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Satan’s Lair

Mel Waldman

    My father warned me and my friends to stay away from the tunnels of Satan’s Lair. But we went there anyway. We live in Orangeburg, New York. On that fateful August day, we drove to the top of Clausland Mountain. The mountain has miles of secret tunnels built by the army a long time ago. I’ve heard rumors the army built a secret base throughout the mountain during World War I.
    Dad told us the mountain also has secret caverns and passageways and plenty of corpses. “It’s an evil place. A Satanic cult goes there to practice dark rituals. Do you understand, boys?”
    We looked quizzically at Dad.
    “In those tunnels, there have been plenty of suicides and homicides.”
    Dad scared the hell out of us. And yet, we were drawn to the mountain and its horrific secrets.

    We found a marked trail on top of a cliff and followed it down the mountain for what seemed an eternity. And we came to the dark tunnels of Satan’s Lair.
    It was 3 o’clock on a dog day afternoon. An oppressive sprawling sun lit up the mountain. Yet we were about to enter an evil place that belonged to another season, another time.
    Only fifteen, I was the youngest and 4th boy to enter the tunnel we chose to explore. Joe, a tough, rebellious, stocky seventeen-year-old boy, had a flashlight and so did I. Joe led the way, pointing his flashlight into the pitch-black darkness. Tom and Bill, two lanky sixteen-year-old kids, followed Joe, and I followed Bill into the eerie darkness.
    We slithered through the tunnel and even with my flashlight, I became disoriented. I don’t know how long we were inside. But I wanted to turn back. Joe ordered us to keep moving. And so we did.
    Silently, I panicked, overwhelmed by a crippling claustrophobia that gripped my throat and choked me. “Let’s go back,” I begged. But Joe laughed maniacally and so did Tom and Bill. We continued on.
    Now, time seemed frozen and soon, the temperature dropped suddenly and drastically.
    “Let’s go back, Joe!” I cried out. “It’s freezing in here.”
    “Soon, Johnny. Soon.”
    Tom and Bill complained. But Joe ordered us to keep moving.
    Suddenly, we heard Joe’s frightening screams. “Help!” he cried out. A few minutes later, Tom cried out. And then I heard Bill’s shrieks, followed by a long, ominous silence.

    I came to an illuminated, tomblike room filled with fresh and old corpses sprawled across the icy floor. The room contained dozens of skeletons too. Above me, a dead man, with a tight noose around his broken neck, swung back and forth. The old man’s noose was attached to a long, thick rope tied to a ten-foot ceiling.
    I stood up and searched the room. No sign of my buddies. But in the far corner, I saw a large hole in the wall. I moved gingerly toward it, but stopped short when I heard the howling wind and monstrous shrieks coming from inside the hole. Still a dark, powerful force was pulling me into the hole.
    “Joe, Bill, Tom!” I cried out. But I heard only deafening, inhuman sounds, as I leaped backwards away from the magnetic hole, perhaps a black hole or wormhole or Hell itself.

    “I’ll come back for you, old buddies,” I shouted. Then I turned around and crawled into the dark tunnel. I slithered toward the outside world. Behind me, thundering, alien sounds followed me into the tunnel. Would I live to see the sun rise another day? Would I find my way home? Listening to the silent voices of my friends, I kept moving toward freedom and life.

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