"Down Here" Scary Stories From The Internet

‘Down Here’. Those were the words my friend  whispered to me that night, and though a year has passed, they still fester in my mind,  shapeless and meandering like a blinding fog. When I entered his house the lights  at the front were off. Outside, the weather was still; the air thick  and muggy as if waiting for a breath. It seemed as though the summer had been  building towards that evening. Stifled, sweat-drenched, sleepless nights one after  the other – we just needed a little rain to clear

the air. Forecasters warned us  that we were in for a lot worse than that, but they had been wrong so often that many in our  little suburb did not listen. I was one of them. I had received a phone call from Aalia an hour  earlier. It had been a while since we had spoken, a couple of years in fact. When I answered  the call there was a momentary silence before she spoke. Her words trembled  with nervousness. I put this down to anxiety – she probably thought I would  yell at her considering every

thing that had happened before – but now I know  there was much more to it than that. After a brief exchange of reluctant pleasantries,  we finally got down to the root of the phone call. ‘David,’ her voice said quietly. ‘Eric needs you.’ Those were the last words I expected  her to say. Two years previous I had cut both of them out of my life. Aalia  and I had been in a relationship, albeit in its early stages. But I cared for  her deeply. Eric was a close friend. I need not tell you of what we

nt on between them,  it was too painful then. It still is now. ‘Why would Eric need me?’ I asked, feeling  the old resentment, the festering betrayal still burning a poisoned hole  somewhere in the back of my mind. A slight crackle of interference  hummed over the line. ‘He’s sick. We broke up a few weeks ago and  he won’t get help. I’ve tried to get through to him. His parents too.  But he won’t listen to any of us.’ ‘And you think he’ll listen to me? What  makes you think I’d want to help him

anyway?’ ‘Please, David. Put everything aside for  a minute. If you can’t do it for Eric, do it for his parents.’ Aalia was right. Eric’s parents had always  been good to me when I was growing up. My own parents were pretty cold, but Eric’s had always  welcomed me into their home with open arms like a surrogate son. At first, I wasn’t sure what  help I could be, but from what Aalia told me, David had been suffering from delusions  and refused to seek medical help. It shouldn’t have come as a sur

prise to  me. Eric had been diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia several years previous.  It had been a tough time for everyone who knew him. After spending nearly a year in  a psychiatric ward, he was released back into the community. Everyone rallied around him, and  in time, with medication, therapy, and support, his symptoms became manageable. As long  as he stayed away from booze and drugs, it looked like he’d be able to live a normal  life. Things had obviously changed since then. Aalia s

ounded desperate, and when she finally  told me that she had split up with Eric a few weeks earlier, that softened the blow  to a degree. If Eric didn’t have her, then at least he could not hold that  over me. I am ashamed to admit it, but where love is involved, pettiness seeps  through the marrow. It gets into your bones. As it turned out, Aalia had tried to phone Eric  earlier that night and check in on him. Although they were no longer an item, she still wanted  to make sure that he was okay

while his family was out of town. She had promised Eric’s  parents that she would check in on him a couple of times while they were away on an  important business trip. When she knocked on his front door, Eric refused to let her  in, his voice sounding manic and confused. ‘I’m afraid he’s going to kill himself,’ Aalia  said, the pain in her voice evident. The fact that she still cared so much for him stuck in  my throat like a jagged lump of ice. And yet, I was unable to resist the pain in her

voice.  She was asking me for help, and there was a satisfaction in that. Not something I am proud  of, but there nonetheless. Bolstered by this, and giving into what little affection I still  had for Eric – most of it from memories of us playing together as children – I did as Aalia  asked and headed over to his parent’s house. The big storm weather forecasters had predicted  still had not hit. We were warned that when it did we were likely to see 100mph winds,  which would bring with it damage

d roofs, falling trees, and power cuts. Driving  for ten minutes to Eric’s house, I looked at the sky which was a deep purple-red,  with night about to fall. Above, the clouds moved swiftly like sea foam on a torrent, while  down at ground level things were deathly quiet. Pulling up outside of Eric’s family home, I  got out of my car and was immediately struck by the smell of ozone in the air. I had  always loved that smell and the charged feeling only present before a storm. But  in the back of

mind I knew I could not hang around for too long. Hopefully, I would get  back to my own place before the storm hit. When I reached Eric’s front door, I expected to  knock. But as I raised my hand, the door opened slowly. There, standing in the light of his  hall, was my old friend. His black hair was longer than I remembered, reaching down to  his jawline which was covered in stubble, and his eyes were red as if he had been up all  night or crying, probably both. His unshaven face stared at me

in disbelief for a moment,  and before I could so much as muster a ‘hello’, Eric reached out and wrapped both  arms around me. He held me close, and let out a short whimper as if overcome with  emotion. The smell of tobacco and sweat from him was strong and sickening, and immediately  those smells conjured up an image of Eric, awake for several nights, smoking, pacing,  and trying to figure out some horrid delusion. ‘It’s so good to see you, David,’ he said, letting  me go and ushering me insid

e. ‘I’ve missed you.’ Deep down inside I still sheltered resentment  towards him for stealing Aalia from me, but seeing him in such a state of distress, I  felt the older feelings of care and friendship returning to me. Like blood flowing to  a limb long gone to sleep. A tingle, then a surge of emotion. I had forgotten  just how much I had missed Eric too. His parent’s home was a good size, a four  bedroom townhouse. Eric’s mother had made a tidy sum as a real estate agent, and  so the street th

ey lived on was one of the more affluent in the area. Since Eric’s  breakdown, he’d been living with his family, but they were away on a business trip for  a few days – I suppose they needed to get one with their lives as much as anyone – and that  had left Eric to delve deeper into his delusions. I followed him down the hallway, and as I did so  I noticed that the cellar door was open slightly, a solitary light bulb glowed at the foot of a  flight of stairs burrowing under the house. As I peere

d down there, Eric turned to me and  reacted quickly to my curiosity. He reached across and pushed the cellar door shut, and  as he did so a draft caught the light bulb dangling below. It moved slowly like a pendulum,  catching wooden beams and boxes with its light, spreading shadows momentarily  before the door clicked shut. ‘How’ve you been, Eric?’ I asked, walking  through the doorway into the living room. Slumping into an armchair, he didn’t answer  me at first. He reached up with his hand a

nd rubbed his forehead, pushing his long  hair against his eyes as if in pain. ‘Aalia phoned me.’ That was  enough to get his attention. He looked up at me as I sat across from him  in a wicker chair, which I knew was once his grandmother’s. We stared at each other across  the tiny space between us. Outside, the clouds swirled and closed in, visible through a large  window which looked down on a sloping hill. ‘You know we broke up, then?’ Eric didn’t  take his eyes off of me for one second. As i

f he were searching for a tell. Perhaps he was  frightened that I was now entangled with her. ‘Yeah, I know,’ I answered,  looking him straight in the eye. He scratched the stubble on his  cheek. ‘Are you two a thing now?’ I laughed. It was a ridiculous  question. After everything, she and Eric had put me through. ‘No, we’re  not. And we won’t ever be. I’m here because I don’t want your parents to come back from  their trip to find you swinging from a rope.’ There was a silence between us, Eric 

looked at me through thin strands of hair. ‘Aalia thinks you’re suicidal. Are you?’ I  took off my jacket, placing it next to me. ‘I…’ The hesitation told all. ‘Christ, Eric… What are you thinking?’ I was  getting agitated. I had hoped that I would come and see him and find that Aalia’s claims  were exaggerated. But his sullen expression, the fact he had not washed for days, and  the look in his eyes – there was every chance I would have to phone an ambulance  and let a psychiatric ward deal wi

th him. ‘You don’t understand, David. You can’t.’ ‘Try me,’ I moved to the edge of  my seat, clasping my hands. ‘Eric, I’m here to help you. Believe me, I  wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have to be.’ Sighing, Eric rubbed his eyes as if to  rid himself of tears or tiredness. Perhaps both. ‘Just promise me you’ll stay away  from Aalia. I don’t think I could cope…’ ‘And I could!?’ ‘You don’t understand, David. I’m on the  edge here. One push and I’m finished.’ ‘I’ve no interest in her. She left me fo

r you,  Eric. You’re best done with her. We both are. Now, are you going to tell me what’s been happening  or what? Have you been taking your medication?’ A look fluttered across Eric’s face; guilt,  shame, helplessness – take your pick. ‘There’s your answer then.’ I was relieved  that there was a solution. ‘Where are they, you need to start taking them to  help you balance out. You know that.’ ‘It’s not the medication,  David.’ He now gazed across at me intently. ‘It’s… You won’t believe me.’ S

omething then tapped against the window. Eric recoiled back in his chair, his  eyes wide with fear. ‘What’s that!?’ It was almost dark, and something  outside was attracted to a lamp which sat next to the window.  ‘It’s just a moth or something.’ ‘Is it?’ Eric asked. ‘Well… Yes,’ I assured him, as the indistinct  shape now moved off. ‘What else would it be?’ ‘Oh God…’ Eric started whimpering. Bringing  his hands up to his mouth, he stared at the rich red carpet at his feet and shuddered as if a 

great anxiety were trying to escape from inside. Seeing Eric like that, I could not help but  feel pity for him. The illness had robbed him of his mind in the past, and now it was  threatening to do the same again. ‘Eric, please, just tell me what’s  upsetting you, maybe I can help.’ At first, he seemed unresponsive, but  after fetching him a glass of water, he finally gave in to my requests,  his only stipulation that I had to be open-minded about what he had to tell me.  Sitting forward on th

e edge of his chair, the night now in full effect as the wind  began to howl outside, Eric told his tale: ‘Everything was fine up until a few weeks  ago. Things seemed great with Aalia. My parents were really pleased because we were  talking about getting a place together. I think mum and dad feel it’s time I try and  get back out on my own two feet. With Aalia, anything seemed possible… I… I’m sorry, David. I  know it’s not fair to go on about her to you… I just mean that I’ve been stable for a

good while  now and I was ready to move on with my life. ‘Every day I go for a long walk. It gets  the endorphins going, helps my mood, the doctor says exercise is critical for  mental health, and I’ve really felt that. It’s made a big difference. I go for  a walk and listen to a podcast. That walk is something I look forward to  each and every day. But on that day, about three weeks ago… It was different. I’d  just finished listening to something on my phone when I came to my usual spot. Just

next  to King’s Park train station. Now, normally, I walk back up past the primary school and up  towards home, but… Something caught my attention. ‘I know it sounds weird, but I thought I could  see smoke coming from the railway bridge. From the street on top, at least. I mean… You ever  looked at a road on a hot day and you see that haze coming off of it? Well, it was like that,  but there was a kind of black fuzziness to it, like some of it was transparent and the  rest… Not. I thought someth

ing was burning, so I walked across King’s Park Avenue and  ended up standing at one end of the bridge. ‘When I got closer, I couldn’t believe what I was  seeing. There was no traffic around at that time, but I swear to you, David. I saw this black haze  in the middle of the road. There was no fire, it was just sitting there on top of the road  surface about three feet high. Looking around I was alone with it on the bridge. I started  to walk towards it, and as I did things got stranger. I could

hear my footsteps, but  they sounded sort of… Muddied. Deeper, and stifled somehow. No echo or nothing,  like I’d walked into a small room. I looked up and the sun blinded me for a second. It was  brighter than before, but I swear. It was like I was looking at everything through  water, you know how it bends light? ‘Then, the black haze… Smoke… Whatever it was.  It started moving off to the side. It mounted the pavement and then reached the wall above the  train station. It started moving… I sw

ear to God, David. It started moving like a  person, or an animal or something, like it had hands. It climbed over the wall  and disappeared over the edge of the bridge.’ There was another silence, I guessed  that Eric was waiting for me to react, but I didn’t know what to say except: ‘Eric, you were hallucinating again. That’s all  it was. You need to take your medication.’ Eric looked at me with pleading eyes. ‘No! It  wasn’t a hallucination. I swear! It was real…’ ‘And this is what’s been on

your mind?’ Eric calmed for the moment and sank back into  his story. ‘As soon as it disappeared under the bridge, everything went back to normal and  I ran home in a panic. I thought just like you do now. I thought it was a hallucination. But,  David, I was still taking my medication then.’ That made things worse. If Eric’s  medication was wearing off, or he was relapsing, there was no telling  how bad he would get. I had seen him at his worst years before. It took him  and his family years to

get over it. ‘Eric…’ I said, not sure  what I was going to say next. ‘Let me finish… I need to get this off my  chest. I wish I’d been able to leave what I saw at the back of my mind, but over  the next couple of days I started to obsess about what I’d seen. I’m not doing  a very good job of putting it into words, but I kept thinking about the haze coming off  the ground and the black smoke inside. Worse, I couldn’t stop thinking about how it  climbed over the wall like it had arms.’ ‘You went b

ack?’ I asked, knowing the  answer before I’d even asked the question. Something tapped against the window again. Eric  looked at the sheet of glass, his face drained of colour. The outside world was now a deep,  abyssal black, orange street lights from the city beyond the only reprieve. Sweat dripped from my  friend’s forehead, and his mouth began to tremble. ‘Eric, look…’ Standing up, I walked  over to his side and pulled the tall lamp stand over to the glass. There,  a large moth bumped again

st the glass, feverishly trying to reach the light. ‘See,  it’s just a moth. Nothing to worry about.’ ‘Can you be sure?’ said Eric, slumping  back into his chair looking exhausted. Moving back to my chair, I sat down  ready to continue the conversation. ‘What happened when you went back to the bridge?’ ‘I couldn’t help myself. I had to see  if it had just been all in my head.’ ‘And what did you see?’ ‘Nothing… I saw nothing.’ ‘Well, there you go, Eric. It was just a  one-off incident. I’m sure o

nce you take your…’ Eric cut me off. ‘I saw  nothing, but I heard something.’ The delusion had obviously taken full  hold of my old friend. And I worried that it was becoming more likely, as  the storm closed in, that I would have to phone an ambulance to have him committed  or sectioned. ‘What did you hear?’ I said, hoping that by talking through it, I  could persuade him out of his obsession. ‘I got to the bridge. It was raining, but  not too heavy. There was nothing there, just a couple of pa

rked cars and someone walking  with an umbrella on the other side of the street. Part of me was delighted that I couldn’t see  anything, but another part… It wanted to know more about that strange thing on the road. When  I reached the section of wall where the thing had climbed over, I hesitated for a second.  The wall was too high to peer straight over, but it was just above one of the arches  where the train line runs through. ‘I stood there for a moment, waiting. Just  as I’d convinced mysel

f that it was all in my mind… I felt that same strange, oppressive  atmosphere, like the sounds of the world had been deadened. Then, I heard a voice. It came from  under the bridge and said in a horrid whisper: “Down here”. I was terrified. I can’t convey how  sinister it was, but I felt a strange compulsion to do just as it said… Or asked… I’m not sure if  it was a command or a request. “Down here”. What did it mean? Was it telling me there was something  under the bridge which I had to see? O

r was it whispering that phrase for some other purpose? I  struggled against the urge to follow, knowing that to give in to a hallucination would be such a huge  step back for me. It would jeopardise my state of mind, letting the illness back in. So, I came  home, but with each step towards my mum and dad’s house, the thought that it wasn’t a hallucination  tugged at me. That I’d witnessed, and heard, something incredible. Those thoughts wouldn’t  leave me, and so by the next day, I knew that I’

d have to return. I’d have to find out what it  was without facing it. Without putting myself in danger. I hoped that I would find nothing, and so  then I could be sure that it was all in my head.’ Rain now joined the wind outside, tapping the  glass furiously like a thousand unseen fingertips. ‘Looks like that storm has arrived.’ My heart sank  a little. I had hoped to avoid driving home in it, especially given the weather warnings.  I knew I would have to leave soon, but I was gripped by Eric’

s account of  his hallucination, and wanted to be sure that he would not do anything silly once I  had left. Just a little longer, I thought. Eric looked out at the water dripping down  the outside of the glass. ‘You should go, David. Before this gets worse.’ ‘It’s okay, Eric. Please, at  least tell me the rest of your story and then we can chat about how  to get you back on the right track.’ ‘I went back to the bridge the following day.  But this time, I took a camera with me. My DSLR. I wanted

to see if I could capture  an image of whatever that thing was. So, I waited until about 2PM, the place is always  quiet at that time. No school kids running around on their lunch break, and no one else coming  and going from their work. I got to the bridge, and…’ He trailed off for a moment,  turning his attention to the window, where the rain now lashed against the house  outside. There was a look on his face, just a flicker as if he thought he saw something,  before shaking his head slightly

and whispering a few words to himself. I never heard what it  was, but it had all the hallmarks of someone reassuring themselves that all was well with  the world, even though trouble clearly brewed. Composing himself, he continued: ‘At first,  I stood where the thing had climbed over the wall. Just waiting to see if anything  was said. But all I heard was a train moving underneath and stopping at the station  before heading off to Glasgow Central. So, I walked down the station stairs and took

a couple  of shots of the stone arches from about half way down. I’d never been afraid of that place  before. We used to play around there as kids, remember? I mean, King’s Park train station can be  a little isolated, but apart from that. In fact, I’d always enjoyed getting the Newton train on my  way home from town. But something was different about it. Looking at the stone arches, I could  see where the trains passed under the bridge, but I realised then that that was not where  the haze woul

d have hidden. On the embankment, directly beneath that part of the  wall, was another half arch which was covered by overgrown thorn bushes.  There’s no train line through there. ‘You know what I’m talking about. We climbed down there a couple of times  when we were kids, remember?’ I laughed. That was something I had long forgotten  about, but it was true, we had climbed down there once. I remembered being egged on to run across  the train tracks. When we had gotten to the half arch, we found

it filled mostly with soil, but  there was a pretty big space inside. It was dark and spanned the width of the street above. Once  inside, you could stand up. It felt like another world in some ways. When Eric and I had been kids  we had built countless dens around King’s Park, and found several places away from prying eyes.  Those were secret places where we would visit, our crowd of friends feeling like a group of bandits  in their hideouts. That thought was exciting. But we didn’t frequent th

e half arch under the bridge  very often. It was too dark. Too cold and damp. I think we were about twelve at the time,  and I remember we found some smudges in the soil which our friend Stewart swore  were footprints. I guess we only went back once or twice after that, and when  we found more markings in the ground, we decided we didn’t want to run into the owner  down there in the dark, away from the world. That, and when the trains passed through the main  archway, which we were about a foot

of solid stone away from, the place vibrated like hell.  The noise was deafening. I remember thinking I could feel my insides moving as the trains  passed. It was not a pleasant sensation. ‘Did you see anything in the half arch?’ I asked. ‘Not at first,’ Eric scratched at the stubble  under his chin. ‘I took two pictures and checked them on my DSLR. I could only snap the  opening of the half arch, as it’s further away on the other side of the train tracks.  There was nothing unusual about the ph

otos, so I turned to walk all the way onto the  platform to see if I could get a better view. The train station was empty. Again, I  took a few pictures on the edge of the platform, but all I got was the blackness  of the opening under the bridge. ‘A train neared, and I heard the high pitched  whine on the tracks before it reached me. When it stopped, a few people got off, not many.  Then, the train continued on its way far down the line towards Glasgow Central. When I  turned to look at the arc

hway once more, I was struck by what I saw. A form of some kind,  peeking out… glaring at me from the archway. A transparent haze with something black,  like smoke or mould at its centre. Quickly, I raised my camera and took a picture as it moved  back under the bridge. And then it was gone.’ ‘Let me guess,’ I said. ‘When you looked  at the picture, there was nothing there?’ A wry smile crept across Eric’s face as the  storm – wind, rain and all – was now in full effect outside. He stood up exci

tedly and rushed  out of the room. Moments later, he returned, camera in hand. With a click, the camera powered  on, and a dull glow emanated from the LCD screen, uplighting Eric’s face like a macabre  gargoyle as he smiled down at his work. ‘Here,’ Eric said. ‘Take a look for yourself.’ Handing me the camera, he sat back  down in his chair, the excitement in his face now diminishing,  replaced once more with worry. I looked down at the LCD screen. It was  indeed a picture of the half archway un

der the station bridge. At first glance, I  could see nothing, but as I zoomed in, sure enough there it was. A shape of some  description cast in shadow. It was difficult to make out, in fact, it could have been  almost anything. ‘This is your ghost?’ ‘Hah!’ Eric proclaimed. ‘A ghost? Who  knows? Maybe that’s exactly what it is, maybe it isn’t. Maybe it’s something we’re  not meant to see and for some reason, I was unlucky enough to cross paths with  it on that day. Something which usually stays

out of sight. Now it doesn’t want  me to go on telling people about it.’ ‘You’re putting far too much weight on  a blurry image, Eric. It could be dirt on the lens, or an insect moving  quickly in front of the camera.’ ‘No!’ Eric was getting angry. ‘Look at  it!’ he stood up and practically leaped over to me. ‘Look at the shadow cast across  it. That’s from the bridge. Whatever it is, it was there, and it’s under the half archway.’ The wind battered against the window, the glass  reverberating,

and with it a flash of lightning across the sky. Eric turned to it for a moment,  then returned his gaze to mine, standing above me. ‘You should go. You don’t believe me,  and this storm is only going to get worse.’ ‘It’s not that I don’t believe you saw something,  Eric. But look at it objectively. Either you saw something otherworldly that can’t be  explained, or you hallucinated, which has happened to you before when your medication  needed tweaking. Which seems more likely?’ ‘It’s nothing t

o do with my schizophrenia. It  has everything to do with that thing under the bridge…’ His voice trailed off for a moment as if  a distant threat made itself known in his mind. ‘David… It spoke to me. It said ‘down here’.  It wants me to go somewhere, I can feel it.’ ‘Have you been back to the  bridge since you took the photo?’ He shook his head. ‘No… But I’ve no need to…’ ‘What do you mean?’ I asked, worried. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been alone since  the day I took its picture. Not truly.’ ‘Y

ou mean you’ve seen it elsewhere?’ ‘Not exactly,’ a look of frustration swept across  his face, he started to pace up and down, wringing his hands as he spoke. ‘It hides… It hides in the  dark. I don’t think it can last long in the light. I think the day I saw it in the sun, and the haze  around it, I think it might have been burning.’ ‘Burning? Come on, Eric, snap out of it!’ ‘Let me prove it to you, David. Come with me to  the bridge tomorrow once the storm has passed. If there’s nothing there

then I’ll concede it’s in my  mind. And if there is something, then maybe we’ll be the first to come face to face with… I don’t  know what, exactly, but it could be monumental.’ When someone is caught in such a delusion, trying to persuade them out of it can  be a thankless task. I had to change my strategy. ‘Okay, Eric, tomorrow we’ll  go to the bridge. On one condition.’ ‘Name it.’ ‘You start taking your medication, right now.’ Eric reluctantly agreed to my terms, and  I watched as he took hi

s medication pill by pill. I knew how the drugs  worked, it would be some time, perhaps even weeks before they would start  to affect his system and bring him back to earth. But the earlier he took them, the  sooner he’d be back to his usual self. After that, he assured me that he would  be okay. My promise of going to the bridge the next day seemed to have lessened his  feverish behaviour. He actually thanked me, now he did not feel so alone. After that, he  then walked me to the front door and

we said our goodbyes. Tomorrow we would see what we  would see. I hoped that it would be reason. Outside, the complexion of the night had  changed markedly. The storm was now rampant, and so I hurried out onto the street and to  my car, pulling my jacket around me. Thunder roared overhead up in the black clouds  and the wind raged against it in return, nearly knocking me off my feet as I reached  the door of my car. Now the rain came, and as I sat in the driver’s seat,  even with my windscreen

wipers on, I was staring through a sheet of water which  warped the world and all of its shadows. What had been a simple drive earlier in the night,  was now going to be fraught with danger. Above, the lightning sparked, and soon after  the thunder clapped like the gods waging war in the sky. I was taken back to being a child  on a caravan holiday. I remembered the thunder sounding like it was just above where I slept,  roaring so loud that I imagined my bones shaking. It was the first time I re

alised that man is  powerless when faced with the will of nature. ‘This is crazy,’ I said to myself; commenting  on both the ferocity of the storm and my foolish attempt to travel home during it. But I felt  I had already done my bit, and did not want to spend more time with Eric than I had to; I wanted  to help, but our friendship was far from mended, and the thought of spending the night in his  company was something for which I was not ready. The car grumbled into life, and I waited for a  mo

ment to see if the rain would subside enough for me to see better. The windscreen wipers flashed  back and forward over the glass in excited motion, barely providing a split second of good  visibility through every movement. The lightning and thunder screeched once more. It  felt closer that time, and as I looked around me, two trees further along the road were being  shoved around, bending and leaning in the wind, so much so that they looked like  they could give in at any moment. Another flash

of lighting, this time forked, cutting across the sky like a bloodied  scar, peeking through the dark clouds. Just as I concluded that the weather  was not going to get any better – in fact, it looked like it was getting worse –  I turned my attention to Eric’s house again. The lights were off. The storm must have caused a power cut, as the other houses in the street were also now  bathed in darkness, and the streetlights were no longer working. ‘He’s an adult,’ I said  to myself. ‘He can take

care of himself.’ Then I thought about something he had said earlier  in the evening. ‘It hides… It hides in the dark.’ I berated myself for even considering it…  No… Whatever he saw that day under the bridge was a hallucination. But now stuck in  the dark… I had an image of Eric in my mind, besieged by his own illness, seeing  and hearing things that were not there. Frustrated with myself that I could not  just drive away, I opened my car door to the elements and headed back towards Eric’s  hou

se. The street was in complete darkness, the only light source the increasing cracks of  lightning, which drew hideous caricatures of the world around me in shadow. Taking out my mobile  phone, I turned the flashlight function on and used the underpowered narrow beam to  light my footsteps as best I could. A gust of wind blew towards me, and in  it I found it difficult to breathe. I walked at an angle against it, passing a tree  which groaned under the weight of the wind, which itself swirled ar

ound everything,  consuming it in an elemental roar. Quickly, I moved down the garden path, and finally, I  reached Eric’s front door. I was expecting to have to knock, go in and make sure he was  okay, perhaps even reluctantly spend the night until the power came back on. But when  I reached the front door, it was lying open. The wind now carried the rain into the open  doorway. All I could see was the blackness therein, and presented with it, I felt nervous  about stepping inside. ‘Eric! It’s

David, are you there?’ I shouted, trying my best to be heard  over the storm. But nothing was said in return. Moving inside, I was cautious of where I  was stepping in the dark. The house was a mirror image of the world outside. The  ferocity inverted. The space was still and lifeless. ‘Eric!’ I shouted again. A door  creaked along the hallway from me, and so, phone light in hand, I made my way towards  the living room where we had spoken before. The two chairs in which we had sat now  lay empty

. The glass of water which Eric had drunk from when taking his pills lay  on its side, the remnants of the water dripping onto the floor. I was about  to shout Eric’s name for a third time, but something stayed my tongue. A  feeling. That someone was watching me. Footsteps now quickly sounded behind me. They  rushed down the hallway and then were accompanied by the sound of a door opening up. Turning  to the hallway, I could not see anyone there, but now something had changed. A door  halfway al

ong the wall now lay open. ‘Eric,’ I whispered under my breath, almost  scared by the idea of what might answer. I cannot explain the irrational thoughts which were running  through my mind, clambering for images and forms while surrounded by the nothingness of night,  mentally filling the void with something tangible. Walking towards the door slowly, I peered around  it and saw that it led down into the cellar. A steep set of wooden stairs delved deep below the  house. ‘Eric… Are you there?’ I

finally said, my voice louder this time. I thought I  heard an almost inaudible creak below, but it was quickly drowned out by another crash  of thunder. The wind howled like a banshee, finding cracks in the building through which  to seep, and I was gripped by uncertainty. I could have run. Or at the very least,  stayed upstairs. Perhaps I should have, but the gnawing image of Eric cowering,  terrified below, was enough to shake me into action. I resented him for what he had done  to me, for ta

king Aalia from me, but I knew how debilitating his illness was, and I could not in  good conscience leave him to it, or it to him. Warily, I descended the stairs, knocking  the dust from them as I did so. They were evidently rarely trodden, but there was  no doubt that Eric had used them recently, perhaps just moments before, as I could see  large smudges in patches of dust which looked like footprints on each step. My own footsteps  sounded like dim remnants of the thunder outside, with a dark

storm of the unknown waiting  for me at the foot of the stairs. Lightning clattered near the house again, the  momentary spark shining through a small vent near the roof of the cellar. The light from my mobile  phone was not enough to illuminate the entirety of the room, but from what I could see, I was amazed  at how empty it was. The floor was like powdered concrete, the occasional cardboard box sitting  upon it, filled with childhood memories and toys. A thick layer of dust covered the littl

e that  was there. It was clear then that the cellar had never been converted into a habitable part of the  house, there should have been no one down there, good or bad, but the sight of a darkened  doorway in front of me filled me with dread no less. Ducking underneath, I found myself  in another empty room, the walls made from old reddened brick, but the colour was dampened  by the dust. The cellar was a copy of the house above. Like a dark twin. The same layout. The same  rooms. The same hall

way at its centre. But while the house above was filled with the things of the  living, the cellar was filled with their absence. ‘Eric…’ I whispered now. I am not sure why – I have never been  one to be frightened of the dark, not since I was a child – but  down there in the darkness, while lightning crackled high up in the  atmosphere, I felt justified in my caution. The sound of a foot scuffing the powdered  concrete floor sent a cold shiver through my veins. Apprehension took hold of me,  an

d a deep desire to go back upstairs threatened to overthrow any notion of finding  or helping Eric. A self-preservation which, like the dust hanging in the air, blanketed  my emotions. My heart raced. My breathing rasped as I inhaled the dust. Moving in  a panic, I headed back to the stairs. At least, that was my intention. For a  moment, caught in the grip of anxiety, I became disorientated. Turning, I could see  two doorways, and I was unsure which one I had come through. Staring at them anxio

usly,  I tried to set my thinking on a more sensible course. All I had to do was walk through one  of the doorways, if I then found myself in an unfamiliar part of the cellar, I would  turn back and go through the other door. Then, it felt as though the air  became charged. Like the tense warning before a lightning strike. My skin  turned to goose bumps, and, reaching up, I could feel the hair on the back of my head  standing on end from the static electricity. My attention momentarily distracte

d from the two  doorways, it was quickly brought back into focus, when, from one of the rooms ahead, I heard  it. A voice. In a barely audible whisper, where I could hear more breath and saliva in the  mouth than speech, someone spoke two words. But they were so indistinct, that I could not  be sure what they were. Nor even if they had just been a figment of my imagination  – a product of my strange surroundings. Whether it was because of Eric’s  story or not, I cannot say, but the only phrase I

could fit to those  two whispered sounds was ‘down here’. A cold sweat clung to my body, and  a nervousness gripped me as my hand began to shake while holding the phone.  The light from it vibrated in return, and I stood for what felt a lifetime staring  at the two doorways. Which one contained the voice? Which one contained my path to freedom.  Excitement then grew as I remembered the powdered concrete at my feet. Looking down, the blue light  from my phone dimly lit smudged markings on the fl

oor which I was certain were my own. They  led back through the doorway on the right. Feeling courage return, I stepped  through, and in a moment of utter shock, I realised that the markings were not made by  me. They were made by someone else. I found myself in an unfamiliar part of the cellar  and turned immediately to leave. When I did so… It all happened so fast. My light caught  something in front of me, a person or form, it moved past me and headed through another  doorway. Then, I heard t

he scream. Eric’s scream. ‘It’s here!’ he shrieked. Manic,  clearly in the throes of his delusion. I followed quickly and then heard  panicked footsteps accompany the cries, which now turned to a plea. A direct plea  to me. ‘Follow it, David! It’s here!’ The footsteps now ran up the staircase, and as they  did I noticed that the charged feeling in the atmosphere had dissipated. The lightning  must have struck elsewhere. The feeling of dread lifted and was then replaced with  a different kind of

anxiety. Up above, I heard Eric run down his hallway and out into  the night, screaming ‘I see it! I see it!’ Clambering through the cellar, I finally found  the staircase, and, relieved that I was leaving that dark place behind, rushed up them in pursuit  of my friend. I gave chase and headed out into the night. The rain was coming down in sheets, and  above the lightning and thunder coerced each other into terrifying displays of combined might.  But there was no sign of Eric in the garden. The

water streamed down my face, making  it difficult to see as the wind battered me from left and right, a swirling invisible  force intent on leaving no stone unturned. Rushing out to the street, I looked again.  And at the top of the hill, some way away, I saw him. Eric was running through the  night. He had too much of a head start, and in any case was faster. I  would never catch him on my feet. A gust of wind and rain buffeted me around before  I finally reached my car and got inside. Turning

the ignition, the engine burst into life, growling  as if threatened by the storm. Putting my foot down, I drove up the street in his direction,  it would only take me seconds to catch up to him even in that damned weather. But the night had  other plans for me. I was gaining, but just as I reached within a few feet of him, ready to stop  and pull him into my car, a painful creak shrieked nearby – the groan of a life ending. A tree which  had stood for at least a hundred years fell, crashing in

front of me. Instinctively, my foot  slammed on the brakes. I felt a thump as the front of my car smashed into the tree trunk lying before  me. A large branch jutted out, and as I crashed, it smashed through the windscreen. I saw it only  a second before and hid under the dashboard, my heart pounding. The glass shattered over  me, and the wind and rain broke into the car like a swarm of rats, climbing through  the open wound in the front of the vehicle. Disorientated, I opened the door to my ri

ght  and fell face first onto the road. The concrete surface gushed with water, carrying with  it leaves and dirt. As I hit the ground, the water splashed up into my mouth, and  I gasped and coughed as some of it stuck in my windpipe. Lightning shattered the sky,  and the thunder raged as I caught my breath. Pulling myself to my feet, I looked at the car.  It was caught in the clutches of the fallen tree, the branches enveloping it. Steam rose from  somewhere, and the engine answered my cough wi

th one of its own. It would take some effort to  get the car out, and even then I was not sure it could be salvaged. Any feelings of grief for my  car were quickly wiped away as a squall of wind wrenched at a garden fence across from me. It  tore several wood slats from their housing and launched them further down the street.  A lamp post above rattled in the wind, its light still extinguished, and I feared  that it too would topple, crushing me in the process. It was too dangerous, I had to get

  back to Eric’s house and out of the storm. I guess I felt more for Eric than I could admit  to myself that night, even after everything he had done to me. I saw up ahead through the storm,  the rain lashing against my eyes and blurring my vision… I saw the distinct figure of Eric. not  much further along the street, heading deeper into the storm. Something indistinct then flew  through the air, carried on the wind… At least, it appeared that way. Perhaps it was a plastic  bag… Or, no… A piece

of cloth? Whatever it was, it weaved and darted through the rain and I  watched as Eric waved his hands above him, trying to batter it away. The object  must have carried more weight than at first apparent, as it struck Eric  on the head. He fell to the ground, and the object continued on its way,  carried by the fierceness of the night. I could not leave him lying on the road, so I  climbed over the fallen tree and ran along the street towards him. The wind blew in my face,  and as it did so I

found it almost impossible to breathe, turning my head to the side just  to inhale barely enough air to continue. As I approached Eric in the dim light of my  phone, I saw a cut on his unconscious head, blood trickling from it. Leaning down,  I reached out in an attempt to wake him, but as I did so he opened his eyes and let  out a hideous scream. A sort of panicked cry, like a child seeing something awful under its  bed. His arms flailed as he pushed me back. ‘Eric! It’s me, David!’ I yelled, b

ut the thunder  drowned out my voice. ‘Eric! We need to get back to the house!’ I could barely hear my own  voice, and I imagine that for Eric it was a nightmarish scene; waking up disoriented,  seeing your friend above you, the lightning illuminating his face as his mouth opened and  shut without apparently conveying any meaning. He lashed out, striking me on the nose.  I fell to my knees for a moment, dazed, as he climbed to his feet and dashed off into  the night. ‘Eric… No…’ I felt myself sa

y under my breath. It was madness. Madness which had  gripped him. Madness to follow. But follow I did. I ran down the street as the hill  now descended on the other side, then through a small wood across from the primary  school we had both attended as children. Finally, I struggled across King’s Park Avenue, a long  street usually bustling with traffic, now doused in darkness, rain, and dread. And there we were.  On Station Road – the bridge which crossed above King’s Park train station, that

innocuous  little place where all of this had begun. Eric stopped for a moment in the middle of the  empty road. Whether it was terror or confusion, I could not rightly tell, but it was  as if he was waiting for something to happen. Perhaps hoping for evidence  of the thing under the bridge which he believed had been hounding him.  I saw nothing but the raging storm. Tilting his head as if he had heard something  – as if you could in that storm – he suddenly ran to the staircase which led steepl

y down to  the station. I followed as quickly as I could, still gasping for air, fighting the  wind which threw itself with all its might against me. Reaching the stairs,  I saw Eric below me on the platform, peering across the train line to  the half archway under the bridge. ‘Eric!’ I screamed again, this time a momentary  lapse of thunder allowing my voice to be heard. He looked up at me. Looked up… And pointed  across the train tracks to the half tunnel. I shook my head. ‘No, Eric! Please! 

We need to get out of here!’ But he paid no heed to my words, if he heard them at all. He dashed across the platform. Rushing to the  bottom of the stairs, I was helpless to stop him. By the time I reached the platform, he had already  climbed down from it onto the tracks and was making his way across them to the underside of the  bridge. Above the line, the power cables swayed aggressively in the wind like necrotic veins,  and a cold feeling now passed through my body. How I wish I had rushed a

cross the  tracks to stop my friend immediately. But I could not. Something gripped me.  A fear like no other. Something primal. Like the terror which spiders and snakes  illicit automatically even from those who have never encountered such creatures.  It felt as though we were not alone, and that whatever accompanied us was  something which should not have been. Eric pushed on. I watched as he reached the other  side of the tracks. Standing before him was the half tunnel, its mouth gaping and d

ark. Yes, that  was it. That place was darker than everything around it. A place not fit for people. Perhaps  fit for something else. Something inhuman. That irrational thought finally spurred me into action.  Jumping from the platform, I peered down the train line which continued for miles vacantly.  Then, I rushed across them to my friend. The thunder and lightning coalesced once more,  and as it did so, Eric stepped into the half tunnel. I moved forward, the gaping maw of it  seeming bigger s

omehow than I remembered. Once again the paralysis of that strange fear,  that uncanny feeling of otherness took me, and so I stood for a moment, waiting.  My only company the howling wind and seething trees on the side of the tracks as  they spasmed rhythmically with the storm. I could not see inside. Nor could I see  any trace of Eric. it was as if he had entered into another plane, another place, and  vanished; to a stygian abyss into which human beings were not meant to wander. I tried  desp

erately to free myself from Eric’s own delusion as I stared at the nothingness of  the half archway, but I could not help but question what was meant by the two words  which had started it all. ‘Down here’. A hand reached out from the darkness and grabbed  hold of me. Eric’s drawn face appeared too, and he pushed me down the embankment.  I tumbled and fell onto the track, my chin and shoulder crushing against the  cold wet metal of the train track. Above me, Eric stood, his eyes wide and bright,

  but his face etched in terror. He said something, and the  elements covered it like a shroud. ‘What!?’ I said, standing up,  feeling blood gushing from my chin. He spoke again, this time more fervently. But  again, I could not hear him for the storm. Rushing forward, he pushed me away again,  pointing up the stairs to the road above. He screamed and yelled, his arms flailing,  glancing back several times to the mouth of the half tunnel. But I could not hear him, all I could  see was the fear i

n his face. For the last time, he pointed back at the half archway. Lightning  crackled, and… Did I see something inside? Was it illuminated by the lightning, just for a  moment? A shape? A shadow? I could not be certain. Something cracked nearby. The sound of wood  splintering. Eric pushed me out of the way as a large tree from the embankment above  us gave way. Falling several feet from him, I watched in horror as the tree cut through the  power lines above. Cut through them in sparks of elect

ric blue, and then swallowed Eric whole.  I saw it, the main trunk hitting him. Crushing him into the ground. The power lines flailed  around, thousands of volts emanating from them, the electricity like an enraged prisoner  unleashed. If they touched me, I was dead. Instinctively, I pulled myself  quickly back onto the platform and fell onto my hands and knees  scrambling away. Turning back, I watched as the power lines smoked and growled.  Somewhere under it all, Eric’s body lay. I called for

an ambulance, and for the  fire brigade. I guess they were busy that night with the storm and the havoc  it was causing around the city. It took nearly an hour for them to arrive. By that  time, the wind and rain were calming. The thunder and lightning still sounded,  but now miles away on the horizon, like a ferocious animal moving off, well fed and  sated. After the power lines had been shut off, I watched as the fire fighters sifted through  the smoking embers of the tree; watched, as they fi

nally lifted the tree trunk off the  line, and discovered the pulverised body of Eric. He had been burned to a crisp from the  electricity. Whether it was that which had finished him off or the impact from the tree, I do not know. All I do know is that now he  is gone. My old friend. I often tell people that it was his illness that killed him. That  the hallucinations were too much for anyone to cope with. They believe me, though  I wonder sometimes if I believe myself. I’ll conclude my account

by simply saying this:  Sanity is a fleeting, temporary condition. We all have our delusions, our ideas of how the  world works and what constitutes reality. But such things are not concrete. They are merely  interpretations of what the world truly is. A shadow of the universe. An echo of what is really  there. A facsimile put together by our brains collecting data from our unreliable senses. In  this way, we are always removed from the truth. Staring out from behind the warped glass of our  own

eyes. Who knows what the world is actually made of, and what is contained within it? For  Eric, whatever he heard, whatever he saw, it was real for him. Real enough to make him believe in  something far removed from the ordinary. Something most people are not meant to see. For myself, I  truly hope that such a revelation is kept far away and that the world remains understood, calculable,  and known. I choose to believe that what Eric saw was not objectively real. Despite this belief,  I have ne

ver visited the station at King’s Park since that night. For in my weaker moments,  I fear that I may hear those same two words. Those two words, real or imagined, which led my  friend to the dark recesses of the human mind, where our own personal monsters lie in wait,  ravenous, and ready to make themselves known.