"I'm fine. End of discussion," for the third time.

"Ryan, you know that tunnels aren't safe for you by yourself."

"So if Kevin were here alone instead of me, you'd… what?" He only managed to scratch his head and look at his feet. "Enlighten me Rick—if Kevin was here, and I happened to be home 'sick', what would you tell him?"

"I care about you Ryan; I don't want to see you get hurt down there."

"You didn't answer my question Rick, think carefully, very carefully and take into consideration that I have five years on Kevin."

"You are more experienced Ryan, but…" Rick had been my supervisor for the last seven years, he knew me, and I would be damned before I would give him reasons why I was more qualified. I shouldn't have to justify myself to him.

I hated this. I had a degree in engineering and graduated at the top of my class. Kevin on the other hand barely graduated and was a half-ass who seemed to be 'sick' once a week. He'd been in the biz for about a year and probably wouldn't last much longer. So what in the hell was wrong with me?

"But what Rick? Go ahead and finish it—I'm tired of all the pussyfootin' around. Am I going down or not?"

"You know I care about you Ryan. I just… I just don't want to see you get hurt."

"Five, Rick, tell me in the next five minutes what you want me to do or you can take my job and shove it."

"Okay, okay," he said throwing me a flashlight and a holding out a walkie, "Just make sure you stay connected to the network, or I'm sending someone in after you."

I rolled my eyes and started toward the invert WITHOUT a walkie. It was hot, dry, dusty and worst of all August. A hell month for anyone stuck working outside, or under it, and I was in no mood to deal with this shit right now.

"C'mon, Ryan, don't be like that, you know I don't mean anything by it." Stupid pigheaded Neanderthal of a man. I snatched a walkie off the worker closest to the equipment truck. He raised his eyebrows, turned and smiled. Smart man.

"Rick," I said into the walkie, "I'm going down. If you need me, call. Key word is NEED."

I glanced over my shoulder in time to see him nod before I hopped into the invert. Asshole. The saddest part is that he probably meant well. I hate that. I rolled my eyes again, not that anyone could see me in the dark, in a sewer.

I map sewers for a living. Not an easy job, but not the most difficult either. Usually we run the tunnels as partners, mapping the coordinates as we walk, but today there was no we, because Kevin didn't understand the definition of the word work. This would make the third time this month I had to go down alone, and every time there was someone, usually Rick standing between me and my job, just waiting to argue with me.

I'm a woman. Simple enough, right? Shouldn't cause this many problems. Right. Being a woman is the cause of all of my problems; all the men had this… need (for lack of a better word) to take care of me. Sure. Apparently, at six foot one, I'm still too dainty and fragile to work alone. Sometimes I hate men.

My name is Ryan Carrington Bentley III. As if a name like Ryan Carrington Bentley isn't bad enough, let's tag 'the third' to the end of it. My mother was a nature lover of sorts, and happened to have me out of wedlock—I'll let you connect the dots on that one. And stepping it up a notch, she had the most brilliant idea ever; she named me after my great grandfather. So here I am a six foot one, Amazon-like woman spending my day crawling through sewer tunnels. Glad I'm not claustrophobic.

"I'm so worried about her, Summer; she just needs to settle down."

"But, Misty, she's a big girl. I'm sure she can take care of herself."

"I just want to see her married to some nice young man."

"Now, Misty. You know things are different now—Ryan may not want to settle down with some nice young man. I didn't."

"But that's the natural order of things! Her life is just so unbalanced. All she does is work and go home. She doesn't even have an animal in her house. How can she not have a man in her life? It's just so unnatural!"

"Kids these days—they don't go for natural anymore."

"But natural is just so—so—natural! How can anyone not go for natural?"

"Honey, do you need to come over? Phones are just so... well for lack of a better word, unnatural."

"I'll be right over. You don't mind if I bring Fig-Leaf, do you?"

 

 

 

 

Meanwhile, the nice young man at the headquarters of "Pleasant News", Jezper Jethro Heath, sat at his desk reviewing the newest stories released on the AP wire.

"Why doesn't anything interesting ever happen around here?"

"What do you mean," his doe eyed secretary, Michelle Ford, asked wide-eyed, and innocent.

"News is all car crashes, fatalities, and obituaries. It's never anything interesting," He said as he leaned back in his chair and propped his socked feet on his keyboard, "When is the next time something notorious will happen in Point Pleasant. God even the name is boring."

"But Mr. Heath, this is Pleasant News—"

"Pleasant? News isn't supposed to be 'pleasant'! There hasn't been a true breaking story since those four Mothmen sightings thirty years ago. Now that was news—complete with hysteria and everything. Wouldn't it have been great to be a reporter back then? Back in those days….."

"Were you really a reporter 30 years ago? You look really good for your age."

"Yeah, I'm 31 now. I got an early start."

"Wow, what was it like back then?"

He rolled his eyes and continued reading. Michelle stood expectantly.

"Don't you have work to do somewhere?"

She looked disappointed and turned to leave.

"WAIT! Found something," he said dropping all but a page to the floor. "Point Pleasant park to be built on the out parcel of land adjoining the old North Point Power Plant property. Get this, they propose building a day care center on the old TNT testing site."

Michelle looked blank.

"You know, TNT?"

She still looked blank.

"TNT, the stuff that go BOOM?"

Still blank.

Jezper opened his mouth to explain, and then shut it abruptly. To explain would take more patience and time than he had.

He looked over the page one last time. "Holy shit—operations began last week. Only the feds could keep something this big under wraps." He pulled on his shoes.

"Michelle, clear my schedule for the afternoon. I'm gonna go visit some old friends."

"What friends are you gonna go visit?" She asked innocently.

 

 

 

 

 

Shit. Gallons of it. Everywhere--in my ears, congealing in my bra, sloshing in shoes. Ever had the chance to squish shit between your toes? Not as fun as it sounds.

It was just my luck to have a valve burst above my head. Gallons of shit cascaded over me. It felt kinda like explosive diarrhea. But I'm in luck; at least all of my shots are up to date, I hope.

Oh, great. Now I'm covered in puke, too. But, at least, I know it's mine.

"You O.K. down there, RC?"

It was Rob. I actually like Rob, so I answered.

"No."

"What's wrong?"

"Valve didn't hold. They're made to hold, right?"

"Shit."

"You have no idea, Rob."

"You close to an exit?"

"Yeah, a few meters ahead. I think it opens into a factory."

"Sure you wanna go into the factory? Parts of it are still active."

"There's nothing in the factory that ain't flowin' under it."

"Well, o.k."

"Is there any way you can meet me with a couple gallons of water and some clothes, or at least a towel?"

"No problem."

"Oh, and, Rob? I've lost my keys, and I don't think I'm willing to swim around and find them. You still got my spare?"

"Yeah."

"With you?"

"Yeah, are you going to need a copy?"

"Of course, you don't think someone will fish my keys out of a cesspool of shit and mail them to me in the next couple of days do you?"

"I suppose not."

"Can you get my bag out of my trunk? I have some clothes---"

"For days when shit happens?" Rob thought he was being cute. I didn't. Once he realized that I was in no mood to deal with his wiseass comments, he laughed and said, "I'll get it."

"Thanks." I think it sounded colder than I meant.

Just a few more feet, the ladder doesn't look that bad. It's probably—what—15 feet straight up. I'll be fine if I take it slow. I just hope I can pop the hatch at the top. If the warehouse is out of commission they may have bolted down the drains and the man hole covers.

Shit. I was half-way up and now I'm down again. As if the shit and puke weren't enough, now I'm bleeding. I skinned my knees, palms and my chin. I am sooo gonna need a tetanus shot after this. At least my hep shots are up to date. Damn ladder just broke. Whole rung just pulled off in my hand. At least I have a weapon now, but what the hell do I need a weapon for? The shit monster already attacked me. I suppose I should leave it at the base of the ladder as a warning. I just hope there are no more surprises waiting for me.

Taking it slow. Really slow. First five out of the way, next five out of the way and the five after that. At the top, popping the hatch. I don't believe it, it opened.

It actually opened.

First things first, my clothes are coming off. This is just not the time to be modest—I might be a little upset if RC brings an audience. Clothes and shoes are all off. Should I drop them back down the hole… might seem suspicious, but it sure beats the hell out of taking them with me. Glad I don't spend lots of money on work clothes.

There's a breeze. There is nothing better than a breeze when you find yourself covered in shit. Trust me. But now I'm cold, and now the shit's drying. My hair is matted to my skull, the shit is under my fingernails and it's stuck in places shit was never supposed to go. Great. I'm in the middle of an abandoned, possibly radioactive, warehouse covered in blood, vomit, and shit. But, ya know what? I just don't care.

I look around, you know, just to see what might be in the room with me. There are grimy looking windows near the top of the walls, probably two stories up, but the sun is bright today so I can see pretty well. The room looks empty, but I see something shiny on the far wall.

Ooh, valves. Shiny chrome water valves. I hope there's still water. It's probably cold, but it's better than blood, vomit and shit, so I'll take my chances.

I'll try the hot water first. If it works, or doesn't work, there's no point in trying the cold. See, I'm smart that way. The showerhead spits and sputters, but in a few seconds it runs warm and is getting warmer. Probably because it's radioactive, but I still don't give a damn. I hope Rob comes in alone, 'cause if he brings an audience, I swear I'll----

Fuckin' hell, something just moved. I can see all the corners but one. Please tell me I didn't stir up a family of rats. Just what I need, to be naked, blood, vomit and shit covered, in a radioactive warehouse surrounded by radioactive rats.

The floorboards are creaking upstairs. The thing in the room with me moved again. Damn, that's a big fuckin' rat. It has to be a rat. It's just radioactive. If I close my eyes, it'll go away. Right?

I can't keep my eyes closed forever. Guess I might actually like to see what's going to eat me before I die. Probably a radioactive rat.

Floor boards continue to snap above me. "Hey, Rob, I'm down here!" My voice echoed loudly. There was a flurry of red, brown and gold before I shut my eyes again. Then something fell from the ceiling, with lots of dust. There was crash a few feet to my left. Then there was nothing but the sound of the water running.

"Hiya, babe. You're the story I've been waiting for my whole life." I washed the dust from my face and looked up. Some guy is standing in the middle of what used to be a desk. He dusted himself off and held out his hand for me to shake. He seemed nice enough, so I didn't slap it away, but I didn't shake it either. I was too busy trying to figure out who the hell he was, and you know, I was like, naked.

"I'm Jezper Heath. My friends call me JJ," he said, dropping his hand, but giving me a very thorough once-over –twice-over—with his eyes.

He wasn't terrible looking. Maybe a little skinny, but he was taller than me. That's always a plus.

"Friends, huh? Do you actually have any of those, Stretch?" RC said, bursting through the entrance.

"Robert Cameron Parker. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Friends call me RC, but it's still Robert to you."

"And I suppose you actually have those," Jezper shot back pathetically.

"Yeah, actually I do. Ryan is a very close friend of mine."

Jezper's eyes rounded.

"Here are your clothes, babe," Rob said, passing me a towel and my overnight bag. I always carry a bag in my car in case shit happens. Literally. And Rob has a spare key. I tend to lose mine regularly.

"So whacha doin' down here, Stretch?" RC asks.

"My job. I'm a journalist, remember?"

"Oh, that's what you call it these days."

"Guys, I am fed up with the macho shit."

"So that's what the smell is," Jezper sniffed theatrically.

"Give me my clothes and get out of my shower."

"The last time I checked, this was government property. I have as much right to be here as you two."

"Just get the fuck outta my face."

"Who pissed—oh, sorry, shit-- in your grits this morning?"

At this point I have already dried off. And, I know, I should have been the bigger person here, but I just couldn't help myself. I threw my now shit-covered towel in his face.

"Oh, look at that. I got shit on that nice white shirt. I am such a klutz, sometimes."

"Good. That made him leave," RC commented as Jezper stomped off in a huff.

"Rob, don't start. You're just as bad as he is."

"Am not."

"Are too," God, now they had me acting three, "Look, I just don't have the time for this right now, let me have at least 50 showers, some sleep, and then we'll talk okay? I just wanna go home and crash. Don't be surprised if I call into work in the morning."

He nodded and totally ruined my day by saying, "Oh, forgot to mention that your mother called… she kinda wants you to drop by your Aunt Summer's for dinner."

Perfect. Like I hadn't had enough craziness for one day. "Rob, just take me home please. I'll deal with mother later." I was really bad off, I even said 'please'.

"We'll be home in a snap. I even put plastic on the seats."

Only Rob.

 

 

 

As if dinner with my mother wasn't bad enough—I had to deal with Aunt Summer.

So, about a thousand showers later and after 3 gallons of mouthwash, I got dressed for dinner, in something not even remotely resembling what I had on for work. I just couldn't stomach wearing clothes similar to those that got covered in shit. Sue me.

"Oh, honey! How was your day at work?" Mother crooned, in a voice not unlike that of a dying cat.

"Shitty."

"Ryan, such language is not appreciated in Aunt Summer's home, dear. You know it upsets the balance of the cosmos. It's bad karma, dear."

Now, allow me to explain about my mother and "Aunt" Summer. Mother was a bit of a hippy in her day, but Mother doesn't appreciate the word 'hippy'. She calls herself a 'Child of Balance'. 'Hippy' is what you are when you've eaten too many sweets, and you need to 'reduce', whatever the hell that means. You have to understand that my mother was raised by two very stiff-necked, stuffy, proper people. My wonderful grandparents, Grandmother Corrine and Grandfather William, were very wealthy and very pretentious. It was only natural that they would have a loon for a child. Of course, too much order would drive me crazy, too.

And then there's "Aunt" Summer, while mother's true name is, Margaret Ashley Bentley "Aunt Summer's real name is Angela Renae Overstoker. She's no relation to mother at all. Actually, she and mother met in a commune built for "Children of Balance". I think that Aunt Summer is part of a legacy of loons; her father started the commune, aptly named: Happy Valley.

A few years ago, it was converted. It's an institute for the criminally insane now. The government decided since all the nuts were already in one place, might as well lock 'em in. You think I'm joking, don't you? Mom still swears the padding on the walls was strictly for meditation purposes, and that special jackets helped clear the mind. And this worked because, I quote, "Use of the hands stifles the ability of the mind to connect with the SOURCE." I'll explain the 'SOURCE' later.

"I hope you're hungry, dear. Aunt Summer made her special wheat germ surprise and kelp tarts." Boy, am I glad I went grocery shopping yesterday. Kelp tarts on top of shit will really hit the spot, and wheat germ surprise tastes like shit anyway. Believe me, I know.

"Oh, honey, how are you?" Aunt summer cooed as she rounded the corner. I planned to reply, but mother cut me short.

"Are you seeing anyone dear? You know humans were meant to live in sets."

"All hail the SOURCE," Mother and Aunt Summer intoned in synch.

Forgot to mention that Mother and Aunt Summer are "Sisters of the SOURCE" which is some very creepy cosmic stuff.

"I hope everyone's very hungry I made a lot of food tonight, I hope our special guest arrives soon," Aunt Summer said cheerfully.

"Special guest?" I ask annoyed at being left from the loop.

"Sure dear. You see, this nice young man helped me out to the car with my groceries the other day. And I started talking about you, and he talked about how he would like to meet you so I invited him over. He was such a nice young man, and good-looking too."

"Why didn't you tell me that you invited someone else over?"

"Because she was afraid you wouldn't show up Ryan," Aunt Summer said taking a seat out on the patio, "Anyway, what will it hurt you to meet a nice young man once in a while? Unless that's not your thing." I suppose now's a good time to mention that Mother and Aunt Summer are 'sister's of a different sort—and they quite enjoy communing together if you know what I mean.

"It is my thing, but I don't appreciate being left in the dark! Enough of my day's already been spent in the dark—now who the hell did you invite over?"

"Please pardon her oh great SOURCE, she does not know the blasphemy of that which she speaks," Mother and Aunt Summer intone in synch again. I rolled my eyes as they made some fucked up drawing in the air above their heads. I crossed my arms and waited for them to finish their ritual.

"You'll just have to wait until he arrives, dear."

Great, a surprise. I just love surprises. I was surprised earlier when a valve decided not to hold—no, I really love surprises.

Aunt Summer was always a bit paranoid; years ago, when she bought the house she loosened a few of the floorboards on the front porch. Her way of telling friend from foe: anyone who tripped or fell obviously wasn't a friend. Yet.

"Oh dear! That must be him! Summer get a bag of ice ready!" Mother hurried to the door at the sound of a hollow thud. I stood still leaning in the doorway with my arms crossed. If mother expected me to fall in love with some stranger lying in a clumsy heap on the front porch, she'd lost her mind. Possibly a bad choice of words, but it was true.

About that time Fig Leaf, the nervous schizoid ankle-biting Chihuahua went nutz and pissed in the floor. Such a brave animal. Meanwhile, Aunt Summer's cat, Dogwood, climbed up the curtains and pounced over to sit on the door frame, she flicked her little white tail in anticipation, if the guest that walked through, fresh meat. But I couldn't blame her, If I lived off of homemade tofu cat food I might go a touch crazy once in a while too. I still believe the only reason she doesn't attack any of us, is because she's grown to love us. No joke.

"Oh I'm, so sorry," Mother said sweetly, "You'll have to excuse the porch, Summer's just never gotten around to fixing it."

"That's quite alright Ms. Dawn. If she ever needs a handyman, she's welcome to call me." The man's voice was familiar, but I just couldn't place it.

"You're too sweet, and please dear, call me Misty."

"Yes ma'am"