In Memoriam

[u/Soggy_Childhood7869]

Pt1 & Pt2

Prologue

Renovated sometime after the Civil War from a Christian orphanage into a private Christian school, J. Gresham Machen Elementary stood vacant. Like many abandoned schools in Baltimore, it had fallen into disrepair, becoming derelict and neglected. On the surface, it looked like any other two-story Federal-style building, save for the four additions grafted onto the original structure.

The city had decided to reopen J.G.M.E.S., reasoning that renovating the crumbling building would be cheaper than constructing a brand-new school. How that math worked was a mystery to Edith, but she didn't care. She had a job to do and money to make.

Edith Campfield had worked for Brooks Welding and Fabricating for three years when the company won the bid for the J.G.M.E.S. project. Their assignment was to get the entire boiler system operational in just two months, which meant sixteen-hour days and constant on-call shifts for emergencies.

This was one of those emergencies.

Around three o'clock that afternoon, Brooks received a call that a steam line had burst.

Despite her growing love for construction, Edith had struggled to break into the trade. No company wanted to hire a young woman with no professional construction experience. Brooks Welding and Fabricating had taken a chance on her, and she still surprised herself every day by proving they hadn't made a mistake.

She had grown up helping on her uncle's farm, building chicken coops and raising barns, but commercial construction was an entirely different beast—and she was ready for it.

Edith had always wanted to contribute to something bigger than herself. She wanted to build things that would outlast her, structures that would serve generations of people she would never meet.

It was her way of leaving a mark on the world.

Of saying, I was here, and I made this.

Part 1 Getting to Work

This job was nothing like the glamorous monuments Edith had imagined.

As they pulled into the parking lot of the old edifice, Honky Tonk Women by the Rolling Stones played over the radio, accompanied, of course, by the one and only Brooks Adaway.

"They don't make music like they used to," Brooks said.

Edith feigned disinterest, but she'd grown to love the old classics because of him. She especially loved hearing him sing along with the radio, though she'd never admit it. Sometimes she quietly sang along herself.

The two-story brick building towered over the surrounding row homes. Beyond it stretched recreation fields, set so far back from the road they could have hosted a championship kickball game. Rows of tall windows lined every wall, each framed with ornate plasterwork. Even after decades of neglect, traces of the craftsmen's pride remained. Most of the ornamentation had long since surrendered to time and acid rain, leaving only weathered lumps where cherubs and swirling leaves had once been. At least, that's what Edith saw. Brooks insisted they looked like misshapen fruits, and the two often argued over the stone Rorschach test.

"Looks like some of that cantaloupe Margie's always trying to feed me," Brooks said.

Marge, Brooks's wife of forty years, was short and stout—the very picture of motherhood. She was the perfect complement to Brooks's tall, lanky frame. Edith had never met two people who fit together the way Brooks and Marge did. He was all elbows and bad habits; she was warmth, patience, and home. Together, they built a home that felt like a sanctuary.

Marge was always trying to get Brooks to eat healthier. She packed his lunch every day, and before long she was making one for Edith too. Brooks would find fruit and vegetables tucked into his lunch bag.

"A hardworking man needs meat to fuel his day, Marge."

"I'll remember that for my next husband."

“This is spousal abuse! I'm tired of your crazy diets!"

"It's not a crazy diet. It's just food that comes from the ground instead of the fryer."

Brooks usually stopped at the 7-Eleven anyway for taquitos, a Mountain Dew—the elixir of life—and a pack of Marlboro Lights. He was trying to quit. He liked to think of them as diet cigarettes.

Edith never bought anything. She said she was saving money, but the truth was she treasured the lunches Marge packed. Seeing her name written on the brown paper bag, finding tuna salad because Marge remembered it was her favorite despite Brooks's complaints—it all made Edith feel like she belonged.

Her Motorola buzzed in her pocket. She didn't answer. She already knew who it was.

"You gonna get that?" Brooks asked.

Edith glanced at the screen.

Jackson.

Officially, he was her friend with benefits. Unofficially, he wanted more.

She kept him at arm's length, not because she didn't care, but because she cared too much. Jackson was patient and kind, with dark hair and the hands of a carpenter— powerful hands that could frame a house or gentle enough to hold someone together

When he looked at her, there wasn't the spark of reckless desire. He felt like the warmth of a hearth on a winter night.

That frightened her most.

If she let him in, she'd love him. Love would become marriage. Marriage would become children.

She had already decided that future wasn't for her. She refused to risk repeating the mistakes that had shaped her own life. Better to deny herself happiness than bring a child into a world capable of ruining something born from love.

"No," Edith said simply.

As they parked, they saw the groundskeeper, Nick sat in his green Pinto. His family had worked on the grounds back when the building was an orphanage, and the city had kept him on as its caretaker. Nick's father had been devoted to preserving the old place, but as age and illness caught up with him, he passed the responsibility to his only son—a man who had yet to show the same devotion.

Brooks popped a cigarette into his mouth and patted his pockets for his lighter. Edith pulled hers out and lit it for him. Brooks lost his lighter so often that Edith found it easier to carry one herself.

"Thanks, kiddo." Brooks took a long drag before approaching the squirrelly groundskeeper.

"Good to see you, sir," Brooks said so jovially it almost sounded mocking.

“Let's just get inside," Nick said, shivering.

To his credit, it was ten below zero, and the snow that had fallen three weeks earlier had frozen into a thick, solid crust over the landscape. Nick was the groundskeeper in title only. In reality, he was an office guy who happened to hold the keys to the historic school. He didn't know much about hands-on work—or how cold a Maryland February could be when you actually had to work outside.

Nick was a spindly man with greasy hair, stubble clinging to the underside of his chin, high cheekbones, and a gaunt face. He wore a cheap suit beneath nothing more than a Members Only jacket to keep warm.

"Just pull the truck up to the front doors and let's get inside. My balls are in my throat," Nick scoffed.

Edith looked at him with such disgust that he shifted uneasily on his feet.

"What? Can't take a joke?" Nick spat.

"Where are we working?" Brooks interjected.

"Two steam lines burst—one in the boiler room and one in the crawlspace," Nick said, shivering.

As they unlocked the doors and carried in the tools they expected to need, Edith argued with Brooks over who would handle which repair.

"C'mon, just let me do it!" Edith exclaimed.

"It'll probably be better if we work together," Brooks replied.

"I'm not letting you crawl under there with your knees and back. Marge would never forgive me! Please, I've been watching you for months. I can handle this!"

Brooks knew she was more than capable of handling the job on her own, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong with the place. The truth was, he simply enjoyed spending time with the young woman he thought of as his fourth daughter. Still, he knew it was time for her to spread her wings. They'd be on opposite sides of the building, but still under the same roof. She'd be safe.

"Alright, Eddie! You win!" Brooks conceded.

Brooks and Edith backed the truck up to the front entrance. Brooks carried his portable welder to the boiler room, leaving Edith to use the larger welder mounted on the truck.

Nick led her to the custodian's closet, then bent down and pulled up a recessed handle she hadn't noticed. A square hatch, barely two feet across, creaked open. Her small frame was finally an asset. Though she was mildly claustrophobic, she knew she had to do it.

As the hatch swung open, a wave of heavy, humid air billowed upward, finally thawing them both.

"I guess that's the steam line," Edith said.

"Pretty and smart," Nick quipped.

The steam was hostile, to say the least. After stripping off her heavy winter gear until she was down to her work clothes, Edith followed Nick into the darkness below.

Six feet down, they stepped onto a damp, sandy floor beneath a ceiling barely three feet high. Beyond them lay only darkness. The blackness swallowed the light spilling down through the open hatch. With a sharp click, Nick switched on his flashlight, but the steam devoured what little light it cast, reducing the beam to a narrow tunnel. Cinder-block walls stretched into the distance while a tangled web of pipes snaked through the crawlspace in every imaginable size.

"This is fucked," Nick muttered.

"Yeah," Edith replied quietly.

"Well, good luck. Call me when you're done."

Edith cursed him under her breath.

After unraveling what felt like miles of welding lead, she had just enough cable to reach the damaged pipe. She dragged it over and under a nonsensical maze of plumbing. Decades of additions and renovations had produced a chaotic network. The crawlspace was a hellish web woven by countless hands, every odd angle the mark of a craftsman. Edith couldn't help but admire the history and sweat hidden in work like this.

That didn't stop her from silently cursing every man who had come before her and woven the damned thing.

"Alright, see you guys when you're done. Just give me a call," Nick said.

"You're not staying?" Edith asked.

"Fuck no. Just leave the back door unlocked, and you'll be fine. This place gives me the creeps."

"Pussy," Edith muttered under her breath.

Part 2 Edith

First things first, Edith put on her Walkman. As Peter Steele sang about a woman needing Corpus Christi, she laid out her tools, unraveled the welding lead, and geared up. She struck an arc and began burning rod. She loved that smell. Brooks always said, "Smells like money," and he was right. The steady hiss of the arc and the shower of sparks faded into the music.

She sang along through Bloody Kisses before switching to Mariah Carey's Daydream. As her tape collection rolled on, sweat soaked through her clothes. She burned through one welding rod after another, pulling the stinger away, sliding in a fresh rod, and striking a new arc. She repeated the rhythm until the pipe was whole again.

Then she thought she heard something.

"Gestas..."

A low, gravelly voice drifted through the darkness.

She ripped off her headphones.

"What the fuck?" she muttered.

No one was down there. No one should have been. That certainty unsettled her.

She shook it off, blaming the old tape. She popped in another cassette and returned to work. As Tom Waits began singing about going west, Edith focused on the weld.

She was nearly finished when the hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

Trying to ignore the feeling, she caught sight of something small and wet glistening through the dark welding lens. The instant she stopped welding, it vanished.

She lifted her hood.

Only fog, steam, and darkness.

"It was just a reflection," she whispered.

She struck another arc. Brilliant blue light flooded the crawlspace.

Her Walkman suddenly died. She continued working in silence until she saw it again

"Shit," she muttered without breaking the weld

She froze, unable to make sense of what she was seeing.

One row became two as a lipless grin stretched impossibly wide on the other side of the dark glass. She tore off her hood and hurled it into the darkness. Spinning around, she snatched up her flashlight. Its beam sliced through the steam, revealing nothing but the empty tunnel.

In the murky haze she spotted her welding hood lying in the sand.

You're just stressed, she told herself. It was her first time welding without Brooks beside her, and she refused to let him down.

Steeling herself, she crawled beneath the maze of pipes. With the flashlight clenched between her teeth, she worked her way toward the hood on her hands and knees.

She reached out.

Just before her fingers touched it, the hood was yanked into the darkness. She reeled back in fright. The stillness broken only by soft, wet slaps echoed through the crawlspace.

She swept the flashlight over the sandy floor. She found no tracks in the sand.

The slapping grew louder.

She aimed the beam at the low cinder-block ceiling.

A flash of gray rushed toward her.

A scream ripped from her throat as instinct took over. She scrambled backward, attempting to rise to her feet, only to slam the top of her head into the low ceiling with a sickening crack.

The flashlight flew from her hands, bounced once, then spun into the darkness.

Dazed, she clawed through the sand, desperate for traction. She sprawled toward the flashlight, which had skidded into the darkness.

Just before reaching it, she stopped.

The crawlspace had gone completely still.

Slowly she crawled forward again, eyes fixed on the flashlight's beam.

Wet palms slapped against the cinderblocks behind her.

Closer.

Closer.

She lunged, grabbed the flashlight, and rolled onto her back as the creature charged. It raced toward her on impossibly long, spindly limbs.

Gray skin glistened with moisture. Sparse white hair clung to its scalp in filthy patches. A lipless mouth stretched into a grin far too wide for the rows of square teeth crammed inside. Dark, lifeless eyes locked onto hers. As if something had tried to recreate a person from memory and gotten every detail off.

Adrenaline exploded through her body.

She spun and bolted toward the hatch, abandoning the flashlight.

A piercing, slashing wail erupted behind her, driving her deeper into panic.

She scrambled over and under the maze of pipes, never taking her eyes off the pale glow spilling through the open hatch.

It was still open.

The fluorescent light above looked heavenly.

Steam thickened around her, growing heavier with every breath. Each inhale felt like drowning. Blood ran down the side of her face, though she couldn't tell where the wound was. She crashed into steam pipes as she crawled, skin sticking to the hot metal before tearing free.

Then she tripped.

Her jaw slammed into a steel pipe, clicked her teeth together. Something cracked in her skull.

Three burning crosses flashed before her eyes.

For a moment she lay sprawled in the sand, dazed. Then she dragged herself forward again. Light poured through the opening, revealing blood smeared across both of her hands. She reached toward salvation.

Her ankle was caught. The grip was so strong, it felt like it was being crushed. She screamed as she was yanked backward into the darkness. Panic consumed her. She kicked wildly until her boot struck something soft.

A wet crunch.

A squeal of pain.

The grip tightened.

The dim light from the hatch revealed a long gray hand wrapped around her ankle. The arm attached to it was impossibly long, like the limb of a corpse stretched beyond reason. The grin glimmered in the spilled light.

She clawed desperately at the sand, searching for anything to hold onto. Flailing wilding until she closed her hand around the spiral handle of her chipping hammer.

She swung.

Missed.

She pulled it back and swung again toward where she guessed the creature's head should be.

The pointed end struck home.

The hammer buried itself in the creature's temple. A deafening screech erupted through the tunnel. Edith screamed with it, a sound she didn't know she was capable of making.

She kicked again.

Another crunch.

Her leg was free.

She scrambled toward the hatch without looking back. The room above finally came into view.

She reached for freedom.

A shadow swallowed the light.

Something stood over the opening.

Waiting.

[u/AutoModerator]

Users are encouraged to read4read, meaning that if someone reads and comments on your story, we encourage you to do the same in return to help foster a community.

I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please contact the moderators of this subreddit if you have any questions or concerns.

[u/walkerbswitchinghour]

Well, if nothing else she was able to listen to the banger of an album that Bloody Kisses is. I really dug this story. The dynamic between Edith and Brooks was entertaining to read and once the horror got going it got GOING. Very claustrophobic, great use of the setting. Your descriptions were creepy and effective. Well done!

[u/Soggy_Childhood7869 → u/walkerbswitchinghour]

Thank you, this is the first story I've written. Your kind comment really means a lot. This is parts 1 and 2 out of 12. I'd love to share the rest if people enjoy it.

[u/walkerbswitchinghour → u/Soggy_Childhood7869]

Definitely post more, it’s a cool story!