A Dark Adventure

I used to have incredibly vivid dreams as a child. They sometimes manifested into night terrors/waking nightmares. It made it hard for me to tell the difference between dreams and reality at times because some dreams melted into reality. And some were so real that I didn't know I was dreaming while I was dreaming it.

When I'd "wake up," I thought I had done things that I hadn't because I had done them in my dreams. That realness was so convincing to me that people thought I just liked to make up stories. I didn't. I really thought these things had happened.

These dreams didn't follow me into my teen years. The sleepwalking did, but only until I was 13 or had to take a prescription painkiller or depression medication. Those times, I'd wake up in my underwear outside thinking I had just gotten back from the grocery store. It was hard to walk back into the house when it happened in winter and my feet would freeze to the ground. No more depression meds and no more painkillers. Surgeries would have to suffice with Tylenol from there on out.

Anywho, that's another story. This story is about me as an adult not being able to differentiate my childhood dreams from actual memories. It is a huge struggle when I talk about things I remember that never actually happened. People are very quick to point out that I'm the "storyteller". No. I was just too vivid of a dreamer.

One memory, in particular, scarred me for life with small, dark spaces. It was a Halloween memory around the age of six or seven and my brother was there too. Unlike the Grave Adventure, which had been cleared by my brother's memory of it as well as mine, this is a memory that I can see has that telltale shadow of doubt around it. That tells me it could have been a dream. But, I don't dare ask.

Halloween in a small town used to be a lot different 30-plus years ago. It still is now, but not as different. Back then, we were free to roam as we pleased. We didn't have that looming threat of danger we see these days. We were simply let loose with our candy bags and our group of miscreants and told to meet back at a certain time. Mom would go see her own friends.

We trick-or-treated for a short time before the shadowed memory took place. Part of the reason that I can't quite confirm this story is that I don't remember what I dressed up as that year. If it were as traumatizing as I remember, you would think I'd know if I was a cat or a butterfly during the ordeal. Yet, I just remember being a kid and being terrified.

I was tagging along with my big brother and his friends, making our rounds and causing trouble where we could. It wasn't until we were halfway through the town that the bigger kids got bored and wanted to find something else to do.

In the middle of the street we were on, the group of bigger kids and I stopped next to a manhole with a slightly askew lid. I didn't know why we stopped. Maybe to regroup or discuss our next move. Maybe to throw in the towel and give up for the night. It wasn't until one of the kids, I don't remember which one exactly, bent down and said, "help me get this cover off".

The group put in the effort and the cover was successfully slid to the side, leaving a big enough gap for a small child to fit through. I'm sure you can guess that that small child was going to be me. I can see all of their heads turn in my direction and the sinister look on my brother's face. He grew a smile so wicked that it reminded me of the grinch and my stomach knotted up tight.

"Get in." He said, pointing down at the dark hole.

"I'm not getting in there!" I yelled back at him.

The kids formed a bit of a pack behind my brother and all began to stare me down. They, however, had more of a worried look about them.

"Just get in, there's nothing down there. We'll open the cover down the street, just crawl to where the light comes in."

I think I threw up in my mouth at that moment and shook my head, taking too small of a step back. I should have run. "I - I can't! Mom's going to kill us!"

"Quit being a baby and just get in the hole!" He half yelled.

I don't know why, but at that specific moment, I thought he'd beat me up and throw me in there so it would be better if I just crawled in by myself. Then I wouldn't be beaten up AND in a dark scary sewer hole.

"Get in the hole!" He yelled one more time.

I remember twisting the handle of my candy bag and creeping forward to take a peek inside. I remember thinking that it probably wasn't that bad and there really wasn't anything scary down there. It would be like another one of our adventures! Boy was I ever wrong.

For whatever reason a scared kid does things they really don't want to do - I got in the hole. I set my bag down on the street, begged him to watch over my candy, and crawled down in. It was much shorter than I had expected. I'd have to crawl to get through to the next cover, which I told him I refused to do. Right before he pushed my head down and slid the cover shut.

At this point, I began to scream and cry. I mean, anyone would if their brother had just shut them in a tiny dark sewer at the age of six or seven. I could hear him yelling, "just crawl to the next one!" over and over. But, which way? There was no light to crawl toward because it was nighttime and the other lid was shut.

"Hurry up! We have to meet up with mom soon! Start crawling!"

Trembling, bawling, terrified that something was going to bite through my leg in that sewer, I began to crawl. I had no idea if I was going the right way because I could no longer hear the other kids or my brother. I just kept crawling.

I think a part of me expected to die in there about halfway through. A realization that I'd never get out made me so dizzy and so nauseous that I felt as though I'd pass out before I found the next lid. I was wet, stinking, cold, and scared absolutely shitless, but I kept on crawling. I crawled long enough that I began to hear the faint sounds of kids yelling up ahead and it gave me a sliver of hope.

After what seemed like an eternity in hell, I came to the yelling point and looked up to see three small holes emitting some soft, yellow streetlamp lighting...along with fingers poking through. The yelling sounded panicked. Frightened. Some sounded angry. But most of all, the yelling sounded like they were all about to run and leave me behind.

"Let me out!" I screamed as I poked my finger back through one of the holes. "Please, let me out!"

"We can't get it open! Just go back to the other one!" I heard my brother yell.

"WHAT!?"

"We can't get it open! You have to turn around!"

But, I couldn't turn around. There wasn't enough room. I couldn't turn around and I didn't dare back up the entire way. "I can't! Just open it!" I screamed through a flood of tears.

I can still hear myself clearly, bellowing, crying, screaming, and gagging. I can hear the fear in the voices above on the street while they pulled as hard as they could at that manhole cover that wasn't budging. I can feel the fear, feel the trembles, the cold, the overwhelming sense of terror, and the moment my little body gave out. I had cried so hard that I wasn't breathing and now I was underground and unconscious. I passed out. I was six or seven, passed out underground in a sewer on Halloween.

I have no idea who actually came along and pulled me out. I can vaguely remember hearing the sound of cast iron scraping, the feel of big hands around my tiny arms, and the forty-pound weight of me being lifted through the hole and then laid down gently on the street. I don't remember seeing a face. But, I know it wasn't my brother.

After I'd gathered my six or seven-year-old wits, my brother walked me back to our meet-up spot where mom was waiting. I was gripping my candy bag so tight my knuckles turned white and I couldn't say one word. My brother told her I was just tired from all the walking and I was wet because I fell down. I guess that was good enough.

We got into the car and went home. I vaguely remember crawling into bed and just laying there with my eyes wide open and the tears flowing freely. This time I wasn't making any sound. I cried myself to sleep.

I never wanted to confirm this memory with my brother. I don't want to know if it's true because I don't know what I'd do or how I would react if I found out it was. I've confirmed a few strange memories over the years, but never...not ever...did I ever want to know if I really was shoved into a sewer at the age of six or seven by my big brother on Halloween all those years ago.