There were five of us foolish souls that chose to explore the tunnels that fateful night; and there five of us when we emerged from that serial of ebony perversion. Yet the events that took place in those musty catacombs would convince us to never gather the gumption to step foot in them again.

My best friend Jacob had convinced me, his girlfriend Nicole, and our other best friend Matt, to go explore the tunnels under our Summer Camp campus. To guide us through the ancient passageways, we had Tony Orwig, a teenage counselor who was willing to bend the rules and take some restless kids down through abandoned tunnels at the midnight hour. With a lot of scrupulous planning and detailed thought, an “ingenious” scheme was set into play.

Our plans ironed out smoothly. The boys snuck out of their dorms, the one girl hers. We met at the basement of the main building: there was a secret door inside a janitor’s closet that led to the tunnels. Armed with a few trusty flashlights and a walking stick to move obstacles out of our way, we held our breath and entered into an adventure of a lifetime.

My initial step inside, I was overwhelmed with 100% darkness. I flicked on a flashlight: a golden saber sprung forth from the plastic hilt to combat the black hordes.

At first, the journey was boring. There was only a straight path with little scenery save for a few discarded water bottles. However, being ten at the time, I couldn’t help but let my mind refer back to Mother Ella, the cannibalistic islander nun who used to be in charge of the building in the early 1900s when it was a Catholic boarding school. It was said that she had regularly lead her fellow nuns in communion, in which said process they devoured the flesh of slacking students, washing them down with a nip or two of their blood.

So far, I had not spotted any flesh-eating nuns—just dirt.

Then after a long and monotonous walk, we came upon a fork in the path, splitting into two new passageways. We were at a crossroads; and before we could say anything, Jacob dashed left. Like the idiots we all were, we followed.

This new tunnel was damp and earthy, as if it were being kept cool to preserve bodies—a morgue, perhaps. As I went on I felt a faint crunching beneath my feet similar to gravel but not quite. Stopping to shine my light on the soil I saw something gleam; I bent down to take a closer look.

The crunchy object in question was an old fashioned barber blade. Covered with rust and most likely chipped from the impact of my foot, it was a deadly stranger.

An uninvited guest who boisterously knocks down the door in insane anticipation, Mother Ella flashed inside my mind. My activated imagination drew grisly images of the barber blade in my hand carving gruesome abstract in innocent human canvas.

“Guys, look!” I exclaimed in shell-shocked wonder.

Everyone who kept me company examined it; Matt’s eyes mutated into abnormal hubcaps, shiny with a coat of silent fear.

“L-l-let’s just keep on going,” Nicole stammered.

The group nodded their heads in agreement. We continued forward, hoping not to step on any more possible instruments of injury or destruction.

The path continued on for a long while—then there was light. And it wasn’t conjured by our plastic devices of artificial radiance.

Venturing on, we found that light came from an opened door. Feeling unsatisfied with our journey, we went past the door to find a staircase.

“Should we go up?” Tony pondered aloud, basically voicing all our thoughts.

Jacob, in answer, began to climb the staircase. Once again we followed.

Emerging from the tunnels we found ourselves in a deserted chapel. It looked like the one stuck in the middle of the woods, about a quarter mile from the campground.

“Righteous,” Jacob exclaimed, mischief crawling over his face and a grin developing.

We explored the chalky place; it didn’t take much time for us to learn that there was an attic.

“Let’s go in,” Jacob urged.

“Nah,” I said. “I’ve had enough of this place.”

“Don’t be a wimp.”

“I’m not a wimp!” I protested.

“Then go in the attic,” Jacob dared.

“Fine.” I opened the door, the hinges singing a squeaky fanfare.

I was about to power on my flashlight, but realized that it was unnecessary. There was plenty of liquid ivory pooling in from a decent sized window above.

I braved myself forward. I paid little attention to anything. I felt a breeze fluff my shirt. I shivered—in an instant very uncomfortable. I had the feeling I wasn’t alone.

I began to inch my way back. As I did, something bristly licked my neck. Startled, I cried out like a mouse squeezed into a trap. I turned and my heart stopped briefly in my chest.

There was a noose swinging casually above me.

For some weird reason, I yanked it. Probably because I wanted to prove to myself that I was an inanimate object and didn’t symbolize anything, especially death.

Like ringing a doorbell, I received an almost instantaneous response. Fluttering from above descended a discreet silky messenger that halfway resembled a net—or so I thought.

Frightened, thinking that the ghost of Mother Ella was after me, I jerked myself over to the door…then halted midway. I guess I had to check what that object was; my damned curiosity drew me back.

The object lay in a black blob. I nudged it with my foot. It took my mind the intense calculation of about five second to recognize the blob as a commonplace habit that a nun might wear, along with a complimentary robe.

That was it. I got myself the hell out of there and frantically tried to find my way outside; Jacob and the others were running with me shortly.

Never again have I gone into those tunnels, nor do I or the other four who were with me that night plan on it. Mother Ella can keep them to herself.