This is part three, and the finale, of this year's mini series! You can read part two here.
Anton dropped his bag down the shaft. After jimmying the outside doors, evading city employees and security, and going in a general downward direction, he had found it; the Plague Tunnels of Port Astor. He then dropped down himself, kicking up dust that hasn’t seen the light of day in nearly a century. Anton turned on his headlamp, which only stubbornly obliged. It revealed where he was; in the alley way between two buildings. As he stepped out into the forgotten street, he could make out one of the ancient signs; “ARTHUR’S IMPORTS & RARE BOOKS”. He cleared some of the dust from the window, which hung in the heavy air.
He shined a light into the store, and as he did, an immense clamor was heard
from within. Anton jumped back, and would have screamed if he hadn’t stifled
it. He was, after all, trespassing. The shop door was still in place, and
secured with a mighty iron padlock, and a rather fearsome plague warning still
attached firmly to the door. Instead, he put his face up to the window to peer
inside. The store was a mess, and whatever happened kicked up much of the fine
powder, making the whole seen looking like the interior of a snow globe.
He began to regret his choices. Sweat seeped out of him, and with no breeze,
his shirt was soon awash, and fit to him like second skin. And to that, the
dust began to coat him in layers. Still, he had come to this place with
purpose. He switched on his video recording app, and began to roll.
Terrified as he now was, Anton was still engrossed. Even back then, the red
bricks of Port Astor pervaded the scenery, nearly everywhere. With the dim
light of his head lamp, the redness stained every feature not claimed by the
dark. The old streets were eerie in their stillness. The only sounds were of
Anton’s own plodding, and heavy breathing.
Above him, they had decapitated many of the buildings, leaving only the ground
levels. It gave the space a strangely liminal quality; the trappings of
urbanity, sidewalks, signs, and shops, but darkened by the enormous crown of
steel and concrete above. When he left this place, Anton would be the first
person to upload real footage of these spaces. He shuddered at the thought.
How ever emotional he was, Anton wanted to make sure he got a number of
stand-out shots; not just grainy stills to add to the junk bin of internet
folklore and creepypastas. From old maps and photos, he knew there had been a
large apartment building nearby where he entered. He thought that it could be a
gold mine of still-life scenes, frozen from the Plague of 1930. He reached
where he thought it had been, and upon the door was crudely carved the words
“SANDRA, I AM SORRY.”
He slowly opened the door, revealing the lobby. The walls once a series of
rich, dark wood paneling now left to molder in ancient dust of themselves. He
saw the remains of the lobby stairs, which now led straight into the cement
bottom of the Sea Wall sublevels. Anton’s boots made soft thuds against the
deep dust and dirt. When he tried to move the coating, he saw the now-dulled
sheen of the old terrazzo flooring.
Anton saw what looked like the business office for the building. The room was
umbral within, the black almost taking on a physicality. Anton’s headlamp began
to flicker, which prompted him to remove and perform light percussive
maintenance. As he began to hit it, the light fluxed, and in a sudden flash, it
illuminated a pal, gaunt figure in the doorframe, before just as suddenly
blinking from sight.
Now Anton really did scream, and suddenly felt that he now had more than ample
footage, or at least he could figure something out in editing. He ran to the
exit, and found that it would not budge. He violently rattled the door, when he
heard a faint voice, desiccated and impossibly dry: “…S-saaandraaa”. Anton
threw himself at the door with full-force, knocking it off its hinges. In a mad
flailing, he scrambled to his feet and fled through the dark, his headlamp
shaking flickering as he took flight.
Anton tried to retrace his steps in the panic. He stopped at an intersection,
craning his head wildly trying to parse direction. He saw the bookstore, and
knew his salvation was near. He bolted again after hearing a loud, rasping
wheeze in the darkness behind him. He turned the corner into the alley, and the
light coming from the shaft where he entered in from, running to it. With a
loud, metallic clanging, it suddenly disappeared. “NO, NO, NO!” Anton begged
loudly.
Anton wailed loudly and sharply: “Please, someone let me up! Please, someon-“
he suddenly stopped. He heard the dry breathing behind him. He turned around,
shaking and with muffled sobbing, and saw it in the full light of his headlamp;
a dried husk, with hollowed and shriveled eyes, “S-saaandraaa” it coughed.
Anton howled a futile shriek as his headlamp finally failed, the light now leaving him forever.
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From the author: Thank you so much for making it to the end! This was a series that I have wanted to make for some time, and I am so happy with how it turned out!
Have a wonderful Halloween, and be good to yourselves out there.
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