Another Bite
“There’s 600 miles of tunnels under Las Vegas and 1,500 people living in them…” - 8NewsNow article, August 25, 2022
“It’s almost over,” Timmy thought for what must’ve been the fourth time as he could count no higher. Not that he hadn’t tried – he just couldn’t remember what his ma said his thumb was called.
Mouth full, he took another bite as he limped through the tunnel.
“The day’s been over. You can get outta here any time – ‘nd don’t shake yer head. You know I’m right,” his friend muttered.
Timmy stopped in the cool and the dry of the dark and swallowed.
“I hav’ta stay all day. That’s what they said – all day – and then I can be one of them.”
His friend cursed. “Y’know, the other boys got better dares.”
“Because they done this before.”
“You don’t know that.”
“It’s just one day!”
“Oh really? ‘Nd how longs a day?”
Timmy continued down the tunnel. “Four hours.”
“If you say so.”
“It’s what ma said! A day is a twinny four hours. Or something like that.”
A grunt. “Well then this’lla been the twinniest four hours I ever seen.”
The opening appeared. Timmy craned his neck and squinted his eyes. “I don’t see them.”
“We never do.”
“Maybe they’re hiding?”
“Doubt it.”
“Maybe we should go back.”
No response. Timmy turned away from the light for at least the fourth time and took another bite.
“We’ll try again later,” he said through a wet mouthful.
“We always do.”
* * *
Timmy struggled to zip his pants as he felt his way to the wall, tripping over something soft and heavy on the ground beside him. It whimpered.
“Ma won’t be happy,” he muttered again, glancing at the slump.
“Yer ma won’t be happy about none of this. Isn’t it time we got outta here?” his friend spat.
Timmy paused. “They’ll hit me again.”
“Then hit ‘em back!”
“No, they’re my friends.”
“Some friends.”
The slump groaned.
“Bet the day’s almost over,” Timmy said.
“Don’t start.”
He moved toward the light anyway.
His friend called after him. “You know they will never let you play with them!”
Nothing but the shuffle-scrape of Timmy’s gait and soft moans echoing through the tunnel.
* * *
The opening.
The deepness of the dark and the inches of earth passing underfoot like years had beaten Timmy down low to the ground. His dim eyes shifted over the desert terrain just outside the tunnel.
No sign of the other boys, as always.
He turned back into the tunnel.
And stopped.
The sudden sound of boys playing in the distance.
“Wh-Who’s there?” he croaked, voice hoarse from disuse. He tried again with no luck.
He ran out of the tunnel and into the light for the first time in at least four hours.
Scampering through the desert, he heard the boys closer this time. He increased his pace. They were all around, immersed in a game of tag.
Cresting a knoll, he shouted, “It’s me! I stayed the whole day! Ha ha! You have to play with me now! I’m gonna gitchya!”
The boys stopped. Horror clouded their faces and they scurried away, screaming.
“Wait! It’s me! You said you would play with me! Stop! Come back! You promised!”
He couldn’t keep up.
He dropped to the ground and began to cry.
A long while passed before he picked himself up and returned to the tunnel to find his only friend in the world.
Together, they walked the four-or-so miles home.
* * *
The once familiar streets still weaved the way they always did, but the sights and sounds were all wrong. Very wrong.
Where once was quiet, the roar of traffic now competed with the noise of a crowd.
Where once was his neighborhood, there now stood a massive casino, entrance looming like the mouth of a tunnel.
Timmy hesitated before staggering up the stairs. The double doors opened automatically and a miasma of smoke and sweat-laced air escaped past him.
It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dimness of the gaming floor.
Ancient men and women sat entombed before machines, sinking years into tiny slots, nearly motionless. The lights and sounds reminded Timmy of a carnival, but there were no children and there was no laughter. Mirrors lined the windowless walls.
He sat down at one of the machines but was interrupted by a woman’s voice. “Ya have to pay to play, hun.”
He turned, half-expecting to see his ma standing behind him, but the cocktail waitress and her cleavage had already moved on to collect a tip from a nearby drunk.
Timmy didn’t budge.
It wasn’t long before he was approached by a uniformed officer.
“You need to leave,” the officer said.
“Where … Where is my house? Where is my ma?” Timmy asked.
“C’mon. Get outta here. Back to the tunnels.”
Timmy sobbed. “Please let me play with the other boys.”
The officer growled. “Get up! C’mon. Let’s go.”
“They promised!” He cried.
“NOW!”
Timmy started to obey.
And stopped.
There was something in the mirror.
Something old. Something bent beyond human. Something other.
Eyes hollow, face gaunt. Festered skin visible under tattered clothes too short, pants still unzipped and shirt more hole than thread. Mouth agape with missing teeth.
There was no way he was only four years old.
In his hand, a rat twitched, half-eaten and bloody.
The rat leered. “I told you. They were never going to play with you.”
Timmy lifted his friend to his mouth and took another bite.
As the officer grabbed him and pushed him towards the exit, a radio cackled to life: “We found another boy in the tunnels. He’s in really bad shape. Suspect was spotted going into the casino. Approximately 60 years old. Looks homeless. Holding a… rat?”
Timmy was slammed into the floor, arms forced behind his back. Six decades of night flashed before his eyes. The boys and all their moaning echoed in his ears.