Catacombs

Catacombs



        A short story by Allen Buice



Sage Lewis sat in the top bunk in his cabin at Glennwoods Summer camp in the mountains of southwestern Virginia. Sage’s DC suburb parents decided that their nerdy, gamer son should spend a week in the woods to toughen him up. Sage had little interest in things of nature, but they were his parents and this beat the military camp in Annapolis they initially considered. The cabin was pretty nice as cabins go. It had running water and showers and there was glass in the windows and an actual door with hinges and a knob. When his parents informed him that he would be attending a summer camp, Sage envisioned having to sleep on the ground, eat fried worms and repel down rock cliff faces. All Sage wanted to do was play a few computer games and hang out with his friends who did nothing else but sit around their dark bedrooms surrounded by superhero posters. But alas, here he was.

          It was nighttime and lights out had been almost two hours ago. Sage arrived first on Sunday afternoon and claimed a top bunk. He listened to his cabin mates discuss sneaking out. Apparently the counselor was already sacked out in his bunk. He listened intently as they made plans. There were six other people sharing this cabin with two counselors. Sage was uncertain whether or not he was the youngest of the group, but he felt like it. The other boys seemed so much worldlier than he.

          The other boys had planned, with another cabin, to sneak out after lights out and play a game called ‘Catacombs.’ Sage had no idea what the game ‘catacombs’ involved but the name sounded spooky and forbidden. He had never been particularly rebellious, but that name struck a chord in his adolescent brain. Catacombs were the stuff of myth and legend, of death and eternity. Catacombs were to be feared and respected, haunted and avoided.

          There was an old barn on the perimeter of the property that had been chosen as the site of the catacombs. Earlier that day, their cabin combined with another cabin for an outing to the old barn. They’d played a game of hide and go seek which the boys thought was totally ridiculous but the site had spawned this plot. The barn had a labyrinthine system of corridors, gates, posts, walls, partial walls, dirt floor and mostly was shadowy and dark. Even in broad daylight that old barn gave Sage the willies. He couldn’t help but imagine some gruesome murder taking place there sometime in the distant past. It looked like the set to some horror movie. Now his cabin mates were planning to go there at midnight. The worst imaginable evils must lurk there at that time of night. Sage was entranced. He had to be invited to this midnight rendezvous.



He didn’t really know any of the other guys. He never connected well with others. But this catacombs idea was getting in his brain. He steeled up his nerves and leaned over the side. He couldn’t see who was there. There was a faint illumination from the moonlight filtering in through the windows but not enough to make out faces, only vague shadows and silhouettes. The boys below fell silent when they noticed the shadowy outline of a head hovering. One of them gasped and leapt only to be ridiculed by his compatriots.

“Can I go?” Sage asked.

“Yeah,” one of them said, “The code word is ‘pumpkin.’”

“Pumpkin?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

“We leave one at a time. I’ll go first. When I go I’ll tap whoever is next then he’ll tap whoever is next after him. We’ll meet up at the barn. You know the codeword.”

“Okay,” Sage agreed.

“Bring a flashlight but don’t turn it on until you get to the barn. We don’t want to get caught.”

“Okay.”

He sat back on his bunk waiting to be called up with a tap. He turned the codeword over in his mind. Pumpkin had to be the dumbest code word imaginable. It sounded too glib for the occasion. Pumpkins weren’t scary. They might as well have made the code word ‘fountain pen.’ Chainsaw or victim or murder would have made better code words. He reached into his backpack propped against the wall next to him and silently fished out his flashlight. It was a small light that fit easily into the pocket of his cargo shorts. He stowed the flashlight so that it wouldn’t be forgotten.

He heard the first boy leave…then the next…then the next. Then he felt the tap on his ankle. It had been a light tap but Sage flinched anyway. He strained his eyes trying to see in the near pitch blackness. He fumbled his way over to the ladder leading down from the top bunk. He carefully made his way over to the bottom bunk and felt around. He wanted to tap the next boy to let him know. He felt something fleshy.

“Hey!” the other boy whispered, “Get your hand off my pants!”

Sage jerked his hand back, leaned back and smacked his head on the frame of the top bunk.

“Is there anybody else?” Sage asked, rubbing the sore spot on the back of his head.

“No, we’re it.”

“Okay.”

The two boys tiptoed to the door and disappeared into the night. The other boy took off at a trot leaving Sage behind. Sage knew the path to the barn so he didn’t care that whoever it was had left him behind. He was used to getting left. Outside the cabin, the moonlight gave a lot more illumination. The warm summer night was still. Not a leave stirred on the old oak trees that lined the path across the campground to the old barn. The humidity started to seep into his clothes as he walked up the hill. He could see the silhouette of the old barn about half way up the hill, a hundred yards ahead of him. That old barn had to be haunted if ever there was such a thing as a haunted building. Sage’s footsteps slowed as he approached the creaking old building. Its ventilation windows stood open and black. Sage could not see anything or hear anything going on in the building. He checked back over his shoulder. He thought he heard something rustling in the underbrush of the surrounding forest. He could just barely hear the water of the creek rolling over rocks as it passed through the camp. He felt as if he were about to step into oblivion.

    He froze. He heard someone moving in front of him. He could make out a shadow rising in front of him. He was sure all the blood drained from his face as the fear gripped him. The ghost approached. Sage almost wet himself as the terror of the moment seized him. He desperately willed his feet to run to get him out of there and back to the safety of the cabin. His body shook, almost convulsed as the ghost approached.

    “What’s your code?” the ghost asked.

    Sage laughed in relief that it was only a flesh and blood human being like himself.

    The fear had made his mind a blank. It took a few moments of thinking before he remembered his code word.

    “Pumpkin,” he replied.

    “You may enter,” the teenage voice imitated authority.

    Sage had barely gotten his breath back when he approached the wide open barn door. There were a few flashlights inside. Sage remembered his own and pulled his small light from his pocket. He clicked it on and scanned the interior of the barn. He recognized several faces from the camp but he didn’t remember any of their names. His flashlight felt tiny and inadequate in the vast darkness.

    A tall, athletic older teen with sandy blond hair hopped up onto a barrel and called every body's attention. His name was Marshall Erickson.

    “If your code word was ‘pumpkin’, stand over there.” He pointed to an old livestock pen to his left. It was one of many livestock pens whose walls, fences and gates formed the catacombs. “If your code word was scarecrow, go stand over there.” He pointed to an area off to his right.

    He reached up to a beam that ran across the ceiling of the catacombs. He shuffled something and pulled a large glow stick down.

    “This,” he began, “is the target. Team Pumpkin will get it first. Team Scarecrow has to go outside and wait while the Pumpkin hides it. When Team Pumpkin is ready, I will open the door. Team Scarecrow must get the target. If someone from Team Scarecrow gets tagged by someone from Team Pumpkin, you must go back outside and wait by the tree next to the door to get tagged by a member of your own team. Once you are tagged you can get back in the game. Once Team Scarecrow gets the target, the games switches and Team Scarecrow has to hide the target. Got it?”

    Everyone nodded their comprehension. Team Scarecrow exited, Team Pumpkin hid the target and the game began.

    At one point during the game, Sage was crouched in a corner waiting for some Scarecrows to pass by. He has his light turned off to avoid detection. The scarecrows ran by and Sage the pumpkin thought he felt something brush by his face. He yelped and fell backwards into the dirt. “What was that?” His mind raced with infinite possibilities. He stood up and clicked on his light. He screamed. He couldn’t help it. It just happened. Before he knew it was rising in his throat, he let out a high-pitched, girly scream. He was face to face with a bat. The bat appeared to grin back at him for a moment before it flew towards him and zipped up his forehead. It didn’t touch him but came so close he felt the breeze. Sage jumped back and waved his light madly in the air. He stumbled over a bucket and collapsed onto the dirt floor of the catacombs with a thud. He could still feel the bat flurrying and chirping in crazy circles around his head.



“Ahhh!” Sage continued to wave his arms frantically over his head to avoid become a vampire if bitten. An arm swooshed over his head and the bat hurried away. Sage looked up.



“Are you okay?” Marshall asked, helping Sage to his feet.



“I’m fine, thanks for scaring the bat away.”



“It’s cool. I’m glad it didn’t bite you...turn you into a vampire or werewolf or anything.”



Sage smiled, “Me too.”



Someone else swatted him on the arm. It was a Scarecrow.



“Sorry buddy, you’ve got to go outside and wait to be tagged.”



Sage walked away. He cast a look of gratitude at his rescuer. Marshall smiled and returned to monitoring and refereeing the game.



After a few rounds, it was time to switch team roles again.

    “Hey, where’s Marshall?” someone asked.

    Sage and his teammates looked around but didn’t see Marshall.

    “He was just here a minute ago,” someone else piped up.

    “Maybe he went back to his cabin.”

    “No, Marshall wouldn't’ do that.”

    “Then where is he?”

    “I don’t know.”

    “We should split up and look for him.”

    The boys glanced at each other. Marshall was their leader. Without Marshall, no one knew quite what to do. Then a guy named Eddie Howell piped up, “Let’s use our original teams. Pumpkins fan out that way, Scarecrows fan out the other way. I’ll go back to his cabin to make sure he isn’t there. We’re cabin mates so I can find him if he’s there. We’ll meet back here in fifteen minutes. Okay?”

    The boys glanced at each other. The plan made sense and now they had a new leader. The boys knew what they must do. Sage and his group left the barn and proceeded on their route to find Marshall. It didn’t make sense that Marshall would be out here. Marshall knew better. Something wasn’t right. Sage scanned his flashlight back and forth. The trees shown in the bright beam of his flashlight, turned protection and lifeline to sight. He could see bushes and flowers and all the flora of the Appalachian countryside. He stopped. He saw something that didn’t fit with its surroundings. The leaves were disturbed. There was a mound underneath the disturbed leaves. Sage approached with caution. He shone his light behind him to see if there was anyone else. He saw one of the other boys nearby.

    “Psst!” Sage called out. “Pssst!”

    The other boy turned. “What?”

    “I think I found something.”

    “What?”

    “I don’t know. Come look.”

    Donte came and stood next to Sage. Both peered intently at the mound beneath the disturbed leaves.

    “It looks like a...grave.”

    “You don’t think someone killed Marshall and buried him, do you?” Sage stammered.

    “I ain’t stickin’ around to find out.” Donte and Sage turned and ran and fast as they could back toward the barn. They left Marshall in his cold, lonely grave. Donte and Sage stopped just short of the barn where they saw their comrades gathering.

    “We’ve got to call the police,” Sage said.

    “We don’t know what that was.”

    “What else could it be?”

    “I don’t know.”

    “Maybe they found Marshall.”

    They proceeded towards the ring of flashlights, each one creating a ball of illumination around its owner. The guys weren’t saying much. They were mumbling in hushed tones.

    Eric looked at Donte and Sage as they approached.

    “Did you find Marshall?” he asked.

    Sage and Donte looked at each other uneasily.

    “Um,” Sage said, “I’m not sure.”

    “What’s that supposed to mean?”

    “Follow us,” Donte said.

    The huddle turned and followed Donte and Sage back into the forest. The shallow grave wasn’t very far from the barn. The group of boys circled the grave and looked down. A screech owl let out a call from a nearby tree. Eric shone his light around. The beam caught the yellow reflection of some nocturnal animal’s eyes.

    “I don’t like this,” Dylan said, “Let’s get out of here.”

    “We need to find out if it’s really him.”

    Dylan retorted, “I’m not digging up a dead body in the middle of the night. Forget it!”

    “We need to call the police.”

    “I don’t want to.”

    “We have to find out who killed Marshall.”

    “We don’t know if Marshall is dead.”

    “Let the police handle it!”

    “I don’t want to call the police. They’ll have too many questions we can’t answer.”

    “The only question that matters is who killed Marshall.”

    “How do we explain being out here?”

    “I don’t care if we get in trouble with the camp director. I don’t want to go to prison for the rest of my life on a murder charge.”

    “I’m not going to prison.”

    “How do you know that?”

    “I didn’t kill anybody. I was just having fun.”

    An argument ensued about whether or not to involve the police. The concensus was reached that they would walk away. Surely Marshall would turn up soon. They would go back to their cabins and in the morning, it would be as if nothing happened. That was the plan.

    Sage walked back to his cabin from the barn after the group walked back from the gravesite. This was not going to be good. That night, no one involved slept.

    The following morning at role call, Marshall did not respond to the camp director’s announcement of his name. The director called it again, still no Marshall. The director asked if anyone knew where Marshall was. There were several camper who were pretty sure but no one who would claim to know with absolute certainty. After role call, Sage fell behind his troop as they made their way back to the cabin to change into their swimsuits to go to the pool. He couldn’t just sit on this secret any longer. It was eating him alive. He didn’t sleep a bit the night before; he only tossed and turned. Every time he closed his eyes he would see Marshall’s face looking at him after he had shooed the bat away. He had to tell the director. It was the only way to absolve his conscience. The director was opening the door to his living quarters when he heard someone approaching. He turned.

    “Mr. Stone?”

    “Yes,” the director replied.

    “I have to tell you something.”

    “Okay, Sage, what is it?”

    Sage look surprised, he hadn’t expected the director to know his name.

    “Me and some other people were playing a game last night in the old barn.”

    “You aren’t supposed to be out after lights out.”

    “I know. But during the game, Marshall disappeared. We went and looked for him. I found something that I think might be a grave.”

    Mr. Stone’s eyes got wide. “Boy you better not be messing with me.”

    “No sir. I’ll show you.”

    Mr. Stone followed Sage as he ran across the camp ground and up the hill to the old barn. The slightly tubby, middle-aged camp director huffed and puffed as the teenager outpaced him. Sage turned at the barn and followed their path from the night before. With Mr. Stone bringing up the rear, Sage stopped and stared. It hadn’t been a terrible nightmare yet it still was. The grave was still there. The whole thing had not been a figment of his imagination followed by a mass hallucination. The director stared without saying anything. He only breathed heavily as he tried to catch his breath.

    “Why do you think this is Marshall?”

    “He went missing in the middle of the night. I found this place. What else could it be?”

    The director pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “We have to call the police.”

    “Shouldn’t we check first to make sure.”

    “If it is, then this is a crime scene and we don’t want to disturb anything.”

    Sage nodded. He’d seen enough detective TV shows to know that. The director called the police.

    Almost before they could get to the bottom of the hill in front of the old barn, the county sheriff drove through the gate at the front of the property. He pulled up to the camp director.

    “Ted, what’s going on?”

    “We have a missing camper and we think we may have found a grave.”

    “You think it’s the kid’s?”

    “I don’t know. I don’t want to dig it up to find out. I thought it was best to call you. Just in case it was him.”

    The sheriff called in on his radio.

    “Do you have a shovel?”

    “Yes.”

    “Then I guess we’d better get started.”

    Sheriff Tucker turned off the engine and got out of his car. The portly sheriff followed Ted Stone up the hill while Sage was dispatched to get a shovel. A deputy arrived and followed the pair up the hill. Sage came up from behind with two shovels in his hand. He handed one to each of the law officers. They walked over and brushed at the mound with the tips of their shovels. They moved some dirt but didn’t get anything. They dug a little deeper. The grave wasn’t very deep but it was a grave.

    “What is it?” Ted called from behind them, “Do you see anything?”

    “It’s not your missing camper.”

    “Thank God!”

    “It’s a deer carcass. Someone who lives around here must have buried it.”

    “Oh, thank God.” Ted Stone was unspeakably relieved that one of his campers had not been murdered. That would have destroyed the camp. Marshall’s whereabouts were still unknown, but at least they weren’t looking at his murdered corpse.

    “Do you want us to start a search party to look for your missing camper?”

    “I’m going to look around and ask a few questions. If I haven’t turned anything up within an hour or two, I’ll call you. I’m sure he’s around here somewhere. When he is found, he’ll be in a world of trouble.”

    “Okay, then. We’ll ride back to the station and wait to hear from you.”

    Sage and Ted walked back down the hill and Ted went to the dining hall to see if Marshall was hiding there. Sage couldn’t shake the feeling that Marshall was still up around the old barn somewhere. He walked back up the hill and around to the back of the barn.

    “Marshall! Marshall where are you?” Sage yelled. He cupped his hands around his mouth and repeated himself. He paused and listened. He thought he heard something. He walked around and called again. This time he was sure he’d heard something. Then he noticed what appeared to be a hole up ahead. He hurried over to it. It was deep.

    “Marshall!” he called into the hole in the ground.

    “I’m down here” came the faint reply.

    “Marshall!” Sage said again, he laid flat down on the ground and looked down into the hole. It was dark down there.

    “Please get me out of here.”

    “I will.” Sage looked around. I don’t see anything for you to grab onto.”

    “I’m hurt. I think I broke my leg.”

    “I’ll be right back.” Sage trotted off towards the barn. Surely a barn would have a piece of rope or something. He went in and looked around. Sure enough there was a length of rope hanging on a nail about head high on a post. He snatched it down and carried it back out to the hole.

    “What’s this hole doing here?”

    “It’s an abandoned well I guess. I came out here to pee during the game last night and fell in. I think I knocked myself out because the next thing I remember it was morning.”

    Sage dropped the rope into the abandoned well. Marshall grabbed onto it and Sage pulled as hard as he could and for all he was worth.

    He felt the rope burning into his hand. The nylon fibers were like fiery needles stinging but he kept pulling. He had to get Marshall out of that pit. Marshall tried to climb hand over hand but his weight was too great for Sage to bear. Sage felt the leaves sliding beneath his feet. He was inching inexorably towards the pit. He felt Marshall's weight leave the bottom of the well. His feet slid further. He lost his balance and toppled headlong into the well. He smashed into Marshall waiting at the bottom. The two were never heard from again. Nearly twenty summers have come and gone and the walls of that old well have long since caved in. It is said in campfire tales and whispers that on warm summer nights, you can see two vaporous ghosts walking among the oak trees around the old barn. Whether it is Sage and Marshall or merely the wind...