text: The following is an absurdist story I wrote in five minute intervals as I waited for my boss to finish talking to clients. I mow lawns, and just like Dillan, discover all kind of strange objects hidden in the grass. Hope you weren't expecting a happy ending. &#x200B; Dillan hated mowing the Petersons lawn. It was always grossly overgrown no matter how often he mowed. Pulling into the cracked concrete driveway, Dillan parked his car and pulled the mower from the trailer. There's always things that get caught in the mower, fumed Dillan as walked the mower through the broken hinged gate. Last time it was a high heel, the time before a doll head. How does it all get there? Pushing the mower through the knee high grass felt like wading through quick sand. The grass was so dense Dillan had to rip some out just to allow the mower to spin freely and start. In the corner of his eye, Dillan saw a curtain in the house move, although it was difficult to see anything through the cobwebbed window. Probably a squatter, Dillan thought to himself as he began shoving the mower inches at a time. Apparently the previous owner went to jail for murder, although some people thought he was never caught. Of course the authorities would not say that, even if it were the truth. Nobody liked the idea of a murderer on the loose, and Dillan did not like the idea of mowing his lawn. When the mower caught and stalled for the fifth time, Dillan took off the catcher and threw it across the yard. Instead of the quiet landing in the cushioning grass, there was a clag of metal against metal. Dillan waded through the grass towards the catcher. Two steps before he reached it, he kicked what felt to be a solid metal dome. Curiosity replaced the pain in his toes, and so Dillan began eagerly ripping the grass to uncover what was beneath. Roots crisscrossed, making it impossible to target one ropey length of grass. When he fell back yanking a two meter green rope from the grass, Dillan went back to the car to find secateurs. As he turned his back, what Dillan had thought was but a green rope began to slither away. With the secateurs in hand, a hole grass was quickly cut through the grass netting. Snip after snip the object beneath began to reveal itself. First to emerge from the grass was a handle, which wrapped around the metal manhole. Dillan grabbed the handle and heaved it clockwise. At first there was a squeak, then a groan as the lock gave way. When he turned the handle all it could go, Dillan pulled up. It took three goes until he found where the hinges were. On the forth he pulled so hard that he fell backwards, leaving the solid metal lid to fall inches away from his leg. Dillan stood up and brushed rust debris from his hands. He looked around the backyard to see if anyone was looking, then he looked down the tunnel he had just uncovered. A cool breeze blew from inside, calling him. Just one peek, thought Dillan, and then I'll get back to this lawn. One careful step at a time, Dillan descended down the tunnel, away from all light. Any second now, he'd touch the bottom. Any second. The deeper Dillan went into the tunnel the more his curiosity grew, as did his fear. He saw the dot of light dissipate from above. He should go back. But he must almost be at the bottom. By the time his foot hit cool earth the dot of light had disappeared completely. Dillan wandered about the chamber feeling for a wall. Once he circled the room thrice he began to panic. There was nothing here but darkness. His heart began to race as he ran, arms flailing in front of him. All logic had left him and claustrophobia set in. "Help me!" Screamed Dillan, "help me, please!" Dillan ran about the room and screamed until his voice grew raw. Hours past and there was no reply. Dillan might of slept but it was impossible to tell whether his eyes were open or closed. The only sense of time he had was waiting until his voice would recover so he could scream for help again. \*\*\* Above ground, Dillan's voice could be heard by those who lay awake in their beds. One person to hear him was a boy who lived at twenty-eight Evergreen Drive. The boy called police and drove with them around the neighborhood, trying to locate the voice, but it wasn't coming from any particular direction. "It's coming from underground," he explained, but was quickly dismissed as crazy. "How could a voice be coming from underground?" said he policeman. And so, the boy did the same as anyone else would who have experienced the extraordinary buy did not have logic on their side, he spoke no more of it. The screaming continued for the next few nights. The voice grew raspy, as if the owner had gargled nails. "Help me!" it screamed, "help me please." If only there was more to the message, a clue as to how to help him. One night, the boy went to bed and no longer heard the voice. He was not sure whether he felt relieved or guilty that he could not help in time. End \*\*\* &#x200B; This is in part a true story. I was the boy who heard the screaming from underground. It happened for a few nights when I was about seventeen. I heard it for those few days alone and never again. That was six years ago and I've moved houses twice since. I always thought it was just me, I just heard something. One day my brother, who at that point was sleeping in my old room, said he also heard screaming, the same as I had, coming from no particular direction. The story of Dillan was my attempt of reconstructing what I thought could have happened.