“The Secret Tunnel”

Part I

The air in the Rockies had a way of slipping into your lungs, cool and clean, before settling in your chest. Eric drew in a long breath, savoring it. His hiking boots crunched over a gravel-strewn path as he wound his way through the woods near Estes Park, trying to convince himself this solo trip was a good idea.

A few days away from the noise of his job and the silent, yawning emptiness of his apartment—that was the plan. Clear his head. Find some meaning in the rhythm of nature. But so far, the trip had offered more solitude than solace.

He was rounding a bend in the trail when the sound stopped him. A voice, lilting and bright, was singing a strange, repetitive tune.

“Secret tunnel, secret tunnel, through the mountains, secret, secret, secret, secret tunnel.”

Eric froze. It wasn’t the sort of thing you expected to hear out here, far from town. The voice sounded young, like a child’s, and it was moving closer.

“Hello?” Eric called, shading his eyes against the late-afternoon sun.

The boy emerged from the trees as if conjured. He was small, no more than nine or ten, with sandy brown hair and a mischievous grin. He wore a red windbreaker zipped halfway up, and his sneakers were caked in mud.

“Hey there,” Eric said, lowering his voice. “What’s that song you’re singing?”

The boy gave him a look that could only be described as incredulous, as if Eric had just asked him to explain why the sky was blue. “It’s about a secret tunnel,” he said, sighing heavily, as if speaking to someone very slow.

“Right,” Eric said, managing a small laugh. “But what kind of tunnel? A real one, or something you made up?”

The boy’s grin widened, revealing a gap where one of his front teeth should have been. There was something off about the way he smirked, something too knowing for a kid his age.

“Let me show you,” he said, his voice almost a whisper.

Eric hesitated, glancing back toward the trail he’d been following. The safety of the marked path felt suddenly distant. “I don’t know. I should probably stick to my hike—”

“Don’t be scared,” the boy interrupted. “It’s just over here.” He started walking, not waiting to see if Eric would follow.

Eric shifted uncomfortably. This was stupid. He didn’t know this kid, didn’t know where he was going. But curiosity has teeth, and it sank into him before he could think better of it. Against his better judgment, he stepped off the trail and followed.

The boy led him deeper into the woods, where the trees stood taller and closer together, their shadows weaving into a dark canopy. Eric’s nerves prickled with every step. He tried to make conversation to ease the tension.

“So, do you live around here?”

The boy shrugged. “Kinda.”

“What’s your name?”

The boy didn’t answer, just kept walking, his sneakers squelching softly in the dirt.

Eric’s grip tightened on the strap of his backpack. This was a bad idea. He needed to turn around, go back to the main trail. But just as the thought crystallized, the boy stopped.

“Here.”

The boy gestured toward a moss-covered rock wall rising out of the forest floor. At first glance, it looked solid, but as Eric stepped closer, he noticed a narrow opening partially hidden by a tangle of roots and vines.

“Is this—”

“A secret tunnel,” the boy said, finishing the thought.

Eric crouched to peer into the entrance. The darkness inside was thick, swallowing the faint light that managed to slip past the roots. He could just make out the start of stone steps descending into the earth.

“You’ve been in there before?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

“Yeah,” the boy said. “It’s cool. You’ll like it.”

Eric’s mouth felt dry. Every instinct screamed at him to back away, to head back to the trail and forget this weird encounter. But when he looked at the boy, he saw no malice, just that devilish grin.

“Why would anyone want to go down there?”

“It makes you happy,” the boy said, his voice light as air.

Part II

Eric stared into the blackness of the tunnel. The boy’s words echoed in his ears: It makes you happy. Something about the way he said it tugged at Eric’s mind, a mixture of promise and something darker.

“Alright,” Eric said, more to himself than the boy. His legs felt heavy as he crouched to step through the opening.

The air changed the moment he entered. The temperature dropped sharply, the earthy scent of moss replaced by a metallic tang. His flashlight illuminated roughly carved walls, the stone worn smooth in places as if touched by countless hands.

The boy’s footsteps were light behind him, and the sound made Eric flinch. “You coming?” he asked, his voice more nervous than he intended.

“Of course,” the boy said, his tone cheerful.

Eric took the first step. The stone was damp and cold beneath his boots, and the echo of his footfalls sounded impossibly loud. The staircase descended sharply, and as they went deeper, the faint glimmers of light from the entrance faded into nothing.

“How far does this go?” Eric asked, shining his flashlight down the steps.

The boy didn’t answer immediately. “Not too far,” he said eventually. “You’ll see.”

The tunnel seemed endless, each step taking him further into an impenetrable darkness. The walls were closer now, and Eric’s shoulders almost brushed the damp stone. His flashlight revealed strange marks carved into the walls—symbols he didn’t recognize, jagged and angular, like something you’d see in an old textbook on ancient civilizations.

“You know who made these?” Eric asked, pointing to the carvings.

“They’ve always been here,” the boy said. His voice carried an unsettling certainty, as if he wasn’t guessing but knew.

Eric paused, turning to look at the boy. His flashlight beam caught the boy’s face—his sandy hair was matted with sweat, and his skin seemed oddly pale, almost translucent. The grin was still there, but his eyes didn’t seem to reflect the light.

Eric swallowed hard. “I think I’ve gone far enough,” he said.

The boy’s grin widened, but his tone remained casual. “We’re almost there. Don’t you want to be happy?”

Eric opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat. His flashlight flickered, plunging them into brief darkness. When the beam returned, the walls seemed closer, the symbols somehow sharper and more menacing.

The rhythmic sound started softly—so faint that Eric wasn’t sure he’d heard it at all. But as they descended further, it grew louder: a deep, low vibration that seemed to come from the stone itself.

“Do you hear that?” Eric asked.

The boy didn’t answer, just started humming the same tune: Secret tunnel, secret tunnel…

Eric pressed ahead, his movements more hurried, as if rushing would make the unease disappear.

The staircase finally ended, opening into a narrow corridor. The walls here were different, polished to a mirror-like finish. Eric’s reflection stared back at him in the weak light, his features distorted by the curvature of the stone.

“This is crazy,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “What’s even down here?”

The boy stepped past him, moving with an eerie confidence. “You’ll see,” he said again, his voice almost singsong.

Eric followed reluctantly, the corridor’s smooth walls amplifying every sound: the scuff of his boots, his breathing, the faint hum of the boy’s song. The air was different here, heavier, carrying an almost electric charge that raised the hairs on Eric’s arms.

The vibrations grew stronger. Eric stopped abruptly, placing a hand against the wall to steady himself. “Is it just me, or is the ground moving?”

The boy looked back at him. “You’re just nervous,” he said. “It’s normal.”

Eric’s flashlight flickered again, and this time, it didn’t recover. He smacked it against his palm, but the beam stayed dead.

“Hey, wait—”

Before Eric could finish, the boy stepped ahead, disappearing into the darkness.

“Hey!” Eric called, panic creeping into his voice. He fumbled with his flashlight, desperate to coax it back to life.

The boy’s voice drifted back to him, soft and teasing: “You’re so close. Don’t stop now.”

Eric clenched his jaw and pressed on. He kept one hand on the wall, using it to guide himself through the suffocating blackness.

Suddenly, the corridor opened up, and Eric stumbled into a vast chamber.

Part III

Eric staggered forward as the chamber stretched into focus. His first thought was that it shouldn’t exist—not this far underground. The walls soared higher than the beam of any flashlight could reach, curving into an impossibly domed ceiling. Giant stone pillars, thick as redwoods, dotted the space, etched with more of those strange symbols.

In the center of the chamber was a pool. It glowed faintly, the light rippling across the stone floor in patterns that seemed to move of their own accord. The liquid within shimmered unnaturally, shifting between colors—deep greens, molten golds, and blood reds.

Eric felt a pull, something primal and magnetic that drew him toward it. He resisted, planting his feet. “What is this place?” he whispered.

“It’s where the tunnel leads,” the boy said, stepping beside him.

Eric turned to him sharply. The boy’s appearance had shifted again, subtly but unmistakably. His skin seemed to sag, and his hair had thinned to wisps. His grin was wider now, his teeth faintly yellowed.

“You look—different,” Eric said.

The boy shrugged, unconcerned. “It happens.”

The vibrations Eric had felt earlier were stronger here, and they were seemingly coming from the pool. He could hear faint whispers now, voices that didn’t belong to him. They grew louder as he stared at the shifting liquid.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” the boy said. His voice had changed too, deeper, more mature.

“What is it?” Eric asked again, backing away.

“It’s happiness,” the boy said simply.

Eric blinked. “What?”

“Everything you’ve ever wanted,” the boy continued. “Every regret gone. Every bad memory erased. All you have to do is step in.”

The words were soft, almost hypnotic. Eric felt his feet move toward the pool without thinking, but he stopped himself, shaking his head.

“This—this isn’t right,” he said, his voice shaking. “What’s in there? What does it do?”

The boy’s grin widened. “It makes you happy.”

There was something sinister in his tone now, and Eric’s stomach churned. He took another step back, his eyes darting around the chamber.

That’s when he saw them.

Figures, barely more than shadows, clung to the edges of the chamber. At first, Eric thought they were carvings, their limbs too long, their bodies grotesquely thin. But then one moved, its head tilting unnaturally toward him.

“Who are they?” Eric asked.

“They were like you,” the boy said.

The thing stepped closer, revealing a face stretched tight over a skull-like structure. Its mouth opened slightly, revealing rows of needle-like teeth. Eric stumbled back, nearly losing his footing.

The boy’s laughter echoed through the chamber, sharp and mocking. “They wanted to be happy too. They gave themselves to the pool. Now they belong here.”

Eric’s head swam as the whispers grew louder, overlapping in a chaotic symphony. The figures advanced slowly, their movements jerky and unnatural.

“This is insane,” Eric muttered. He turned to the boy, his anger flaring. “What are you?”

The boy tilted his head, his grin now impossibly wide. “I’m the guide. I bring people here. That’s all.”

Eric’s flashlight flickered to life suddenly, and he swung it toward the boy. The light struck his face, and Eric gasped.

The boy’s skin was peeling, his features barely holding together. His eyes glowed faintly, and his grin extended far past the boundaries of a human mouth. His body convulsed, bones cracking and reshaping.

“Why are you doing this?” Eric shouted, his voice breaking.

“Because you came,” the boy-thing replied, its voice no longer human. “You all come.”

Eric’s panic rose as the figures closed in, their hollow eyes fixed on him. He glanced at the pool, its glow pulsing more urgently now, the whispers rising to a fever pitch.

“Step in,” the boy said, his voice echoing unnaturally. “You’ll understand. You’ll feel it. Happiness like nothing you’ve ever known.”

Eric’s knees buckled. The pull toward the pool grew stronger, almost unbearable, as though invisible hands were dragging him forward.

“No!” he yelled, forcing himself upright. He turned and sprinted back toward the tunnel as the whispers transformed into screams.

Part IV

Eric’s boots pounded against the stone floor as he sprinted back toward the tunnel. The screams followed him, bouncing off the walls in unnatural echoes that seemed to come from every direction. His flashlight flickered wildly, casting shadows that danced and writhed.

The air in the corridor grew heavier with each step, thick and metallic, burning his lungs as he fought to keep moving. Behind him, the boy’s distorted voice rang out, high-pitched and mocking:

“You can’t leave! Nobody ever leaves!”

Eric didn’t look back. His legs burned as he climbed the carved steps, his hands scraping against the rough stone walls to keep his balance. Meanwhile, the vibrations underfoot grew ever stronger, shaking the tunnel as though the earth itself were angry.

He risked a glance over his shoulder and instantly regretted it.

The boy—or what was left of him—was bounding up the steps on all fours, his limbs twisted at unnatural angles. His face had peeled away entirely, revealing something insectoid and glistening underneath. Behind him, the shadowy figures swarmed, their elongated arms clawing at the walls as they climbed.

Eric pushed himself harder, adrenaline drowning out the pain in his legs. The tunnel seemed endless, the carved steps stretching into infinity. His mind reeled as panic clawed at him.

The boy’s voice rang out again, now layered with an unearthly resonance: “It’s too late! The tunnel chose you!”

“No!” Eric screamed, his voice cracking. He forced his body forward, each step feeling heavier than the last.

The flashlight died completely, plunging him into total darkness. Blind now, Eric relied on his memory of the path, his hands scraping along the walls to guide him. The whispers started again, softer but more insidious, weaving promises into his ears:

“You can have it all.”
“No more pain.”
“Happiness forever.”

“Shut up!” he yelled, his voice ragged. He slapped at the walls, desperate to drown out the voices.

The air shifted suddenly, and Eric felt a faint breeze against his face. He wasn’t imagining it—the entrance was close. He surged forward, his fingers clawing at the walls until he felt the jagged edges of the tunnel’s opening.

Eric scrambled out of the tunnel and collapsed onto the rocky ground outside. The sunlight burned his eyes, and he gasped for air, the clean, crisp scent of pine almost overwhelming after the suffocating stench below.

But he didn’t have time to rest.

The vibrations hadn’t stopped. The tunnel behind him pulsed with an unnatural energy, the rock wall trembling as though something massive was pressing against it from the inside.

Eric staggered to his feet, backing away. He grabbed a large rock and heaved it toward the tunnel entrance. Then another. And another. He worked frantically, piling stones and debris in front of the opening until it was completely blocked.

The vibrations subsided. The whispers faded. For a moment, there was silence.

Eric collapsed against a tree, his chest heaving. The boy’s voice didn’t come again. The figures didn’t follow. He was safe—or so he thought.

Two Days Later

Eric sat in a coffee shop in Estes Park, nursing a cup of lukewarm coffee. His hands trembled as he scrolled through photos on his phone, his mind replaying the horrors of the tunnel. He had tried to tell people what had happened, but no one believed him.

“You saw what?” a park ranger had said, his face lined with polite skepticism. “A secret tunnel? Monsters? Look, these mountains are full of strange caves and old mining shafts, but nothing like what you’re describing.”

Now, Eric stared blankly at the table, trying to convince himself it had all been a nightmare. Maybe he’d imagined the whole thing.

The faint sound of a child’s laughter pulled him from his thoughts. He looked up sharply, scanning the room. At a table near the window sat a boy with sandy brown hair.

It couldn’t be him. It wasn’t possible.

But then the boy turned, meeting Eric’s eyes. His grin widened, impossibly large, as he raised a hand and waved.

Eric’s blood turned to ice. He fumbled for his phone, knocking over his coffee in the process. When he looked up again, the boy was gone.

On the table where the boy had been sitting was a small note. Eric hesitated, then reached for it, his hands shaking. The paper was worn and yellowed, the edges frayed. In crude, childlike handwriting, it read:

“You’ll be back. Everyone always comes back.”

The note slipped from Eric’s fingers as the whispers began again, faint but unmistakable:

“Secret tunnel, secret tunnel, through the mountains…”