Tunnel of Secrets (5 page)

“Am I dreaming, or did we just chase a ghoul into a train station and then watch a homeless guy disappear into a locker like Houdini?” I asked Frank.

“That’s it!” Frank exclaimed. “When Houdini disappeared, it was usually with the help of a well-disguised trapdoor.”

I watched as Frank tapped along the sides and bottom of the tin locker. Finally he hit something that sounded hollow toward the back panel.

Frank was right. Behind the panel there was a hole with a ladder that stretched down into the pitch dark below.

This wasn’t a locker. It was a gateway to the underworld.

U
NFORTUNATELY, WHEN GHOUL-BOY
took Joe’s bag, he also got his headlamp, so we had to use the flashlights on our phones, which weren’t superbright. By the time we’d shone them into the hole at the back of the locker, Sal was already long gone. “Here goes nothing,” I said as Joe and I crawled inside, closed the door behind us, and began climbing down the ladder into darkness.

The ladder descended about a story before we hit the ground. The first thing I saw when we reached the bottom were train tracks.

“We must be in an old train tunnel under the station,” I observed.

“From the looks of it, it hasn’t been used for trains in a long time.” Joe
tapped on the dingy brick wall that sealed off the old tunnel from the station, then pointed his light down the tunnel in the opposite direction, where the track continued before vanishing around a bend. “I guess we’re going that way.”

“This tunnel must be from the old Central Station before they renovated it around the middle of last century,” I said as we walked. “I remember reading about it. They kept the building because it was historically significant, but they put in a whole new track system. I guess they must have just sealed off some of the old ones and forgot about them.”

“Man, the Urbex guys would get a huge rush out of this,” Joe said. “How many people get to explore a place the rest of the world doesn’t even know exists?”

“Delia said Sal spent a lot of time exploring under Bayport when he was still an engineer, so it makes sense he knew this was here,” I noted as we approached the bend. “I wonder what else he discovered.”

“I think we’re about to find out,” Joe said, pointing to the light that suddenly appeared at the end of the tunnel.

“That can’t be fluorescent light, can it?” I asked as we got closer.

“That’s what it looks like.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” I said. “There shouldn’t be any working electricity down here. No one’s used these tunnels for decades.”

“Tell that to them,” Joe said as we stepped out of the tunnel.

We were standing at the entrance to a large open space where a few different tracks converged, like a subterranean rail yard of some kind—only it had been entirely transformed into a bustling underground town!

The entire place was illuminated by modern lighting suspended from the ceiling. There were a bunch of people going about their daily business below. A guy I recognized as a local panhandler sat on a bench reading a newspaper, while a couple of scruffy old men played chess nearby. On the other side of the train platform a pair of young punks with multicolored Mohawks played with a dog, while a trio of women lounged in lawn chairs on a patch of artificial turf in front of an old train car. The “lawn” even had a white picket fence. More train cars stretched into the distance.

“This must have been the depot where they parked the trains,” I speculated.

“Only the trains have been turned into condos!” Joe said, pointing at the lights in the windows and the shadows of people milling about inside.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” I replied. “Half the city’s homeless population must live down here.”

“I’ve heard of homeless people living in the abandoned subway tunnels under New York City,” Joe said. “Urban explorers call them mole people. But who knew we had them right here in Bayport?!”

“Hey, we aren’t moles!” a squeaky voice piped up.

We turned to see a scraggly bald man in a Christmas sweater poking an angry finger in our direction.

“And who are you calling homeless?” Another man in a well-worn secondhand suit said in a more friendly, albeit very deep and gravelly, voice. The man smiled and gestured at the train cars. “We have homes. You’re looking at them.”

“We didn’t mean to offend you,” I said. “We’re actually really impressed!”

“Yeah, this place isn’t mole-like at all,” Joe added.

“We like it. It gives us a peaceful shelter from the cruel world above,” Mr. Gravelly Voice said. “It can be hard for a guy to get a fair shake up there. People looking down at you, trying to deny you your rightful place in the world. Nope, civilization aboveground isn’t always very civil to people like Curly and me, is it, Curly?”

“No sirree, Zeke. It’s a hornet’s nest of greedalistic oppressionalism, is what I always say,” said squeaky-voiced Curly, whose hair may have very well been curly at one point, although there wasn’t enough of it left to tell.

“How is it you boys managed to stumble upon our humble abode?” Zeke asked. “Not that I’m accusing you of hassling us, but we don’t normally get many visitors down here.”

“Actually, we were trying to find someone who might live down here. His name is Sal. Do you know him?” I asked.

“Hmm, let me think. Quiet, crazy type, right?” Zeke asked with a gravelly laugh. “Sure. Everyone knows Sal. He’s
the one who built this place. Or at least the one who wired it for electricity.”

“Sal did? Really?” Joe asked. “It’s incredible that he did all this without anybody finding out about it.”

I had to agree. Delia hadn’t been lying about Sal being a gifted engineer.

“Yup. Guy’s a certified genius. We even have working plumbing down here,” Zeke said.

“And the Internet and six hundred thirty-seven channels of cable TV!” Curly chimed in.

“You don’t mind me asking what it is you wanted with Sal, do you?” Zeke asked. “I don’t mean to sound suspicious. It’s just that Sal isn’t exactly the socializing type. He can be a bit . . .”

“Certifiably bonkers?” Curly interjected.

“I was going to say ‘unstable,’ but that works too,” Zeke continued. “Most folks down here are of the opinion that it’s safer just to stay away from him, if you get my drift.”

I didn’t like it, but I got it. Sal might be dangerous. Which made it even more important that we find him.

“Actually, we have a mutual friend who is in trouble, and he may be able to help us find her,” I said, cautious about revealing too much. Zeke seemed friendly, but it was never a good idea to give up information during an investigation.

“You must be talking about that missing Hixson girl. The one who’s been all over the news?” Zeke must have seen the surprised look on our faces when he guessed right.

“Saw
Sal walking around with one of the missing persons flyers the other day,” Zeke explained. “It’s a cruel world up there.” He shook his head sympathetically. “I hope you find her.”

“Do you know where Sal is now?” Joe asked hopefully.

“Nope, that’s the last time I saw him. Sal can be a hard one to find if he doesn’t want to be found. Just sorta comes and goes as he pleases. I don’t mean to talk ill of the man after he’s done so much for all of us down here, but he’s not exactly the warm and cuddly type. Kinda creeps the rest of us out, if you want to know. No one really knows his story, and that makes people uncomfortable.”

We did know his story, at least part of it, and it didn’t make me any more comfortable. “You said Sal told you how to find this place?” Zeke eyed us suspiciously.

“Not exactly,” I admitted sheepishly.

“We kind of followed him,” Joe added.

“Huh,” Zeke said, looking concerned. “Not like Sal to let himself be followed, but he’s been a little more off than usual lately. Hey, Curly!” Zeke called out to his friend, who had wandered off to throw away an empty soda bottle. “You seen Sal?”

“Not today,” called back Curly, who had started rooting around in the green recycling bin next to the trash can, pulling out pieces of garbage and tossing them into the black trash can next to it.

“People keep putting trash in with the recyclables,” he
grumbled. “We may live underground, but we still have to worry about the environment up there. Take that earthquake that swallowed up the Admiral this morning. My house shook so hard I thought it was going to jump right off the track.”

Curly yanked another item of trash from the recycling bin, only this one wasn’t trash at all. It was Joe’s gear bag!

“Hey, that’s mine!” Joe grabbed it from him and yanked it open. But I could already tell from how light it seemed that what he was looking for wasn’t there.

“The key,” Joe gasped. “It’s gone!”

D
ID ANYONE SEE WHO THREW
this out?” I demanded.

Zeke shrugged.

“Wasn’t me,” Curly said. “I would have thrown it in the trash. Everyone knows this type of fabric isn’t recyclable.”

I locked eyes with my brother. There were only a couple of ways my bag could have made it from the ghoul’s hands to this recycling bin: either the ghoul had used the same locker as Sal to make its getaway, or Sal and the ghoul were one and the same.

“Um, this may seem like a strange question, but you guys didn’t happen to see someone in a red robe with, uh, a beak, did you?” Frank asked.

Curly gasped and dove behind the trash can.

“You mean the ghosts?” Zeke asked matter-of-factly. “Sure, people see them all the time.” He wasn’t joking. “I’ve never seen one personally, but you hear stories about the ghosts and ghouls that haunt these old tunnels. You said you saw one yourself, right, Curly?”

“Sure did,” Curly said, peeking from behind the trash can. “Came right up and stole my sandwich when it thought I wasn’t looking.”

“Um, what do they do besides steal sandwiches?” I asked, not sure if I really wanted to know the answer.

“They’re the Admiral’s minions, of course,” declared Curly. “They protect his treasure from thieves.”

Frank and I stared at Curly, dumbfounded. Treasure? Sal had written about the Admiral’s treasure when he and Delia had their argument before the press conference. Zeke leaned in to whisper, “Curly’s a deck or two short, if you know what I mean. Folks think they see things sometimes, but it’s mostly just imaginations running wild.”

“You tell that to my sandwich!” Curly huffed.

I knew Frank was trying to process the same thing I was. Sal had said the Admiral’s ghost kidnapped Layla and was holding her captive in the Secret City. It sounded crazy, but so did the fact that we were standing in the middle of an underground city conversing with a couple of mole people. Had we actually stumbled on the very place Sal was talking about?

“This place isn’t called the Secret City, is it?” I asked.

“Well, technically, I guess it is a secret, although it might be a little generous to call it a city,” Zeke said. “So, no.”

Before I had a chance to get too bummed, Zeke offered a new ray of hope. “But I think I may know how to get to the place you boys are looking for. . . .”

This was it—the next big clue!

“Just follow the rainbow past Oz and hang a right at Hogwarts. You can’t miss it.”

Or not.

Zeke guffawed, clearly amused with himself. “I’m sorry, boys, I just couldn’t help myself. Somebody’s been pulling your leg. A mythical haunted city under Bayport? Preposterous! The place you’re talking about isn’t any realer than the ghosts who stole poor Curly’s sandwich.”

“It isn’t a joke, Zeke,” Curly said, turning to us. “It’s where the Admiral keeps his treasure. Deep underground, a lot deeper than here, though no one knows exactly where—at least, no one who’s alive to tell about it.”

Curly looked over his shoulder and lowered his voice to a whisper. “The only ones who know how to find it are the ghosts that live there, and they make sure to keep it that way. Some say just speaking its name is enough to bring their curse down on you. Once that happens, well, they might let you live, but you’ll wish they hadn’t.”

I gulped. I didn’t actually believe in ghosts, of course, but down in those abandoned tunnels after the masked
whatever-it-was had attacked us in the library and with Layla missing—well, it was enough to make even a levelheaded guy like me want to start sleeping with a night-light.

“Take my advice,” Curly warned. “Forget all about that place and go back up there where it’s safe and sunny. You seem like nice boys, and I don’t want to see you dead. Or worse.”

Curly gave us a frightened look, then hurried back to his boxcar condo, slamming the door, bolting the lock, and shutting the blinds.

“Well, that’s reassuring,” I said.

“Scientifically speaking, there’s no evidence to suggest that paranormal phenomena like the ones Curly described could even exist,” Frank said, sounding less confident than I think he meant to.

Zeke just looked amused. “I wouldn’t let Curly scare you boys too much. Like I said—it’s preposterous! But . . . who knows? Maybe he’s right. There are many tunnels and passageways running under Bayport. The ones that everyone aboveground has been all excited about lately aren’t the half of it. Who knows what you’d see down there if you searched hard enough? Although I suspect all you’d find are cobwebs and sewer rats.”

Whatever lay ahead, we had an obligation to Layla to investigate. So far all the crazy components of this case seemed to point back to one person, and I figured that person was a good place to start.

“Um,
Zeke, if we did want to find Sal, where would we look?” I asked.

Zeke thought for a moment. “Well, I guess you could leave him a note.”

“A note?” Frank asked.

“Sure. Sal’s kind of like the maintenance guy around here, only he doesn’t like talking to people, so he keeps a lockbox for folks to put requests when something needs to be fixed. Like running wires for a new resident or when HBO is on the fritz. Just take that tunnel to the junction and you’ll see it on the wall.”