Page 8 of Fence

But the mountain from the old stories was real. How was I supposed to give up all those flights of fancy, as Grandma used to call them, when there was proof of the truth of at least these notions right here—over my head, behind my back, all around me?

She would’ve done it herself, if she could have. She’d always sworn up and down that she was happy in America. It was her home, and it was my home, and she was in charge of making sure I grew up well. She’d put on a happy face and promised me that it didn’t matter, that she wouldn’t want to go back to Scotland even if she could.

But I knew better. I could read that burning love of her homeland in her eyes when she told me the legends she’d first heard as a little girl. I could hear it throbbing in her voice. I could just imagine her hiking for miles at a time, probably outpacing me, never tiring.

I was doing it for her, just the way she would have. I couldn’t bring her with me, but I could at least fulfill her dreams.

With that in mind, I pulled the big flashlight from my backpack before slinging it over my shoulders, and decided to go a little further into the cave. Not too far—I didn’t need to piss off any bears or bats or whatever. But wouldn’t it be cool to find some cave drawings or artifacts?

I rolled my eyes at myself, but kept moving, anyway. Like there were thousand-year-old artifacts just waiting for Ciera Rivera to discover them. There was also a bridge in Brooklyn just waiting for me to buy it.

I breathed deep through my nose as I took those first few tentative steps, paying attention to the scents in the air. I didn’t pick up anything that smelled like an animal. It gave me the courage to keep walking, even as the darkness grew deeper and more complete.

Before I knew it, the light from outside the cave was almost completely gone. There was only me, the sound of my breathing, and the steady thumping of my heart.

“What am I doing in here?” I whispered, then jumped when I heard my voice doubling, tripling back.

I was way too keyed up. Being in there, knowing how many hundreds of years of life had passed while the mountain stood, it was all too much. I took a deep breath and chided myself before moving on.

The tunnel widened.

I ran the flashlight over the walls, then the ceiling. It was at least twenty feet over my head, maybe thirty, and there was a good twenty feet in all directions.

I turned in a slow circle, the beam of the flashlight pointed straight in front of me.

The walls were so smooth. That was what caught my attention first. Much smoother than they should’ve been, without a bump or jagged edge in sight. Same with the ceiling.

“What is this place?”

My voice didn’t echo that time. Something absorbed the sound. A chill ran up my spine and covered my arms in goosepimples.

Wherever it was, I was alone. I could feel it just as clearly as I could’ve felt the presence of somebody—or something—else. At least that was what I told myself. It was the only thing that kept my knees from knocking together.

What was going on? I went to the wall and ran my hand over the surface, then rapped against it with my knuckles.

Painted sheetrock, with some sort of substance underneath. Probably to dampen noise and keep moisture from seeping in after it trickled through the mountain.

I could hear it, too, all around me. A constant trickling sound that might have been pleasant, even comforting in any other situation. As it was, it gave me the creeps.

A very large, very anxious part of me said run. Just get the hell out of there and never go back.

A very solid idea—after all, there was no telling who did this, or why. Or whether they’d be back.

Then why did I slide the straps over my shoulders and lower the backpack to the floor?

“Probably because I’m an idiot,” I whispered, hands shaking.

The flashlight’s beam moved back and forth over the walls. And I here I thought I was going to find cave paintings. What a quaint idea.

I forced myself to keep walking deeper into the tunnel, which narrowed again after that room. Was it a room? I had no idea. The walls here were the same as back there.

Until they weren’t.

Until I shone the light on a door.

“Oh, crap.” I had to pee all of a sudden. Desperately.

What the heck was this? I looked back and forth down the hall—because that’s what it was, it wasn’t just a tunnel anymore, it was a hallway—as if I were making sure nobody was watching.

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