Episode 8 - A Shadowed Fraternity

The Narrator:
Welcome back, dear listener, to Tales Beneath the Surface, a serialised journey into the unknown..goodness back to that old saw, my my how long has it been? short pause/clock ticking My word drifting off again! That’s two episodes in a row haha Well well there are plenty of jaunts to take around the gloomy corners of this imagination, that’s for damn sure. I find touring the city helpful to air it out, shake loose some of the detritus cluttering up the place wistful sigh so many journeys started, so many unfinished..Though, you wouldn’t catch me dead driving, it’s hackney carriages or my own two feet, got to get your daily constitutional in after all. piss taking/ scoffing I’ve heard that some unfortunate souls have to delve deep underground, riding through the earth in electrified cylinders, ghastly. It makes me wonder though, what else could be crawling through the muck.

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Rite of Passage

JASON NARRATION:
It was my first day on the job, well night on the job to be totally accurate - working in the tunnels of The London Underground wasn’t the kind of thing you could do during the day. Over 5 million people pour through those tunnels under this city, all the main line work needs to be done at night once it’s empty and we can move around without worrying about a train coming by.

It wasn’t easy landing this job. So many hoops to jump through, and the old boy’s network kept the opportunities mostly to themselves. Nothing sinister, mind. Just when a job came up they’d usually fill it themselves, brothers, uncles, mates, that kind of thing. The underground was notorious for this but once you’re in, you’re in. It still has one of the most powerful unions in the country and regardless of whatever shite you heard about them in the news, they looked after their own. But I am not one of them, well, not yet.

Musical break

I arrive kitted out in my orange hi vis, there’s a bite in the air and the drizzle is making the pavement slick and shiny. I’m not the first though, a few of the lads are grouped together near the entrance trying to get out of the rain. They’re talking amongst themselves, and I join in. They seem like a good bunch, the usual subjects - football, family, the weather, nothing too deep. I try a joke about commuting to work, to work on the commuter line which gets some groans, I think I’m fitting in. The last thing they need to know about is my engineering degree. I don’t want to come off as a smartass - they’ve got decades of on the job experience between them and a lot of my studies were on computer models and CAD, not much use fixing a rail down a hole, under the ground.

There’s a food van parked up alongside the station: Graft & Grub it’s called, guessing they follow the crew around this bit of town, get a surprisingly decent coffee and a bacon roll while we’re waiting to be called down. More arrive, now there’s a sea of orange with hard hats bobbing along on a side street in Wapping. Seems like the banter’s good here, small playful jabs being thrown around with a lot of laughter.

One group stays separate, not joining in keeping themselves to themselves. I asked one of the lads but he wasn’t sure, thought they were Polish or possibly Bulgarian? Either way they’d started before him so not from any recent influx, they’d been on the lines for years. I managed to sidle round and catch a bit of muttered conversation on the way to get another coffee, definitely not Polish, grandad was Polish and taught me enough to get by, and it doesn’t sound like Bulgarian either. Most of them look related, fathers, sons, brothers, uncles. Guess it’s just that old boy’s network branching out across the continent, nepotism knows no borders. I catch a couple of eyes, greet them with a nod and a smile and get nothing back, not the most welcoming bunch so I leave them to it, can’t be friends with everyone after all. Still, there’s something about them.

music break

The gates open, and we pour in, an empty tube station is a strange place. I wasn’t expecting it to feel so odd, but there’s something about seeing a transient space emptied of passengers and filled with workers, just, well, hanging around. I guess I’d never really paid attention to it before, funny, guess I’d been too busy moving, thinking about my destination.

The guv’nor rounds us up shortly after, I manage to gulp my coffee without burning myself, first time for everything, as he passes out jobs for the night: Track Maintenance & Inspection, Tunnel Wall Checks, Third Rail Testing, Drainage Clearance, and Signal Box Repairs, standard stuff.

The escalators were still. All you could hear was the heavy metal trudge of our boots as we went deeper. We were speaking about the night ahead, splitting the tasks the guv’nor gave us into jobs for teams of one or two. I paused once we got to platform level, everyone else was happy enough jumping straight onto the tracks but something held me back for a moment. All the warnings when I was a kid, those old rail safety films, Jesus, still faces of kids acting dead, ghoulish. One of the lads saw me pause and smiled, I guess it’s a pretty common reaction.

We were down in the tunnels leading to Rotherhithe under the Thames. This was the first tunnel successfully built underneath a navigable river. Brunel’s father pulled it off, a phenomenal engineering feat back in the day. It feels like I’m walking through history, though I don’t mention it to the lads, they probably know it already or don’t care to find out.

I’ve got a simple job, makes sense for a first day, basic maintenance really, just surveying one of the tunnel’s cladding and marking down anything that looks in need of repair. It’ll get collated at the end of the shift then fixed up over the next few days. There’s a smell I wasn’t expecting down here. The dust and sharp tang of ozone from electrical discharge is strong but that isn’t it, there’s a damp, dank smell like that kicked up from a stagnant pond when you wade through it, throwing up all the mud. I mention it to one of the others but they shrug it off and, now I think about it, doesn’t seem that unusual for a tunnel under a river to smell a bit, well, swampy.

The smell’s particularly strong in front of a fenced off section of tunnel, guessing it’s part of the old foot tunnel, only used in emergencies these days. As I head towards it for a closer look the old Bulgarian lad with a face like a knuckle steps in front me, his hands raised.

audio note: tunnel echo when people talk in the tunnel

VLAH:
“No go!”

JASON NARRATION:
He said in a thick accent, sounding hostile, he looks in his late 70s, but still looks like he could mix it up. There’s warning signage all over the barriers but being technical crew we should have full access.

JASON:
“OK mate was just having a look” I say

JASON NARRATION:
A few of his mates gather around grandad in a loose knot blocking off the tunnel entrance and there’s an unspoken threat in the air. Their body language is aggressive. I’m backing away, hands raised in front of me, getting ready to run or fight before Roy steps in.

ROY:
“It’s okay VLAH, he’s new! This way mate”
He says to me, moving me away from them.

JASON:
“What’s their problem?!”

ROY:
“That’s a good question, one I’ve never bothered to try and find out, they’re just like this. Trust me, don’t rub them up the wrong way”

JASON:
“Yeah, no way, I wasn’t even trying anything! I was just looking! That’s all”

ROY:
“Yeah they’re a funny bunch but they know what they’re doing and they’re hard workers, after a while you’ll realize there’s worse things to deal with than someone being funny about a bit of tunnel”

JASON:
“Where are they from? I can’t place their accents, it’s familiar but slightly off”

ROY:
“I don’t know, their English ain’t great, I thought they were Polish but we had Polish lads down here a while back and they said they weren’t.” sighs

ROY:
“Look mate after a while you just learn to stop asking questions, I’ve been down here for 30 years and, you see that old fella over there, well, he was here when I started. There’s enough health and safety regs down here to keep you busy so don’t worry about them, they get the job done”

Jason:
“Alright, I get ya, I get ya.”

music break

JASON NARRATION:
We worked that section of tunnels for the rest of the week, I kept away from them but there was still a tension in the air, it seemed like every time I turned around I’d catch one of them watching me mumbling under his breath. They didn’t even try to hide it, they’d hold the stare for a moment then look lazily away. There was also this graffiti, must’ve been done by bored crew members because no one else could get down this deep. It didn’t look like any kind of tag I’d seen before, if anything it reminded me of warning signs but in a language I didn’t understand. Scratchings and etchings on the walls could be from Victorian times when it was still a foot tunnel, who knows. I didn’t ask any of the lads - decided to follow Roy’s advice and focus on the work. It even seemed to work on the others - after a couple of days they stopped watching me. Roy was right too, they knew what they were about, working hard and without any fuss. I tried talking to a couple, they always seem to work in twos, but they were uninterested - just grunted and moved away. Strangest thing, though, I could hear them talking to themselves in a low rumble. Repeating some phrases over and over. Back and forth, call and response, rhyming and finishing each other’s parts.

music break

JASON NARRATION:
The last night everything changed. Just a small crew this time, all we had left was clear up and work logging, and we’d be done.

Fog hung thick around the station entrance. Since the food van had moved on there was nothing blocking our shadows, they loomed crazily as we milled about getting ready to go down. It made me feel uneasy, it was….eerie, looking back it makes sense now.

Altogether it was me, a couple of supervisors and then a few of the other bunch, they knew this section of tunnel better than anyone else so we followed. It was a quiet shift to start with; the only chat was about the tasks at hand.

I was paired up with two of them, they didn’t seem happy about it. I spent the first half of the shift trailing behind them as they set about the work with dour resignation. Now I was closer and there was no conversation going, I could hear them clearly.

mantra break

Both of them were muttering some kind of mantra or prayer, it wasn’t the same but it sounded like two parts of the same piece, their words weaving together and pulsing out a rhythm they worked and walked by.

I thought about asking them but decided to wait till we were back up top side, the tunnel walls were closer than before, I could feel the weight of the river and all the mud lining its bed.

As we got closer to the blocked off area from my first day I saw them tense, freeze in place.

I got closer and saw what made them pause. The barriers over the old passage entrance had been smashed apart. There was splintered wood and crumpled metal strewn across the tunnel floor and our lights picked out gouges in the brick portal leading into the gloom It looked like someone had gone at it with a crowbar or jackhammer, hacking out lumps of brick.

BULGARIAN 1:
“You, go back, get VLAH, we go in”

JASON:
: “What? Why? You know who did this? Have we got vandals down here?”

BULGARIAN 2:
“Yes, vandal, get VLAH, hurry, not safe, go!”

JASON:
“What do you mean?”

BULGARIAN 1:
“Not safe. We can’t… protect you. Go!”

As he said this, a horrendous sound rolled out of the passage mouth. It was a scream or howl of… spite and agony, clawing at my ears and spiking through my skull.

BULGARIAN 1:
“GO”

JASON NARRATION:
He shoved me away and I ran. Risking a glance over my shoulder, I saw both of them rooting through their packs, shouting their rhymes against the cacophony filling the tunnel.

Tense music break and heavy breathing as he runs

JASON NARRATION:
I don’t know how long it took, sweaty stumbling, running to get back,

JASON:
“VLAH breathing, VLAH something… I. Back there, a sound, a scream, where the old tunnel is, you’ve got to hurry, the other 2 are there, they’re going in”

JASON NARRATION:
His face turned white under the grime and he pulled me close.

VLAH:
“You show, help me, my legs are old, we must hurry”

JASON NARRATION:
Fear sent a geyser up my spine threatening to spill out in foamy bile. I bit down and swallowed it back, shuddering once then nodding, accepting his hand to pull myself to my feet. Time telescoped as we travelled back to the entrance, the air still… silent.

fx a burning flair

VLAH:
“Hold this” as he passed over a guttering flair burning with purplish light.

VLAH:
“We go in”

JASON:
“Fuck that, what dya mean ‘We’?!”

VLAH:
“We go in”

JASON NARRATION:
And then he left me, stepping into the gloom. I left it longer than I’m happy to admit, then followed inside behind him. The tunnel was dank and the walls were slick with green-black slime, the only sound - the squelching steps of our boots across the muddy floor and my panting breaths pulled in panicked and fast.

JASON:
“What the fuck is..”

VLAH:
“Be. Quiet”

JASON NARRATION:
Glyphs were gouged into the brick and humped clumps of slime bled from the tears. It felt like I was walking down a giant’s throat whose corrupted diet was poisoning it from the inside. The smell of marshland rot held us like a fist, and I felt my stomach flip again. I couldn’t stop it this time. By the time I’d stopped retching, his flare was a flicker round a corner and I hurried to catch up.

There was a deep buzzing growing around me, the music of monstrous insects I couldn’t see and dreaded to meet. I rounded the corner and came into a vast open space, the roof disappearing, climbing into shadow. There was red everywhere. Red and parts, parts of a body. One of those lads was in… pieces strewn across the floor. The other was slumped nearby, one arm twisted behind him, leaking blood into the mud. VLAH stood planted, resolute in the centre of the room, both arms extended, one hand clutching a barbed metal cross, the other the flare.

He was screaming litanies of hate, his voice doubled, tripled, somehow layering in harmony, at the roiling mass of cloud pouring from the well mouth, thrashing limbs bursting out from it and whipping towards him. None reached him, they sketched out a circle around him in the ground. It was too much, the sound was crushing in on me from all sides and blood poured from my mouth till I heard a rasping voice from the slumped man beside me.

BULGARIAN 1:
“Take”

JASON NARRATION:
There was a lumpy wooden club in his one unbroken hand. It was wrapped around with thorns that cut into his palm trickling blood down his wrist to drop from his elbow.

BULGARIAN 1:
“You. Must. Take”

JASON NARRATION:
His eyes shone with holy fervour… I couldn’t refuse. The barbs bit into my skin and set my blood burning as the club exploded into a towering pyre, filling the room with purple light. The buzzing was drowned in the singing of a… a choir as I stepped up next to the old man. Words spilled from my lips drawn out by something deep within me and the cloud exploded out in a final desperate denial. The claws ripped and tore at the air in front of us hungry for our flesh. Then it was gone, sucked back down into the dark, a metal cover clanging down from above and sealing it in. The adrenaline dump had me bent over and puking again. The old man turned to me and spoke and I understood every word.

VLAH:
“There are darker things than man can dream deep within the earth. We are a part of those that try to keep them there. Now that you’ve seen, you can’t unsee, you’re not one of us, not yet, but there’s time”

JASON NARRATION:
He pulled me back to my feet and we headed back above ground holding the injured man between us. We left the other guy down there. VLAH sprinkled some sweet smelling oil over his remains and lit it. It burnt the body to ash in a heartbeat with the sound of ringing bells. Made sense at the time, I’m not so sure now. Nobody said anything up top even though we were a man down. There was some unspoken understanding even with the supervisors. As I went to leave one of them grabbed me by the shoulder, looked me in the eye and told me take a couple of weeks off, decompress, that someone will knock for me and if it gets too much to call.

JASON NARRATION:
A couple of weeks went by without me noticing, I was in a daze. The only thing I was sure of was that I wasn’t going back underground. Then there was a knock on the door and there was VLAH, the injured man with his arm in a sling behind him. They said it was time to come back and I realised it was true. Something clicked into place in my head as I realised that was where I was meant to be. I’ve been back a month now getting nods and the occasional smile from VLAH’s lot. They’ve given out next week’s job list and I’m with them. We’re going under at Baker street, down to the service tunnels, the oldest passages on the line. They were sealed up after the war but some things don’t stay buried down there. On the day I see VLAH by the entrance and he offers me his hand, like Roy said, after a while you stop asking questions, as I smiled and shook it.

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The Narrator:
You just can’t beat a sense of belonging, of family, even if it seems you wouldn’t fit… wistful no I suppose you can’t, well, that’s something I want to grow with you, dear listener, now you are my new family. pause and return to normal pace Though, my god! Imagine that living in a tunnel next to the one you whip along every day on the way to your daily toil uncomfortable shiver no, no thank you, I for one would rather not. Still it may turn out you don’t have a choice who your neighbours are or the passengers that ride along with you, much like a family fate puts you together, puts us together, whether we like it or not. After all, reality writes itself.