolbook",Century,Garamond,serif;font-size:19px;font-weight:normal;">

<p style="text-align:justify;margin-top:0px;margin-bottom:0px;text-indent:20px;color:rgb(85,15,15);font-family:"CenturySchoolbook",Century,Garamond,serif;font-size:19px;font-weight:normal;">  Explosion.

<p style="text-align:justify;margin-top:0px;margin-bottom:0px;text-indent:20px;color:rgb(85,15,15);font-family:"CenturySchoolbook",Century,Garamond,serif;font-size:19px;font-weight:normal;">

<p style="text-align:justify;margin-top:0px;margin-bottom:0px;text-indent:20px;color:rgb(85,15,15);font-family:"CenturySchoolbook",Century,Garamond,serif;font-size:19px;font-weight:normal;">  The heat was intense and suffocating and I was close enough that it seemed like an apocalyptic tempest tearing down the walls. I was lacerated by debris. I smashed my head on the wall with a horrific crack from the shock-wave. I was winded in the blast. The ceiling caved in, concrete shards and earth pinning me down. The pale, fading sunlight stung my eyes, though not nearly as much as the explosion. I believed death was imminent.

<p style="text-align:justify;margin-top:0px;margin-bottom:0px;text-indent:20px;color:rgb(85,15,15);font-family:"CenturySchoolbook",Century,Garamond,serif;font-size:19px;font-weight:normal;">

<p style="text-align:justify;margin-top:0px;margin-bottom:0px;text-indent:20px;color:rgb(85,15,15);font-family:"CenturySchoolbook",Century,Garamond,serif;font-size:19px;font-weight:normal;">  To this day, those pained ululations break me out in a cold sweat. The spectral beast was injured too, provoked into an ungodly rage.

<p style="text-align:justify;margin-top:0px;margin-bottom:0px;text-indent:20px;color:rgb(85,15,15);font-family:"CenturySchoolbook",Century,Garamond,serif;font-size:19px;font-weight:normal;">

<p style="text-align:justify;margin-top:0px;margin-bottom:0px;text-indent:20px;color:rgb(85,15,15);font-family:"CenturySchoolbook",Century,Garamond,serif;font-size:19px;font-weight:normal;"> It was a miracle, then, that I could then claw my way to the surface on a longer block of ceiling, covered in dirt, blood, my own filth and concrete dust. I myself must have looked hideous and unnatural. But it was as I struggled on my arms back into the world that I finally saw it, in the pale pink light of the setting sun. It was just a bear, hibernating in a crumbling human-cave, but brutally mauled in the gas explosion I caused. I felt equally sorry for it as terrified by it. Approaching me, I saw its fur was singed, muzzle was half torn off and it walked with a limp. Towards me.

<p style="text-align:justify;margin-top:0px;margin-bottom:0px;text-indent:20px;color:rgb(85,15,15);font-family:"CenturySchoolbook",Century,Garamond,serif;font-size:19px;font-weight:normal;">

<p style="text-align:justify;margin-top:0px;margin-bottom:0px;text-indent:20px;color:rgb(85,15,15);font-family:"CenturySchoolbook",Century,Garamond,serif;font-size:19px;font-weight:normal;">  I scrambled in the dirt to my feet, immediately falling again, my only reserves of strength coming from pure adrenaline. Everything span and my vision blurred nauseatingly, everything was uncertain. There had been a smear of blood where I landed after the blast: I was heavily concussed and keeping reality in sight was a constant strain by now. It was all too much and I felt-light headed, my vision swimming, colours overly vibrant. Falling unconscious here was unthinkable with the enraged demon stalking me, but all I could do was crawl through the mud, as it slowly sunk in how brutally injured I actually was. I trailed blood from my head injury, mangled leg and uncounted cuts, and the surreal image burned into my eyes. I couldn’t make sense of it, the pain having not kicked in and the concussion still nauseating me. I tried focussing on my breathing but couldn’t help grunting and crying.

<p style="text-align:justify;margin-top:0px;margin-bottom:0px;text-indent:20px;color:rgb(85,15,15);font-family:"CenturySchoolbook",Century,Garamond,serif;font-size:19px;font-weight:normal;">

<p style="text-align:justify;margin-top:0px;margin-bottom:0px;text-indent:20px;color:rgb(85,15,15);font-family:"CenturySchoolbook",Century,Garamond,serif;font-size:19px;font-weight:normal;"> I had to move, to get to safety, and being out in the open at last, feeling the late-evening breeze, gave me hope, despite my injuries. I pushed through it all, fought off the urge to vomit, pulling myself forwards, taking drinking in deep, clean breaths. Crawling, then stumbling into an exhausted limping jog, tripping many times but forcing myself on, even with stitches. My injury was worsening but I was sure the bear would be hungry and angry. I drank and poured the remaining supply of water over myself to fight my fading consciousness.

<p style="text-align:justify;margin-top:0px;margin-bottom:0px;text-indent:20px;color:rgb(85,15,15);font-family:"CenturySchoolbook",Century,Garamond,serif;font-size:19px;font-weight:normal;">

<p style="text-align:justify;margin-top:0px;margin-bottom:0px;text-indent:20px;color:rgb(85,15,15);font-family:"CenturySchoolbook",Century,Garamond,serif;font-size:19px;font-weight:normal;"> Hours went on, until stars shimmered like sunshine on waves and the soft glow of the moon gave me strength beyond strength. I was hungry, had no energy, was still losing blood, and was lost in the wilderness with an ethereal bear spirit following me.

<p style="text-align:justify;margin-top:0px;margin-bottom:0px;text-indent:20px;color:rgb(85,15,15);font-family:"CenturySchoolbook",Century,Garamond,serif;font-size:19px;font-weight:normal;">

<p style="text-align:justify;margin-top:0px;margin-bottom:0px;text-indent:20px;color:rgb(85,15,15);font-family:"CenturySchoolbook",Century,Garamond,serif;font-size:19px;font-weight:normal;"> I collapsed at some point, but I’m not sure when or where, and woke up in the bright, pristine hospital, perhaps days later. I don’t know what force kept me alive. I would see it again though, most nights for the next few weeks, a ghostly vision in my traumatised nightmares. Fur singed off, face terribly disfigured and always utterly vengeful. It was somehow very human-like but simultaneously hauntingly transcendent. I was always chased through endless concrete mazes in complete darkness before it always caught me. Totally inevitable, every time. I felt it tear me apart in every conceivable way and could not sleep without the inescapable terrors.

<p style="text-align:justify;margin-top:0px;margin-bottom:0px;text-indent:20px;color:rgb(85,15,15);font-family:"CenturySchoolbook",Century,Garamond,serif;font-size:19px;font-weight:normal;">

<p style="text-align:justify;margin-top:0px;margin-bottom:0px;text-indent:20px;color:rgb(85,15,15);font-family:"CenturySchoolbook",Century,Garamond,serif;font-size:19px;font-weight:normal;">It might seem strange to anyone else, but there was no way I couldn’t go back. I had to redeem myself by paying tribute to this spirit. I believed absolutely after enough sleep deprivation that it was my only hope to reclaim my humanity. It will happen now, I can see it somehow, it is inevitable. Fate, maybe. <ac_metadata title="Subterrannea (Unreviewed)"> </ac_metadata>