Tunnel

Standard

She wasn’t claustrophobic, she just didn’t like the idea of the entirety of the Thames pressing down upon her head. Squeezing the tunnel, pushing at its round edges, clasping it in a slimy polluted cold grip. Still, all trains were delayed, too late for the ferry, walking was the only way across. She could hear someone else’s steps from below, it gave her courage. She headed not too quickly down the spiralling stairs, counting each step under her breath, and reached the beginning of the tunnel. She started to walk.

An overhead light flickered. As she stopped walking, so did the sound of footsteps from the other side of the tunnel. She noticed she had been alone for a while now. Alone, in dim light, in a tunnel under a river. She felt something gripping at her chest, and made to sprint toward the exit. A sudden gurgling sound startled her, making her stop. As she caught her breath again, she kept hearing the same, repetitive sound coming from somewhere above her. Panic quickly crept its way in as she realised what it was: the slow, regular drip of water, trickling in from the tunnel’s ceiling. She could no longer hear herself breathing, or her heart beating in her chest. All she could hear now was a soft, terrifying drip, drip, drip.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s