The symbolic underground

I've found myself ironically lodged in archetype more times than I can count, It’s why I don’t feel cold when I shiver, why I venture forth into the night my own company without fear of consequence. A terrible numbness takes me to darkened tunnels like a mystery cultist looking to catch sight of an old god. There is no call to the supernatural aside from my own companionship with the night that draws me to dark, underground places, an externalized symbolic yearning. 

"it's beautiful" 

I was invigorated after a lengthy session of study, the air crisply autumnal, leaves lining the streets and framing the Italianate houses in a manner picturesque enough to be confused with a Halloween film set. 

"Look" I followed my friend's skyward gesture at the spider weaving her web beneath the muddled orange of a lamppost. "she's there in the middle"

The web glistened against the harsh artificial light like an allegory of omen and synchronicity. Though saccharinely wax poetic in theory, I considered my passive identification of archetype and assignments of literary meaning more a personal search for symbol than anything. "do you think that's a microcosm of human connection?" I teased, earning a wry laugh. "oh, definitely. I think it is" 

Progressively the houses became more elaborate in their adornments; styrofoam tombstones, wraiths suspended from tree limbs. Giant skeletons and life sized sized demonic likenesses posted on otherwise manicured lawns like deitic effigies, one strikingly similar to Pazuzu's infamous visage, minus the serpent phallus. 

I thought of the stories these roads allegedly held. Though newer than Rome, the human entrenchment in myth prevailed. 

"there's an alleged phantom car" I began, the heavy footfalls of my platforms and the whooshing of passing vehicles backtracking my amused recounting of what I'd heard the previous weekend. 

"a phantom car?" . 

"yeah!" Mirth colored my words at my friend's exasperated incredulity. Though we found ourselves skeptics to such matters, I seemed to have a greater enjoyment for the drama of subject. 

"they were talking about it.They said there was some kind of old cop car but it's wheels were like, six inches off the ground, and went down the street" I held in my amusement at the scoff my statement earned as I panned my phone camera to my companion's disdainful countenance. 

Pleased with my retelling, a giggle escaped my lips. "yup. True story, bro." 

The park was secluded and unduly bright under the full unobscured moon, we didn't seem to be in company. Before seeking out the forked path we ventured to the deck lining the submerged quarry. I shone my flashlight into the gray water, the whooping of voices interrupting our preponderance of the night. 

"we have company" I smothered the beam with my palm, swiveling the beacon to an off position. A pregnant pause.

"I think it's kids" I decided. 

"yeah, it doesn't sound like real people."  I scoffed at his comment as we continued our trek, the light covering of dried leaves underfoot mitigating any attempt at stealth. A snapping twig from somewhere behind us hastened our pace. 

"this looks like the fucking Blair witch." The trees formed a menacing archway over the sloped path and for the first time that night I felt a vague sense of unease. I shook off the feeling after a few cursory glances over my shoulder, not seeing any especially obvious signs of pursuit. 

"what if this ended like the Blair witch?" My friend commented to which I snorted. 

"wouldn't it be funny if I said that and then it happened." 

"don't say that!" my laugh was hushed as we went down the passage parting the thicket. It seemed an easier journey than the one we'd made previously by day, the branches less intrusive as though intentionally alcoved for curious nocturnal visitors who dared to enter the forest's maw by night. 

"you know," He began.

"the only reason I'm here right now is because I know if I didn't come with you would just go alone." 

I scoffed, casting the light into a tangle of branches to the left. 

"I dunno, I'm not that dumb." 

Finally, the tunnel came into sight. I could not help the water that flooded my briefly submerged boot as I stepped from the embankment to a concrete ledge in the tunnel, finding it a better alternative to falling into the creek or slipping on one of pond-slick stones. I regarded the heavily graffitied walls with my flashlight with the same sense of mysticism as someone examining a crypt, like it were some catacomb of the midwest.

"sick"

The water was gray and murky, the atmosphere surprisingly serene and disarming, though I would occasionally cast the light to the end as though I expected a peering figure to spectate us from the opposing mouth. Squatting, I readied my camera. The whine and click of the contraption followed by a temporarily blinding flash of light alerted me to the vapor leaving my parted lips despite the unremarkable temperature. 

"You see the vapor from my breath?" I breathed against the yellow fluorescent of the beam, like a cigarette on a cold day, vapor billowed from my lips. 

"that's some supernatural type shit right there." It occurred to me that there might be some kind of irregularity In the tunnel's airflow, something accounting for the numerous stories of ethereal whispers heard by night. While I resumed my comfortable crouch, my companion retained amore antsy and guarded posture standing behind me, arms crossed. I was surprised he had made it thus far, him being far less inclined to nightly sojourns. A sound in the forest behind us drew both of our attention.

"was that you?"

"no, that was not me." I confirmed, standing up and dusting my knees of concrete debris. 

"can you point the light from where the fucking noise came from?" he requested sharply to which I rolled my eyes. 

"Where'd it come from?" He remained silent, unable to answer the question as I bounced the arc of the flashlight around the trees to assuage him. 

"it's time to go" He made his way from the ledge back to the embankment, his height and anxiety allowing him to cross the creek swiftly. I stuffed my camera back into my bag and grasped the tunnel wall as I followed. 

I tried to distract him from the sudden onset of panic that seemed to have overtaken him. "The tunnel is known for the noises-" 

"it's time to go, okay?" I bristled at the sharpness of his tone and that he had taken my consolation as protest but said nothing, knowing he was flighty and short when anxiously roused. As I stepped from the concrete ledge into the shallow water, a strange whisper briefly caressed my left ear, incoherent, but not faint. It was as though someone had leaned over my shoulder and leaned in intimately to tell me something through the veil; which one was anyones guess. I compartmentalized it as an effect of the tunnel's acoustics as we prodded back up the embankment back up into the channel of trees. Sounds of pursuit ensued with no visible source, the light doing nothing to reveal the source of the sound as I turned back. Perhaps an animal, perhaps something else. But it was nothing of the human variety which was what would have truly garnered my concern. 

He was shaky, restless once we reached the clearing. We caught each others gazes as another twig snapped somewhere behind us. "oh god, anywhere else you wanna go?" He asked, hugging his windbreaker tightly around him. I laughed softly. 

"I think I need to change my socks." 

_____

"we need to go back and see if we can find a way in through the other side without going over the tracks." He said, at ease under the lamplit streets.

"yeah, I'll have to ask around how." 

I was preoccupied by my encounter at the tunnel. I knew I had to return under the cover of night like a patron seeking an oracle, a small part of me wanted to believe there was something more to the whispers than some clinically disinteresting mechanic like air pressure. I entertained the thought we'd been followed out of the part by a restless spirit and found the notion more romantic than unnerving. It made sense to me, in some deeply arcane way why I would want to return. I hoped that I might enter a tryst with the supernatural by entering the symbolic underground and come out anew, my own antique rite and journey to the underworld. Perhaps this is why again and again I find myself in the clutches of the night, sneaking away as though it were a lover to me, driven by an abstract sense of yearning I don't fully understand, seeking counsel and revelation from nocturnal agents of the subterrain.