Long story: word count 2655
Everyone knows there is a bunker beneath the high school. A consequence of being built in the sixties- what once was a safety precaution is now just a relic of the cold war. It was completely abandoned, a tomb left deep beneath the ground, the only access point a flooded stairwell hidden among pipes in the basement now sealed off by a thin concrete wall—no way in, no way out.
Then why were there rumours of noises coming from it?
It was impossible, and you responded as such. You dismiss them as stories started by the senior class to scare the poor freshmen. It wouldn’t even be the first time. That notion, however, is squashed when you hear several seniors from all different cliches talking about it with the utmost sincerity.
Everything they say is completely ridiculous. That it’s some forgotten government experiment left to rot now trying to escape. Another idea was it was a group of terrorists breaking into the school from within to hold the entire building for ransom. The most absurd one of all was the fanciful idea it was an epic party that never ends; all the booze and drugs to go along.
What stops you in your tracks and validates all the rumours is overhearing two teachers discuss it in hushed voices before they realized you were there.
Apparently, one of the janitors heard something while cleaning up towards the end of his shift while no one else was there. The next day he brought another co-worker to show, and there was nothing. When the custodian left out of frustration, the noises began again and the second person heard it. One by one different staff members went down by themselves to confirm its existence and try to find the source. None of them were able to pinpoint it, but they narrowed it down to the pipe room.
With the general intellect of the school, it wouldn’t be surprising if the noise was from one of the pipes being bumped by something that everyone overlooked. You decide to take it upon yourself to investigate; that way you know for certain everything will be done right.
The issue is getting there. It’s off-limits, so if you get caught you will get written up. The stairwell that goes to the basement is behind the kitchen, where the lunch folk are confined from the start of their shift to the end of it. Throughout the day, janitors and groundskeepers also frequented the cellar. Then on top of all that, teachers constantly roamed all the hallways, interrogating passersby to find whether they had hall passes. Other students were snitches too, if they saw you there’s no doubt they would tell.
However, all those problems were eliminated after hours. Janitors head classroom to classroom cleaning, out of sight and completely unknowing. The cafeteria employees booked it for the door an hour before closing, so they would be absent as well. Students and staff who remained on-grounds went to clubs, to meetings, staying in the same room for two hours at the least. The groundskeepers left with the bell in the mess of traffic.
The only possible concern would be the cameras; and as long as you did nothing extreme, there would be no reason to check them. You just need to be careful not to leave any traces. That shouldn’t be difficult.
After school, you goof around for about half an hour in the library, sitting alone in a back corner. Just scrolling through your phone, rifling through your bag, and picking through books on the shelves with disinterest. The librarian ignores your presence or just doesn’t notice. Either was likely.
At four, you quietly leave the library while no one is looking. Exactly as predicted, the halls are empty and quiet. Although you could hear a clattering in the distance, it wasn’t close enough to interrupt your quest. The cafeteria was only a couple of halls away, so the chance of any lingerers coming in while you passed through was unlikely.
The cafeteria was shuttered, but not completely closed. A prop rested in the door to keep it open for the custodians to enter, and today for a snooping senior. It obnoxiously creaks as you slip inside, and securely latches behind you when you kick out the doorstop. It’s not stopping their work, just making it mildly more inconvenient.
You’ve never been in the kitchen before. You’ve seen it from the lunch line, but it has always been so far from reach, almost mystical in its existence. Being inside didn’t change the feeling, but made everything more surreal. It felt unnatural standing there, time almost felt still. If you hadn’t been there on a mission, you would’ve left immediately. The stairwell to the basement was somewhere in the back.
You check the closet, freezer, and office before you find the stairs. Every step feels heavy, like you’re weighed down by bricks. It’s just nerves though, it must be. Since even the most logical mind can feel nervous in anticipation. The stairs go down and fade into the darkness.
You finger for a light switch in the off chance there may be one and by some luck, there is. Fluorescent bulbs flicker to life with a dull hum that throbs in your ears. Even with the lights on, you can’t see the bottom. There’s no way but down. At least it has a railing, which you had a death-grip on.
Your footsteps echo around you as you descend, going down two or three flights before you reach the bottom. There’s a metal door that’s rusted and dented in your way, but when you twist the handle, you find two things.
One: it’s slimy and disgusting. Two: it’s unlocked.
The door is far louder than the one upstairs, it sends shivers down your spine and makes your heart pound. As it opens, the little light from the stairwell flows in and illuminates the immediate area made of nothing besides gray concrete. You get through it as quickly as possible and try to close it behind you as quietly as you can. Instead, the sound of it latching echoes through the basement and the light is strangled and you’re left in the dark. At this point, you realize this is when in horror movies the door locks and the protagonist is trapped in the same area as the monster.
You check the door. It’s still disgustingly slimy, and also unlocked. So you shut it again and take out your phone.
With a quick shake, the flashlight comes to life. Now with a mobile source of illumination, you shine it around. Nothing around besides stagnant water in little puddles collecting beneath vehicles covered in dust. The only noise is the regular hum of machinery.
You take a few cautious steps further in, and are both disappointed and relieved when there is no change. Feeling more confident, you start to walk freely.
There’s nothing unusual about the basement, unsurprisingly. It’s exactly what you expected. The only reason you even came down here is while you’re a rationalist, you have to give every claim equal merit.
Which is also why you’re still there, examining every crack and crevice for anything. All you find is tools, more vehicles, old construction supplies, and tons and tons of piping. You follow all of it, winding up in a separate room with all the larger equipment. The boiler room.
It’s far smaller than the other section of the basement, and less interesting.
You’re about to leave when you hear something.
It’s faint, and not noticeable at first. Walking around, you find it’s softer in some spots and louder in others. Sort of like some scratching.
Terror is overridden by intrigue and you search for the source. You comb the entire room several times, noting where you can hear it better and where you can’t at all. You end up in the back corner where a cluster of pipes come out.
There’s nothing. You look all over from the spot and still see nothing. Right as you’re about to resign that, yes, there is a weird unexplained noise, you look up.
A crawl space in the wall above you that you couldn’t see until you looked directly at it with the light. A fair majority of the pipes come from it and dive into the ground. It was so inconspicuous that if you hadn’t been looking so deeply for answers, you’d have missed it.
Now, how to get up there?
It’s a good seven feet off the ground, and you are not nearly that tall. If you stretch your arms, the tips of your fingers just barely reach. Jumping would absolutely fail, and you were not willing to scratch your arms up for that. There are ridges on the pipes every two feet or so, but the pipes are dusty and would make your hands slip.
Toolboxes. You’d seen several of them in the other room, made of various shapes and sizes. Backtracking, you find the biggest one you can and with effort drag it back to the crawlspace. It makes an absolutely horrible scraping noise on the concrete that you cringe at, but you get it there. When you put it against the wall beneath the enclave, it gives you around an extra foot. Not much, but using it in conjunction with the pipe and a lot of effort, you make it up.
In the space, you have to walk like you're the Hunchback of Notre Dame. You can’t stand up, but you don’t have to crawl either. The ground is filthy; you are clearly the only person whose been up here in a long, long time.
Delving further past the dirt, dust, and dead bugs, you keep walking. All along, the sound gets louder incrementally. In the very back, you encounter…
Nothing. Concrete walls and more pipes entering cement. While the noises are clear as day now, there isn’t anywhere left to go. Not up, not down. You check everywhere just to be thorough, and eventually you find a crack in the wall. It goes all the way through and is big enough for a Guinea pig to get through.
You get down and put your ear near it. That is indeed where all these noises are coming from. Heart racing, you shine your phone’s light into it.
The light doesn’t reach to the back but it allows you to make out the gist of the room that is behind the wall. A narrow hallway with burnt-out bulbs hanging down in what looks like a stairwell. The floor drops out of sight a little ways in.
Also inside you see a mustard yellow backpack that’s soaking wet with mould growing on it, and almost immediately in your vision, a furry thing. It backs up slightly and you can figure out what it is.
Staring back at you is a small fox.
That solves the mystery, creates a new one, and forces you into a new process of action. There’s absolutely no way you’re leaving it in there. It clearly can’t get back out.
You race back to the entrance of the crawl space and recklessly drop, barely missing the toolbox you were headed for.
Since you were breaking several rules, you absolutely weren’t going to go ask for help. Better to do it yourself. There are no cameras in the basement, anyway. For all they know, everything could’ve already been in that condition.
You throw open the box and laying in the centre, practically begging you to take it, is a nice and heavy hammer. You’ll return it, you just need to borrow it for a little. They won’t even notice that it left. You grab it and shut the container, scrambling back to the poor trapped creature.
It’s feebly scratching at the wall again, and you coo at it. It freezes up, notices your return, and hisses.
What did you expect? The world isn’t a fairytale, and you aren’t Cinderella; this is a wild animal that’s trapped. You’re not discouraged, however.
Winding up as much as you can, you strike at the fracture. You can hear the poor fox scamper away as much as it can. You continue as fragments of stone fly off and concrete powder fills the air. Chipping away slowly and consistently.
Internally, you pray that no one will come down as you do this. As skilled a wordsmith you are, you don’t think you can talk your way out of felony charges.
Eventually, the hole is wide enough for you to stick both arms through. The fox hisses again, now backed against the dip of the staircase. For some reason, it didn’t go down. Within your reach is also the bag that you are incredibly reluctant about taking.
Maybe you know there isn’t a ghost anymore (not that you ever thought there was) but germs are still very real. There is no way you are touching that with your bare hands.
There’s no time to find gloves, and there’s the concern of the terrified fox biting your hand in a panic. You need a barrier. Then you’re struck with a stroke of genius.
You take off your shirt, wrap it around your forearm, and stick it in. The fox just errs away from you more while hissing profusely. You are adequately protected, although your elbow does get a bit wet. You’re able to grab the bag and drag it through your man-made hole with some effort. It nearly gets stuck at the entrance, so you have to tug it through with a terrible tearing sound.
One down, one to go.
You hold your phone with your teeth and spread your shirt over your arms and stretch them so it’s like a net. Then you stick your arms back in the hole.
Navigating solely by hissing, you wave your arms around until you feel something hit the centre of your shirt. Quickly, you grab whatever it is. The hissing stops and carefully, you extract your future friend.
You have it by the snout as it apparently had attempted to bite you, which is advantageous to you as now you don’t have to wrangle its jaws shut.
The poor thing is in a terrible state: fur caked with mud, a clearly broken leg, thin as paper, and soaking wet. It’s shivering in your grasp. Best you bring it home.
With one hand you sling the gross bag over your shoulder, shuddering with it touches your back. Then you secure the fox in your grasp and hold in close to your chest.
Is this sanitary? No. Is it necessary? Yes.
You get out of the crawlspace with another risky jump and spend a long time pushing the toolbox back to its original position with only your feet. You head back for the entrance and feel a wave of uncertainty rush over you as you recall that you shut the door behind you.
Now you stand in front of it in the moment of truth. Holding the fox with one hand, you reach out and take the handle.
Still unlocked.
You go back in the dingy stairwell and are relieved to find the light is still on. Ascending the stairs, you realize that you are going to have to walk home as you cannot drive with a wild fox loose in your car. Thankfully, it’s not far. Just inconvenient.
You also remember the security camera. You can go out through the back door, but they’ll still catch you. Most likely, no one will check them. If they do, they should thank you! You just did the school’s job of taking care of a wild animal that was on campus. Now there’s a chance that they can actually pass the safety inspection for once.
You look down at that fox in your arms. He’s settled down and now just complicity goes with your movements. No way are you letting go of his snout, but it’s a nice step.
Loki. You’ll name him Loki.
Everyone knows there is a bunker beneath the high school. A consequence of being built in the sixties- what once was a safety precaution is now just a relic of the cold war. It was completely abandoned, a tomb left deep beneath the ground, the only access point a flooded stairwell hidden among pipes in the basement now sealed off by a thin concrete wall—no way in, no way out.
Then why were there rumours of noises coming from it?
It was impossible, and you responded as such. You dismiss them as stories started by the senior class to scare the poor freshmen. It wouldn’t even be the first time. That notion, however, is squashed when you hear several seniors from all different cliches talking about it with the utmost sincerity.
Everything they say is completely ridiculous. That it’s some forgotten government experiment left to rot now trying to escape. Another idea was it was a group of terrorists breaking into the school from within to hold the entire building for ransom. The most absurd one of all was the fanciful idea it was an epic party that never ends; all the booze and drugs to go along.
What stops you in your tracks and validates all the rumours is overhearing two teachers discuss it in hushed voices before they realized you were there.
Apparently, one of the janitors heard something while cleaning up towards the end of his shift while no one else was there. The next day he brought another co-worker to show, and there was nothing. When the custodian left out of frustration, the noises began again and the second person heard it. One by one different staff members went down by themselves to confirm its existence and try to find the source. None of them were able to pinpoint it, but they narrowed it down to the pipe room.
With the general intellect of the school, it wouldn’t be surprising if the noise was from one of the pipes being bumped by something that everyone overlooked. You decide to take it upon yourself to investigate; that way you know for certain everything will be done right.
The issue is getting there. It’s off-limits, so if you get caught you will get written up. The stairwell that goes to the basement is behind the kitchen, where the lunch folk are confined from the start of their shift to the end of it. Throughout the day, janitors and groundskeepers also frequented the cellar. Then on top of all that, teachers constantly roamed all the hallways, interrogating passersby to find whether they had hall passes. Other students were snitches too, if they saw you there’s no doubt they would tell.
However, all those problems were eliminated after hours. Janitors head classroom to classroom cleaning, out of sight and completely unknowing. The cafeteria employees booked it for the door an hour before closing, so they would be absent as well. Students and staff who remained on-grounds went to clubs, to meetings, staying in the same room for two hours at the least. The groundskeepers left with the bell in the mess of traffic.
The only possible concern would be the cameras; and as long as you did nothing extreme, there would be no reason to check them. You just need to be careful not to leave any traces. That shouldn’t be difficult.
After school, you goof around for about half an hour in the library, sitting alone in a back corner. Just scrolling through your phone, rifling through your bag, and picking through books on the shelves with disinterest. The librarian ignores your presence or just doesn’t notice. Either was likely.
At four, you quietly leave the library while no one is looking. Exactly as predicted, the halls are empty and quiet. Although you could hear a clattering in the distance, it wasn’t close enough to interrupt your quest. The cafeteria was only a couple of halls away, so the chance of any lingerers coming in while you passed through was unlikely.
The cafeteria was shuttered, but not completely closed. A prop rested in the door to keep it open for the custodians to enter, and today for a snooping senior. It obnoxiously creaks as you slip inside, and securely latches behind you when you kick out the doorstop. It’s not stopping their work, just making it mildly more inconvenient.
You’ve never been in the kitchen before. You’ve seen it from the lunch line, but it has always been so far from reach, almost mystical in its existence. Being inside didn’t change the feeling, but made everything more surreal. It felt unnatural standing there, time almost felt still. If you hadn’t been there on a mission, you would’ve left immediately. The stairwell to the basement was somewhere in the back.
You check the closet, freezer, and office before you find the stairs. Every step feels heavy, like you’re weighed down by bricks. It’s just nerves though, it must be. Since even the most logical mind can feel nervous in anticipation. The stairs go down and fade into the darkness.
You finger for a light switch in the off chance there may be one and by some luck, there is. Fluorescent bulbs flicker to life with a dull hum that throbs in your ears. Even with the lights on, you can’t see the bottom. There’s no way but down. At least it has a railing, which you had a death-grip on.
Your footsteps echo around you as you descend, going down two or three flights before you reach the bottom. There’s a metal door that’s rusted and dented in your way, but when you twist the handle, you find two things.
One: it’s slimy and disgusting. Two: it’s unlocked.
The door is far louder than the one upstairs, it sends shivers down your spine and makes your heart pound. As it opens, the little light from the stairwell flows in and illuminates the immediate area made of nothing besides gray concrete. You get through it as quickly as possible and try to close it behind you as quietly as you can. Instead, the sound of it latching echoes through the basement and the light is strangled and you’re left in the dark. At this point, you realize this is when in horror movies the door locks and the protagonist is trapped in the same area as the monster.
You check the door. It’s still disgustingly slimy, and also unlocked. So you shut it again and take out your phone.
With a quick shake, the flashlight comes to life. Now with a mobile source of illumination, you shine it around. Nothing around besides stagnant water in little puddles collecting beneath vehicles covered in dust. The only noise is the regular hum of machinery.
You take a few cautious steps further in, and are both disappointed and relieved when there is no change. Feeling more confident, you start to walk freely.
There’s nothing unusual about the basement, unsurprisingly. It’s exactly what you expected. The only reason you even came down here is while you’re a rationalist, you have to give every claim equal merit.
Which is also why you’re still there, examining every crack and crevice for anything. All you find is tools, more vehicles, old construction supplies, and tons and tons of piping. You follow all of it, winding up in a separate room with all the larger equipment. The boiler room.
It’s far smaller than the other section of the basement, and less interesting.
You’re about to leave when you hear something.
It’s faint, and not noticeable at first. Walking around, you find it’s softer in some spots and louder in others. Sort of like some scratching.
Terror is overridden by intrigue and you search for the source. You comb the entire room several times, noting where you can hear it better and where you can’t at all. You end up in the back corner where a cluster of pipes come out.
There’s nothing. You look all over from the spot and still see nothing. Right as you’re about to resign that, yes, there is a weird unexplained noise, you look up.
A crawl space in the wall above you that you couldn’t see until you looked directly at it with the light. A fair majority of the pipes come from it and dive into the ground. It was so inconspicuous that if you hadn’t been looking so deeply for answers, you’d have missed it.
Now, how to get up there?
It’s a good seven feet off the ground, and you are not nearly that tall. If you stretch your arms, the tips of your fingers just barely reach. Jumping would absolutely fail, and you were not willing to scratch your arms up for that. There are ridges on the pipes every two feet or so, but the pipes are dusty and would make your hands slip.
Toolboxes. You’d seen several of them in the other room, made of various shapes and sizes. Backtracking, you find the biggest one you can and with effort drag it back to the crawlspace. It makes an absolutely horrible scraping noise on the concrete that you cringe at, but you get it there. When you put it against the wall beneath the enclave, it gives you around an extra foot. Not much, but using it in conjunction with the pipe and a lot of effort, you make it up.
In the space, you have to walk like you're the Hunchback of Notre Dame. You can’t stand up, but you don’t have to crawl either. The ground is filthy; you are clearly the only person whose been up here in a long, long time.
Delving further past the dirt, dust, and dead bugs, you keep walking. All along, the sound gets louder incrementally. In the very back, you encounter…
Nothing. Concrete walls and more pipes entering cement. While the noises are clear as day now, there isn’t anywhere left to go. Not up, not down. You check everywhere just to be thorough, and eventually you find a crack in the wall. It goes all the way through and is big enough for a Guinea pig to get through.
You get down and put your ear near it. That is indeed where all these noises are coming from. Heart racing, you shine your phone’s light into it.
The light doesn’t reach to the back but it allows you to make out the gist of the room that is behind the wall. A narrow hallway with burnt-out bulbs hanging down in what looks like a stairwell. The floor drops out of sight a little ways in.
Also inside you see a mustard yellow backpack that’s soaking wet with mould growing on it, and almost immediately in your vision, a furry thing. It backs up slightly and you can figure out what it is.
Staring back at you is a small fox.
That solves the mystery, creates a new one, and forces you into a new process of action. There’s absolutely no way you’re leaving it in there. It clearly can’t get back out.
You race back to the entrance of the crawl space and recklessly drop, barely missing the toolbox you were headed for.
Since you were breaking several rules, you absolutely weren’t going to go ask for help. Better to do it yourself. There are no cameras in the basement, anyway. For all they know, everything could’ve already been in that condition.
You throw open the box and laying in the centre, practically begging you to take it, is a nice and heavy hammer. You’ll return it, you just need to borrow it for a little. They won’t even notice that it left. You grab it and shut the container, scrambling back to the poor trapped creature.
It’s feebly scratching at the wall again, and you coo at it. It freezes up, notices your return, and hisses.
What did you expect? The world isn’t a fairytale, and you aren’t Cinderella; this is a wild animal that’s trapped. You’re not discouraged, however.
Winding up as much as you can, you strike at the fracture. You can hear the poor fox scamper away as much as it can. You continue as fragments of stone fly off and concrete powder fills the air. Chipping away slowly and consistently.
Internally, you pray that no one will come down as you do this. As skilled a wordsmith you are, you don’t think you can talk your way out of felony charges.
Eventually, the hole is wide enough for you to stick both arms through. The fox hisses again, now backed against the dip of the staircase. For some reason, it didn’t go down. Within your reach is also the bag that you are incredibly reluctant about taking.
Maybe you know there isn’t a ghost anymore (not that you ever thought there was) but germs are still very real. There is no way you are touching that with your bare hands.
There’s no time to find gloves, and there’s the concern of the terrified fox biting your hand in a panic. You need a barrier. Then you’re struck with a stroke of genius.
You take off your shirt, wrap it around your forearm, and stick it in. The fox just errs away from you more while hissing profusely. You are adequately protected, although your elbow does get a bit wet. You’re able to grab the bag and drag it through your man-made hole with some effort. It nearly gets stuck at the entrance, so you have to tug it through with a terrible tearing sound.
One down, one to go.
You hold your phone with your teeth and spread your shirt over your arms and stretch them so it’s like a net. Then you stick your arms back in the hole.
Navigating solely by hissing, you wave your arms around until you feel something hit the centre of your shirt. Quickly, you grab whatever it is. The hissing stops and carefully, you extract your future friend.
You have it by the snout as it apparently had attempted to bite you, which is advantageous to you as now you don’t have to wrangle its jaws shut.
The poor thing is in a terrible state: fur caked with mud, a clearly broken leg, thin as paper, and soaking wet. It’s shivering in your grasp. Best you bring it home.
With one hand you sling the gross bag over your shoulder, shuddering with it touches your back. Then you secure the fox in your grasp and hold in close to your chest.
Is this sanitary? No. Is it necessary? Yes.
You get out of the crawlspace with another risky jump and spend a long time pushing the toolbox back to its original position with only your feet. You head back for the entrance and feel a wave of uncertainty rush over you as you recall that you shut the door behind you.
Now you stand in front of it in the moment of truth. Holding the fox with one hand, you reach out and take the handle.
Still unlocked.
You go back in the dingy stairwell and are relieved to find the light is still on. Ascending the stairs, you realize that you are going to have to walk home as you cannot drive with a wild fox loose in your car. Thankfully, it’s not far. Just inconvenient.
You also remember the security camera. You can go out through the back door, but they’ll still catch you. Most likely, no one will check them. If they do, they should thank you! You just did the school’s job of taking care of a wild animal that was on campus. Now there’s a chance that they can actually pass the safety inspection for once.
You look down at that fox in your arms. He’s settled down and now just complicity goes with your movements. No way are you letting go of his snout, but it’s a nice step.
Loki. You’ll name him Loki.
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