Sorry

My husband and I are paranormal investigators. Nothing too serious, just something we do on the weekends as a fun way to earn a little extra cash. We always try to find a natural explanation for our experiences, and sometimes that’s exactly what it is - natural occurrences with a little bit of uneasy overreaction.

Sometimes there is no readily available explanation though, and I’d be lying if I told you that’s not the thrill I’m always hoping to find. But when we got the request to check out an abandoned tunnel - a relic from the town’s mining days - I expected that by the end of our investigation, we’d have some scientific explanation of the sounds and the temperature fluctuations and the general “off” feeling visitors reported. It’s underground - that in itself lends itself to some abnormality.

The owner Jeff met us at the entrance.

“Thanks for coming. I don’t expect to get a lot of answers out of this, but I figure it can’t hurt.” It seems like the ones that call us are always skeptical or at least try to come off that way. As usual, I ask the questions and my husband takes notes. In addition to the “wrong” feeling, there have been reports of what feels like pressure baring down on visitors, murmuring voices, and “something” catching on peoples’ pants legs. Typical, but I’m hopeful that we’ll catch something paranormal.

Jeff leaves us to our work, and my husband jokes that we better not get lost down here - a not unreal threat in the dark. We walk for a while, getting accustomed to the lack of light and claustrophobic space. The deeper we get into the tunnel system, the more oppressive the atmosphere gets. Almost thick.

We decide now is a good time to bring out our Spirit Box and start asking questions, hoping that if anything is with us it will use the radio signals to communicate.

“Is there anyone in these tunnels? Did you used to work here?” Nothing.

“Who has been grabbing onto people?”

Static, a low hum, but still nothing decipherable.

“Why are you here?”

Finally, a response. Trap.

“Were you trapped down here? Was there an accident?”

Silence, then sick. So sorry.

“You were sick? Did you get sick down here and get trapped?”

More static, but nothing else comes through. We wait a few more minutes in silence before deciding to head back to the entrance. I resolve to do a little research when I get home and see if there are any reports of any workers being trapped.

We don’t quite make it to the entrance when Jeff appears in front of us. I shine my flashlight towards him, about to ask about any accidents when I see the glint of what looks like a large hunting knife. In his other hand is a coil of rope.

At that moment, I realize what whatever we were communicating with was saying.

Trap.

“I’m so sorry.”