Speaker 1: Welcome to micro Terrors, scary stories for kids where it's
always the spooky season, full of chills, thrills and spine
tingling spooks. Micro Terrors are family friendly frights for those
ages eight and up, and while our stories are for
younger years, we are still talking about things that go
bump in the night, and some children may not be
able to handle what others can. Parental consent is recommended
now for tonights micro terror. Where Does the Sewer Go?
Written by Scott Donnelly narrated by Darren Marler. Crash Bang.
Speaker 2: I opened my eyes and sat up quickly, prepared for
the worst coming out of my dreams date. The crashing
noise could have been absolutely anything. But as I sat there,
breathing heavily and trying to remember where I was, the
crashing sound came to a stop and I realized where
I was. I was in bed, in my room, and
it was the middle of the night, just after midnight. Actually,
according to the glowing clock on my desk across the
room and the crash I had heard it before, it
was our metal trash cans out back. This wouldn't have
been the first time some late night trash pandas had
tried to help themselves to some old scraps. Satisfied and
now much calmer, back down in bed and drifted to
sleep once again, Only this time, as my consciousness slipped
into a new dream, I heard some sort of low
growl outside. In my last moments of wakefulness, I awoke
the next morning to another disturbance. This time there was
a heavy knocking on the front door downstairs. I rolled
out of bed, rubbed my eyes, and made my way
to the top of the stairs. Looking down, I could
see my dad standing at the front door talking to
someone who was just out of sight. It was a man,
though that much I could tell. The voice was deep, authoritative,
but cordial. I heard my dad say something to the
effect of, no, we haven't seen anything. Is there something
we should be concerned with? Not right now, The authoritative
voice responded, We'll be around for a little while, still
finishing our sweep flag one of us down. If you
see or hear anything, will do, my dad said. He
stepped aside to close the door, and I saw the
man he was talking to. It was a large man
dressed in heavy military fatigues. I would have maybe guessed
by the tone in which the man was speaking that
he could have been a police officer, but military. I
didn't see that one coming. Now. Caught off guard, I
hurried in my parents' bedroom and looked out their front
window to see where the soldier was headed. Next, and
my surprise, he wasn't the only one out there. He
walked down to the sidewalk where there were three other
soldiers positioned, all of them wearing helmets, camouflage, fatigues, and
carrying black rifles. Something moving across the street grabbed my attention.
I looked across at the Jefferson's house, several more uniformed
soldiers walking through their yard. Next to them is where
Charlie Baker and his family lived. There were soldiers there too,
scouring the front yard, peering in bushes and over their fence.
What were they looking for? I hoped it wasn't some
sort of crazy escaped convict. I heard a loud, crunching hum. Next,
my attention was turned to the street corner, where a
convoy of military vehicles began to turn onto our street
and slowly navigate through. There were jeeps, trucks with tarp
covered backs, and even a tank. I hurried downstairs, where
my parents were in the kitchen. My dad leaned against
the counter, looking confused, as my mom scoured her phone
for something. I can't find anything about it. Nothing, she said.
It's a military operation, honey, probably something top secret. It's
not going to be blasted all over social media. My
dad said, heck, the corporal that came to the door
wouldn't tell me Diddley squad. There has to be something.
My mom insisted against all hope. What's happening, I asked
from the kitchen entrance. Neither of them had known I'd
been standing there. Something top secret, my dad whispered, in
a conspiratorial tone, some government cover. What did the army
guy say?
Speaker 1: I asked.
Speaker 2: My dad walked closer to me. He asked if we'd
seen or heard anything strange overnight. My dad just stared
at me, strange, son. The military doesn't say strange unless
things are actually strange. You know that, I do, of
course you do. Everyone does. My dad backed away and
peered out the back window by cautiously pushing the curtains aside.
Once his brief search was satisfied, he turned back to me.
I don't think I can go to work today. He added,
glancing at my mom as if he were looking for permission.
She didn't respond, she was too engrossed with searching social
media for any sign of this odd little military search.
I turned around and wandered back into the living room
without saying another word. I looked out our front windows
and watched the soldiers continue the march down our street.
They seemed on guard, like whatever they were looking for
was a big deal of some kind, dangerous, too obviously
dangerous enough to require a military search of a Midwestern
suburban neighborhood. I thought back to what my dad said.
The colonel at the front door asked him, did you
see or hear anything strange overnight? It would have helped
to know more about what sounds and sights would have
been considered strange. The only thing I'd heard were the
raccoons crashing into the trash cans out back, but that
was a normal occurrence around here. But just to be sure,
I wandered back to the kitchen and went to the
back door. I opened it, and a crisp, refreshing morning
breeze blew against me. I stepped outside and closed the
door behind me. I could hear soldiers all around the neighborhood.
Not only could I hear them marching and shouting to
one another out front, but they also sounded like they
were coming from the street behind us too. I could
hear the heavy crunch of the tank and trucks on
the road too. This was serious, but I remained focused
on my own mission the trash cans. I ventured to
the back of the yard against the privacy fence, where
my bedroom window looked out over. The metal trash cans
and their respective lids were on the ground, trash flowing
out of them. Those darn raccoons. As I started picking
the cans up, I noticed something. We had a city
manhole cover in the backyard, which we usually sat one
of the trash cans on because it fit perfectly, But
instead of being secured where it should have been, it
was laying upside down and off to the side, leaving
the gaping manhole wide open. The city would come once
a year and inspect the sewer system beneath, but they
had just conducted their most recent inspection about two months ago,
so I knew they weren't the ones who dismantled it,
and it was clearly too heavy for our raccoon to move.
Did someone go into it overnight or come out strange?
I uttered to myself, kneeling down and peering down into
the deep, dark manhole in our backyard. I had been
curious about the sewer entrance for years. I always wondered
what was down there, what it looked like, and where
it went. Charlie Baker and I always used to talk
about arming ourselves with giant swords and going on an
adventure down there to rig the sewers of evil clowns
and mutant reptiles. It was a dream of hours and
something that was on our bucket list for sure, But
the manhole cover was always too heavy to lift. However,
opportunities come at the most random times, and I would
hate to miss one of the good ones. I spurked
and squinted down into the darkness that sank below me,
and wondered where does the sewer go? There was sudden
commotion from around the front of my house. I stood
up and rushed to the front yard, where I saw
several soldiers pulling an old man out of the bushes
in front of Charlie Baker's. They were yelling at him,
but he wasn't responding. They stood him straight up, but
the man continued to hold his head down, looking at
his feet. He wore old clothes, torn and stained. His
hair was white and wild, like Albert Einstein's, and from
where I stood, it appeared that he had a splotchy
red birthmark on his hand. The soldiers began to secure
the old man with handcuffs and then metal braces around
his ankles. That's when the old man lifted his head
and glared directly at me. He was missing one of
his eyes. Where it should have been was just an empty,
fleshy crater on his face. I put my hand to
my mouth, trying to hide my shock and not offend him.
But if he was in that much trouble with the military,
did it even matter if I offended him? Surely this
man was bad to the bone. Wild stuff. Huh Sam,
a boy's voice said from beside me. I turned and
saw Charlie standing there. I'd been so in enthralled by
the arrest happening in his front yard that I didn't
even realize he had sidled up beside me. Yeah, definitely,
what's going on? Who is that guy? I asked? Charlie shrugged.
Dodo he's clearly hardcore though, Hey, I said, changing the subject.
The manhole cover is off in the backyard. Charlie just
stared at me for a moment. Seriously. I nodded, we
need to check it out, Charlie said, who We've been
dying to check it out for years, no doubt.
Speaker 1: I said.
Speaker 2: We should do it now, though, before my dad sees
it and tries to cover it back up or contact
the city for being negligent. Good call, Charlie said, and
then followed me around back. We stood side by side
over the open manhole by the trash cans. Charlie knelt
down and tried to pierce the darkness with his vision.
How did it open, he asked, I shrugged, not sure.
It must have happened last night. I heard some bangs
and clangs back here, when I suddenly remembered the growl
I'd heard just before I drifted off to sleep. I
shook it off, hoping it was just a dream kicking
in and nothing more than that did what Charlie asked? Nathan,
are we gonna spelunk this sewer or not? I asked,
urging our adventure along be first, Charlie announced, spinning his
body around and dipping his foot into the dark hole.
He found his footing on a metal ladder, and then
slowly descended into the darkness, igniting the flashlight on his
phone once he hit the bottom. Once I knew there
was hey bottom, I climbed down the ladder as well.
We'd finally done it. We'd entered the sewer. It was
muggy and smelled horrible. The echo from our footsteps in
the water bounced around the cylindrical concrete tunnel. Cool, Charlie announced,
his voice, echoing almost infinitely away from us. He panned
his light around so we were able to get an
idea of our surroundings. There wasn't much to look at,
at least where we were. There was a couple signs
warning us not to enter some murky water beneath our shoes.
And were those claw marks there? I pointed, even the
light there. Charlie did as I asked. Right next to
the ladder we'd come down, dug into the concrete wall,
were two sets of claw marks. Whatever had caused them
was strong enough to carve through stone. Charlie aimed the
light up and we saw more claw marks. It looked
like something had scaled the wall, and a sickening feeling
sank in the pit of my stomach. It wasn't raccoons
that knocked over the trash cans. After all, something huge
had come up from the sewer and knocked them down,
and that same something had large claws and growled. It
wasn't a dream. Maybe we shouldn't to be dead, bad
baby down here, I stuttered, with a growing sense of nerves.
Speaker 1: Are you kidding?
Speaker 2: Charlie said, We've been waiting for years for an opportunity
like this, Sam. We need to keep going. Charlie turned
and started to briskly splash his way down the sewer
tunnel and away from me. I looked up, seeing the
daylight coming in through a perfect circle above me. I
could easily climb the ladder and be safe from whatever
nonsense lurked down here in the sewer, but Charlie would
be alone. I made a choice, and I ran after
my friend before his bouncing phone light vanished around the
first corner. We walked for five minutes and made multiple
turns into other tunnels before Charlie's flashlight landed on another
set of claw marks. They were identical to the ones
near the ladder. They were carved into the concrete around
a small gate made of iron, where muddy water was
trickling out from. You must have tried to get the
gate open but couldn't, I thought it. Finally found the
manhole to escape. We turned a couple more corners and
walked another few minutes before the sensation of being lost
washed over me. How do we get back? I asked,
hoping Charlie remembered our line of travel. He stopped and
shined his light back in the direction we'd walked from.
But I could see it in his eyes as well.
We were lost. Dang it, I mumbled. Charlie looked around again.
Up ahead, the tunnel split off in two directions. Come on,
he said. I could hear the nerves in his voice too.
What started out is a lively adventure years in the making,
had quickly turned in to regret. Charlie moved forward and
I followed closely behind. We arrived at the fork in
the road and had to make a choice. At this point,
it didn't matter at all which way we went. Either
direction was going to be just as bad or good
of a choice as the other. That way, said, pointing
to the left. I didn't have a reason for it.
It was just a decision that needed to be made.
We went down the left tunnel. The air grew muggier smellier,
and the murky brown water that we once were just
walking on we were now walking in. Then I saw something.
It was up ahead a few yards. At first, it
was only a glimpse through Charlie's shaky light, but as
we got closer it became clearer. There was a hole
in the wall that was once covered over by wooden boards,
but the wooden boards were now broken and splintered outward,
like something had crashed through it. My money was on
the same culprit that had been leaving the deep claw
mark grooves and these sewer walls. We both bent down
near the broken wood and peered through. There was another tunnel,
only this one was smaller and closer to the ground.
But what held our attention there was the glint of
light at the end of it. This could be our
only way out. Charlie said, you're smaller than me. He
was obviously volunteering me to make the crawling trek through
the newly discovered tunnel. It looked like a tight fit,
and under any normal circumstance, I would have pretended to
be claustrophobic so I didn't have to do it. But
this was no normal circumstance. We were lost and desperately
in need of a way out. I took a deep
breath and then got on my knees. Keep a light focused,
I said to Charlie. He positioned himself behind me, with
the light aimed directly in the tunnel. I took another
breath and then crawled in. My body blocked out most
of the light behind me, but the light that did
manage to squeak through revealed a plethora of claw marks
in the wall. Whatever had made them definitely came from here,
and it looked like a frantic escape from what I
could see. I crawled for only a couple of minutes
before I arrived at where the glint of light was
coming in from. It was above me, coming from a
smashed hole in the concrete. I thought I could hear
someone talking as well, possibly a few people. Hello, I
called out, my voice, echoing around me. The voices stopped.
I put my hand up through the hole and the
air felt much cooler. I needed to get up there.
I adjusted my small body within the tight confines of
the tunnel and extended both of my hands up through
the hole and pulled myself out, finally relief. The air
was much cooler and a lot fresher than what Charlie
and I had been enduring down in the sewer. As
I stood up, I tried to gauge where I was.
It looked like the inside of some sort of shipping container.
The walls were metal and lined with grooves and plastered
with claw marks. The claw marks had cut through the metal,
which is how the light from outside was seeping in
through the tears and the metal walls. I saw movement.
There were people outside of the container. Hello, I called
out again. I think I'm stuck in here. Suddenly a
heavy bolt or lock on the outside of the container
shifted and the door opened. I was met by a
squad of military soldiers, all aiming their weapons at me.
I immediately put my arms in the air to surrender.
Is this it? One of the soldiers shouted, I think
it's back. Get the doctor. I didn't respond. I was
startled with all the rifles aimed at me. Just then,
the squad of soldiers split and parted to the side,
allowing who I assumed the doctor to be to approach
the edge of the shipping container. At first he appeared
as a silhouette, but then when the light washed around him,
I could see his features. He was dressed in tan slacks,
a long flowing lab coat, and his hair it was
white and wild, kind of like Albert Einstein's. He held
a clipboard in his hand, and on his hand I
noticed a splotchy red birthmark. Then when I looked at
his face, I noticed he was wearing an eye over
one eye. I thought back to the old man that
the soldiers pulled out of Charlie's bushes. He looked identical
to this man, to this doctor.
Speaker 1: Is that it?
Speaker 2: Doctor? The soldier asked. The doctor took another cautious step
toward me, looking me up and down, studying every inch
of me with his one good eye, referring to his clipboard.
A couple of times I needed to say something I
wasn't whatever they thought I was. I lowered my arms
and said, I just wanted to see where the sewer went.
My name is. But for some reason my speaking generated
gasps and shocked chatter amongst the soldiers. Even the doctor
took a step back. It can speak now, the soldier asked,
seemingly stunned, The doctor finally lowered the clipboard down to
his side. It's learning, he said, and it's using some
sort of advanced mimicking ability to disguise itself as I
don't know, maybe some kid it saw when it escaped.
The doctor turned to one of the soldiers.
Speaker 3: You said, the team picked up some old man hiding
in the bushes a couple streets over.
Speaker 2: The soldier nodded, and the doctor chuckled.
Speaker 3: To till a team to let that man go and
let the headquarters know that we have the subject back
in containment, mimicking someone's appearance, speaking that this strange little
organism is just full of surprises. We'll learn a lot
from it. With that, the doctor turned around and walked
out of the shipping container. Wait, I screamed, you got
it all wrong.
Speaker 2: I'm not a some new it. Before it escapes again,
the doctor commanded, and instantly a soldier shot some sort
of tranquilizer dark from his rifle and hit me in
the neck and dropped like a bag of rocks right
next to the hole in the floor. As my eyes
fluttered and my consciousness began to fade. I was filled
with regret. I wish I never wondered about where the
sewer went. Coming up next week on micro Terrors Scary
Stories for Kids, a wintery walk through the woods stirs
up a snake not of this world. And then to
wrap up the month, we'll have a brand new listener
Terrors episode with three spine chilling stories from our young listeners.
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ends Wednesday, January twenty first, and then the story will
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Speaker 1: Thank you for listening to micro Terrors. Join us each
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