Yawkee Storm Sewer by William James Johnson
Before venturing on my detailed discovery of the mysterious man-made hole in the forest, I went to the archives of our local newspaper to see if the location of the well which I had found was where the body of the murdered young girl was recovered. There was no mention of its location except to say there were several of these sewers throughout the surrounding countryside. I decided that I would continue my preparations, even if there was an inherent risk.
One of the great obstacles was the intense blackness in the gaping tunnel once I moved away from the descending stairs. After considering many options, I settled on using candles. I even had an unlimited source of these, called, "vigil lights". These were the small lights in coloured containers in abundance in all Catholic churches. Parishioners who were praying for special favors would buy a candle and light it up. To ensure they would get their money's worth, they preferred to select new candles. For this reason the janitor would remove all used candles and dump in the trash. This became my abundant source, which I loaded into a canvas bag.
It was my intention to find small chunks of floatable wood on which my candles would stand. My scrounging skills were in high gear when I went to a lumber supply yard and told the yard guy that I needed these for a school project. He gave me about 30 cut off pieces of shingles which went into the candle bag.
I rode my bike to Yawkee Bush, and after almost an hour of trudging through the swamp I found the opening. Tentatively I turned my trusty penlight into the void, and began having second thoughts. What if something happened? I hadn't told anyone what I was going to do. At least my bike was up top, within sight of the well. Nothing is going to happen.
My sack of light supplies banged on my back as I went slowly into the unknown. There was about a foot of water in the bottom of the five foot space. This was double what had been here the last time. I could hear surges of water emptying into the tunnel, a long ways off to the right I began splashing as I walked away from the opening. Rats scurried along the edge of the stream trying to get away from me.
Setting the wood carefully, I placed one of my used candles on it which I lit with my dad's lighter I found on his dresser. Suddenly I was startled to see a huddled dark shadow standing behind me. I almost laughed out loud when I realized I was the shadow. It was amazing how far I could see from one candle. With this minimum light, I was not even startled by the number of rodents that swam near my feet. The second candle made me feel like I was in a subway underground.
Ten floating vigil lights spurred my self-confidence. I must have covered a city block in this bleak tunnel. Then without warning, I heard a roaring sound of a torrent of water, flooding the tunnel from where I had begun, sinking each burning candle. No light whatsoever. I could hear the rats panicking, trying to climb my legs.
Keep cool. There's only one way to get out. I had to go back. I had to hurry, because I had no idea what caused the flooding water sound,or how deep it would be. By the time I got back to the steps, rain was pelting down the opening, one of those unexpected summer storms common in our area. The water in the bottom of the well was now waist deep. I looked like a drowned rat by the time I reached my bike. Wet or not, its hard to forget what could've happened. I guess those vigil lights had the power to answer my anxious pleading.
One of the great obstacles was the intense blackness in the gaping tunnel once I moved away from the descending stairs. After considering many options, I settled on using candles. I even had an unlimited source of these, called, "vigil lights". These were the small lights in coloured containers in abundance in all Catholic churches. Parishioners who were praying for special favors would buy a candle and light it up. To ensure they would get their money's worth, they preferred to select new candles. For this reason the janitor would remove all used candles and dump in the trash. This became my abundant source, which I loaded into a canvas bag.
It was my intention to find small chunks of floatable wood on which my candles would stand. My scrounging skills were in high gear when I went to a lumber supply yard and told the yard guy that I needed these for a school project. He gave me about 30 cut off pieces of shingles which went into the candle bag.
I rode my bike to Yawkee Bush, and after almost an hour of trudging through the swamp I found the opening. Tentatively I turned my trusty penlight into the void, and began having second thoughts. What if something happened? I hadn't told anyone what I was going to do. At least my bike was up top, within sight of the well. Nothing is going to happen.
My sack of light supplies banged on my back as I went slowly into the unknown. There was about a foot of water in the bottom of the five foot space. This was double what had been here the last time. I could hear surges of water emptying into the tunnel, a long ways off to the right I began splashing as I walked away from the opening. Rats scurried along the edge of the stream trying to get away from me.
Setting the wood carefully, I placed one of my used candles on it which I lit with my dad's lighter I found on his dresser. Suddenly I was startled to see a huddled dark shadow standing behind me. I almost laughed out loud when I realized I was the shadow. It was amazing how far I could see from one candle. With this minimum light, I was not even startled by the number of rodents that swam near my feet. The second candle made me feel like I was in a subway underground.
Ten floating vigil lights spurred my self-confidence. I must have covered a city block in this bleak tunnel. Then without warning, I heard a roaring sound of a torrent of water, flooding the tunnel from where I had begun, sinking each burning candle. No light whatsoever. I could hear the rats panicking, trying to climb my legs.
Keep cool. There's only one way to get out. I had to go back. I had to hurry, because I had no idea what caused the flooding water sound,or how deep it would be. By the time I got back to the steps, rain was pelting down the opening, one of those unexpected summer storms common in our area. The water in the bottom of the well was now waist deep. I looked like a drowned rat by the time I reached my bike. Wet or not, its hard to forget what could've happened. I guess those vigil lights had the power to answer my anxious pleading.
posted by William Johnson | 10:10 a.m.
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