Five Seconds

Above them, far away, the 3 o’clock train moaned. It was a wonder they heard it, but you could always hear the train. It was relentless.

“Are you gonna do it or what?”

“Turn on the flashlight again.”

“Don’t be a baby.” Scotty put an edge in his voice, like Aaron had told him.

“I’m not a baby,” Derek snapped. “I just can’t get the lighter to work.”

In the sticky darkness, the flint clicked. Again. After two or three tries, the anemic flame whimpered into life, but it did little more than emphasize the shadows it cast across Derek’s face.

“Where’s the candle?” he said.

“In front of you,” Scotty said. “Curt, you got the stopwatch?”

“Yep,” Curt said from somewhere. The train whistled again. At home, in bed, it sounded mournful, lost. In the tunnel, it was like the howling of wolves. Far away. Getting closer.

Derek leaned forward and the fire surged as it leeched onto the huge, black candle they’d found there. Scotty hadn’t known it would be there, had brought his own, but the thick black one seemed more appropriate, so they were using that.

There was another, fainter click as Curt started the watch.

“Where is she?” Derek said.

“Look,” Scotty said, pointing. In the coughing light, the old storm drain stretched unevenly. Branches and trash reared up, catching the darkness and clinging to it. The dancing shadows suggested the graffiti they all knew was there but none of them could really see.

“Back there.”

“Where?” His voice broke.

“You don’t see her? In the back?”

“Blow it out,” Curt said and Derek blew, like he was exhaling darkness.

After a minute, he said, “Five seconds isn’t enough. I couldn’t see anything.”

“Those are the rules,” Scotty said.

“Whose rules?”

“What do you mean whose rules? They’re just the rules. After five seconds, she gets you.”

“That’s stupid.”

“I didn’t make the rules. You’re just mad you didn’t see her.”

Curt coughed.

“Can we go now?” he said.

“I wanna look again,” Derek said. “Where she’s supposed to be?” Scotty smiled. It was working.

Making his face earnest again, he flicked on the flashlight and desaturated light assaulted the tunnel. Spray-painted pentagrams and expletives leered at them between even stranger pictures and foreign words, a toxic history laid bare in the LED glow. Animal bones hugged the detritus on the floor in weirdly intentional patterns, peeking through trash and branches dragged out by the rain. The black candle—brought by some unknown hand—stood on an upturned cinder block that someone had painted a sloppy red. Beyond the light, the dark blur of the tunnel loomed like a throat.

They stared. Scotty knew kids had been coming here for years, but clearly so had others. Maybe some who took the story more seriously. He shook himself.

“See that garbage bag?” he said, pointing.

“Yeah.”

He turned off the light.

“Do it,” he said.

The ensuing clicks were like the communication of some giant insect. Above, the train whistle answered. With the tunnel and the wind outside, it was hard to tell how far away it was. Maybe closer, maybe not.

“Ready?” Derek said when he had it.

“Go,” Curt said, starting the watch. The candle flared again and the yellow light scrabbled around.

“I don’t see it,” Derek said. “Is that the garbage bag?”

“Blow it out,” Curt said urgently. Derek hesitated, so Scotty leaned over and did it.

“Can we go now?” Curt said.

“Are you guys screwing with me?” Derek said.

“Why would we do that?” Scotty said. “It’s real. I saw her. Do it again.”

It only took one click this time. Scotty watched the candle accept the flame.

“Scotty,” Curt hissed.

“What?”

“I see her,” Derek said, his tone completely flat.

Scotty looked up and swallowed his own breath.

She stood by the garbage bag, just as he had lied that she would. Vague and anorexic, a limp-looking woman in tattered monochrome, like she was somehow unaware of the orange flame.

“Blow it out,” Curt cried.

Scotty stared and again, Derek hesitated, so this time, Curt lunged in. In the dark, they were suddenly breathing heavily, like the shadows were oxygen.

“The light,” Derek exhaled.

Scotty fumbled with the switch and the tunnel sprang out to meet it. The brownish images on the walls were exotic and sinister, but there was no sign of the woman. A wisp of smoke lingered above the candle. They sat, panting and staring. The light shook it Scotty’s hand.

“What was that?” Curt said finally.

“I thought you said you’d seen her before,” Derek said.

Scotty didn’t answer. The train was definitely getting closer.

Suddenly, Curt laughed, a nervous, inappropriate sound.

“Derek,” he said. “She looked like your mom.”

The silence became heavy and Scotty leaned over and punched him in the arm.

“Ow,” Curt said, flushing with anger. “What was that for?”

Scotty scowled.

“Dude. His mom is dying,” he hissed in Curt’s ear.

Curt opened his mouth, then looked at Derek, then slowly into the tunnel. Then he turned on Scotty.

 “How was I supposed to know that?” He paused for a second, his mouth slack, then said softly, “You didn’t tell me that. Then what the hell are we doing here?”

Derek had told Scotty at lunch the day before. When he came the table, he just sat, staring at his corn dog and the little cup of fruit.

“What’s wrong?” Scotty said finally. Derek looked up blankly.

“My mom,” he said. “She…just told me she…has cancer. In her brain. She doesn’t know how…long.” He started crying. “I’m so afraid,” he said.

Scotty stared at him, then said he need to pee and left as quickly as he could.

Later, he told his brother Aaron while they were raking leaves in the back yard. The cool fall air amplified the crackling of the leaves, but the sound lingered, trapped around them by the cold. Far away, the train moaned.

“What the hell am I supposed to do?” Scotty said.

Aaron shrugged.

“Give him something else.”

“What?”

Aaron leaned on his rake and considered.

“You ever hear about the Tunnel Witch, out on old Buck’s Farm?” he said. “You know, the five second rule?”

“Blow out the light in five seconds or she gets you,” Scotty said.

“That’s it.”

“You ever done it?”

“Sure, when I was your age.”

“You ever see her?”

“Of course not. No one ever does, except a friend of a friend or something somebody heard. Dad says the cops are always running kids off there, or worse. But here’s the thing.” He grinned. “You take Derek out there. Let him light a candle. Pretend you see so he does it again and again. Let him be brave.” He started raking again. “It won’t change anything, but it’ll let him be in control for a bit. Show his fear who’s boss. Maybe it’ll help.”

Scotty grinned too and went to call Curt.

“Turn off the light,” Derek said, staring at the bag of trash.

“What?

“I’m doing it again.”

“Derek, it’s not your mom,” Curt said. “I was just messing with you. I didn’t know.”

“Turn off the light.”

“We gotta go,” Scotty said. He felt like the graffiti was watching him.

Derek grabbed the flashlight, drowning them in darkness again. Scotty lunged, then froze at the scraping sound of the metal tube rolling down the tunnel behind them.

“What did you do?”

“I’m doing it again.”

The lighter flickered and the candle flared. She was there again, closer this time. Unnaturally still. She wasn’t watching them. She was staring at the floor. Scotty forced himself to look. She was familiar somehow, but she didn’t really look like Derek’s mom.

But Derek said, “Mom?” Then it was dark again.

“What’d you do?” Derek shouted.

“Five seconds,” Curt said weakly.

The lighter clicked.

“Derek, it’s not your mom,” Scotty said.

“Shut up.” The ground began to rumble. The lighter clicked and the fire exposed her again. She was closer and this time, she was looking at Derek, a pleading smile on her gaunt face. He stared back hungrily, tears squeezing from his eyes.

“Mom?” he pleaded.

She didn’t look otherworldly and that was the worst part. She looked real, like she was really standing there with a kind of hunger in her dark eyes. She was solid, physical. They could have reached out and touched her. She lifted a hand to touch them.

“Derek, no.” Scotty lunged toward the candle, but Derek pushed him back.

“Mom?” he whispered.

Quaking thunder suddenly roared into the tunnel as above, the train arrived. The woman’s smile was cruel now.

Curt rushed in, brandishing the stopwatch that was sweeping past nine seconds, but Derek punched him in the face. Scotty fell to the quivering concrete, his hands over his ears. Someone was screaming, but he closed his eyes. The last thing he saw was the woman, her lips parted in a grin. Bits of dust shook loose from the ceiling. He tried to collapse into himself.

When he gradually heard Curt whimpering, “Blow it out,” over and over again, he looked up reluctantly. It was dark.

“Curt?” he said.

“Blow it out.”

“Derek?”

“Blow it out,” Curt said.

Scotty put his hand out, then recoiled. Someone was next to him.

“Derek?” He sat up. Frantically he felt around until he found the lighter. He flicked it on, but Derek’s face was inert with dead terror beside him.

“Blow it out,” Curt whispered. “Blow it out.”

Scotty sat back, letting the fire go. He began to weep.

Above them, the train cooed into the distance.