‘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 everything 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 went 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 surprise 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 sounded 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 damaged 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 inside. ‘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 they 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 peered 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 and 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 if 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 with 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 for 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.’ Something 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 the 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, Joe
Rogan, usually, or Duncan Trussell. 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 something 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 swear 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 back?’ 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 against 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 once 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
parked 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 myself 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? Or 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 would 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 the 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 photos,
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 archway 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 excitedly 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
under 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 to 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.’ ‘You 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 his 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 realised 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 moment 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 house. 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 around 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 along 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 taking 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 little 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 hallway 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, and 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 anxiously, 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 distracted 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 floor 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 the 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 right
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 with 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, but 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 say 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 steeply 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 across 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 dark. 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 somehow 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 desperately 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 in 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 electric 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 finally 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 never 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.
