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Hosstory

Tim

Have you ever wondered what goes on below the ground as you walk through Filey? Not very far below the surface, just below your feet in fact? Have you ever asked yourself what might be down there in the miles and miles of pipes and drains that follow every road and every street? Not interested? Well, after reading this, you will be….

There’s one person who found this question so overpowering that now there’s no stopping him from lifting the nearest manhole cover and quickly disappearing into the darkness of the drain below.

Tim, in fact, finds it totally relaxing to scuttle and crawl his way along the many drains and pipes that run crisscross below the streets of Filey.

He finds great pleasure in following the tunnels and pipes that take him to who knows where? There he finds excitement in squeezing through spaces that only the waste of Filey has ever passed before, and of course, smelling the smells that only a sewer can give.

So as you walk through Filey, think of this: At some point in time, somewhere, yours and Tim’s paths may cross, yet when they do, you wont even be aware of it.

Chapter 1

The thing was, Tim had taken a liking to drains. Dark quiet places where he could get away from the hustle and bustle of his everyday life and leave everything that bothered him above far away. He was at peace down there in a drain or a sewer, and the darkness and quiet had become a home, a sanctuary for him to resort to when he felt crowded or depressed.

For Tim, serving drinks and working in a pub was quite easy, in fact on the whole he enjoyed it. Having to meet the masses of people and having to be nice to each and every one of them all the time and every time, that wasn’t quite so enjoyable. Having to carry out the other tasks involved with pub work wasn’t so nice either. Tasks such as, asking drunks who were obviously too drunk and a lot bigger than him to leave; or cleaning up the blood and dislodged teeth after said drunk and his wife and his children had been sick on the bar, or even the landlord John Barr. Well. Tim had found that the best and only place to be in a situation such as this was behind the Barr. He knew that if you were the one in front of the Barr, it was you who was the one who was sure to receive a severe kicking.

He’d seen this happen several times before and he knew that it was not at all amusing, and could be in most cases darn right dangerous and messy.

His salvation had come one evening while listening to the album ‘War of the Worlds’. Here he’d heard of a soldier who’d escaped from the Martians by hiding down drains, playing cricket down there, and on the whole having a whale of a time.

While listening to the words of the song, he’d thought it would be a perfect place for him to escape everyone and everything that caused him hassle and got on his nerves. Also there he could escape from someone, someone called Martin, who out of pure coincidence had the same name as the invading aliens in the album.

The very next day he’d taken a trip into Scarborough’s Market, there to buy himself clothes suitable for doing anything he cared to whilst in a sewer.

What he needed was a garment that he could quickly put on to protect his own clothing from any of the grime he may find in a sewer, and that same garment he could as quickly remove and clean to use later.

The protective clothing he found almost at once, and subsequently after the usual haggling with the storeowner, he bought. It was perfect. Light. Easily put on, and as easy to remove, leaving him immediately ready for work. It was perfect for him and what he was about to do. He was now ready.

Chapter 2

The very next afternoon Tim had put on his new suit. Under it his working clothes were covered perfectly and safely, safe from anything messy he may come across in the tunnels below. Now putting on over his sewer-suit, to disguise it, a tracksuit top and bottom, he cautiously went outside. He thought that the tracksuit would avert suspicion away from him, not realising or noticing that not too many joggers did their jogging while wearing Wellington boots. Still this was Filey and stranger things of course did happen.

He now looked for a manhole cover. Any manhole cover that was wide enough to take him down into the drainage system below. The more out of the way the hole was of course, the better; for at this moment he wanted not to arouse any suspicion and for no one else to know of his unique way of relaxing.

There at the back of the recently refurbished Star pub, he found his doorway. A man sized hole cover and it perfectly and newly slackened by the building work that had recently been going on.

It was perfect, and there quickly and out of sight, he removed his jogging gear, throwing it casually to one side against the wall of the pub. With excited haste he silently pulled on a pair of yellow rubber gloves and dragged the hood of his new suit over his head. He gave one long look around, just in case anyone should have been watching him and seeing that no one was, he delved his hand into his pocket. There he found two screwdrivers. These he would use to be his keys to the door.

Crouching down over the manhole cover he placed the tools into the two holes at its edges. He tugged sharply. To his surprise and glee the metal disc moved. Prizing now from the sides he slowly levered it open revealing the dark shaft below.

Perspiration covered his brow, not only from the physical exertion but from the sheer excitement the whole escapade was having upon him. There the hole was uncovered and Tim looked down. Down into the darkness. He was nearly there. Nearly where he wanted to be and now there was nothing that could or even would stop him.

Grabbing the rails of the holes ladder he pulled the cover back across the best he could. Then taking a deep breath he took the first step down. He felt now as Armstrong did taking that first step onto the surface of the moon. He though of something to say on this momentous occasion but not been able to think of anything, he didn’t and carried on.

Reaching the bottom of the ladder he stopped. There he waited for his eyes to become accustomed to the dim light. He listened. Maybe there were others like him. Those who hid below the ground and found peace from all that went on above and around them.

“HELLO?” he shouted. “HELLO. IS ANYONE THERE?” he called as his voice echoed its way along the many narrow pipe-ways.

There he stood listening. One side of him hoping he’d hear a reply, the other half hoping not. The only sound he heard was that of trickling water, and he knew that he was the only one down there. Alone.

He began to feel his way along the narrow tunnel, his hands easily reaching its walls to each side of him. Occasionally he’d stop to feel the textures and sniff the air, taking in the smells that only a sewer could bequeath upon him.

He found also that as he went further from the manhole the light became more and more dim. Further and further, darker and darker, until he found that he could not see his hand in front of him. Now he was using his other body senses, his touch, his smell, and even his taste, licking his top lip to take the liquid that had gathered there.

With no fear and with no apprehension he carried on. As he had suspected and hoped, it was quiet down there and there was no one or nothing to bother him. He knew that he’d not come across one single person down the drain demanding been nice to, or demanding been served while been nice to, or pleading not to be beaten to a pulp after been sick on John Barr. Yes. ‘A drain was the most perfect place to be if you needed to be alone.’ He thought.

He suddenly realised that time must be getting on. Looking at the lit face of his watch he tried to make out what time it was displaying. The light dazzled him and it took him several minutes for his eyes to adjust to the brightness of its display. 16:20 it showed. It was twenty past four on a Saturday afternoon. He’d been down the drain longer than he’d wanted. Down there time had flown. Quickly he began to feel his way back towards the distant light of the manhole shaft. There ahead it shone like a beacon in the distance, directing him to his exit. He knew now that he’d have to be swift. He had little time to tidy himself and get ready for work. He started at five.

By the time Tim reached the foot of the hole he was out of breath and time was ticking on. His feeling and clambering and stumbling had exhausted him but he knew that he’d have to return to the upper-world for his work no matter what.

Reaching the top he pushed the holes cover back and kicked some dirt casually over it, camouflaging any sine of its movement. Grabbing his discarded clothes he ran into the pub and made straight for the toilets, there he removed his sewer-suit and dressed himself ready for work.

Chapter 3

Work had gone exceptionally unwell for him that night. Not only had he the usual enforced niceness to contend with, but also there was something else that had entered his life and had lodged itself there for near on three hours.

What this something was, or something’s, were two ex-Filey patriots. One, he found out, had travelled near on three hundred miles all the way from Scotland; the other he knew as still reasonably local, a taxi driver. He’d travelled six miles all the way from Scarborough. How or why these two were together he could not figure out. Maybe they were just very friendly and sociable sorts of guys?

Lucky for Tim, both had left Filey before his time. The two had been renowned for drinking and playing darts more often at the same time. The person buying the next round of drinks been held frantically squirming in front of the dart board while the darts were thrown in his direction and until he agreed to pay.

Sitting with the two were the wife and young daughter of the Scot, who, having nothing better to do with her time was cracking open almond nuts between her index finer and thumb, then after throwing the kernel of the nut away, was chomping noisily and most annoyingly on the shell that was left.

‘Scottish kids!?’ Tim thought. ‘Scarborough taxi drivers!’

The most of the night Tim could think of only one thing. The sewer he had been down earlier. The darkness. The quiet. The sensations to his fingers as they touched the surface of the slimy walls. And of course, the smell. The pungentness of the smell he could not get out of his nostrils. These thoughts and sensations were lingering with him and he couldn’t wait to be back down amongst them.

Chapter 4

After work that night, and in the early hours of the morning, Tim in his white but slightly dirty suit crept towards the manhole cover. Lifting it as before he quickly and quietly lowered himself down. At the bottom the smell seemed to hit him instantaneously causing every nerve in his body to fire its electrical impulse at once. To him it was like a drug, like a glue-sniffer taking his first breath of lighter fuel. To him it was shear bliss.

He began to wander more confidently now, leaving the shafts bottom far behind to explore more and more of the tunnels and pathways. Further and further he went, turning corners, meeting what seemed to be junctions or dead ends, and sometimes, sometimes if he was lucky, he’d come across a tank, an underground reservoir of sewage and waste. Here he’d have to be careful for in the darkness he didn’t know how deep the tank could be; but the smell. The smell at these sites provided was near overpowering and there he’d sit for some time taking it in.

While Tim was down in his sanctuary he had no real sense of time or in fact direction. The manhole that had led him down was now far away and even if he was within sight of it, he wouldn’t have been able to see it as above it was night time and down it no light shone.

Tim at this present moment didn’t care of these things. The excitement and the smell was making him oblivious to all that was happening anywhere else. He was here. All alone with only the waste and the smells and his peace. He was in his element.

Suddenly without warning something moved across his foot. Then it began to scramble up his leg, finally it clung onto the front of his suit. Tim panicked. He screamed out loud. He couldn’t see it, what ever it was, but he could definitely feel it. There cautiously, and breathing rapidly, he raised his hands. Pulling his left hand glove down and his sleeve back he pressed the illumination button of his watch.

There on his chest two red eyes like that of his television indicator light reflected back at him. He panicked and began to run, trying his best to brush the thing off. Falling and stumbling as he clattered aimlessly along the pitch black pipe-way he finally he came to a wall. A junction where three large pipes met. He knew he’d arrived at this particular and exact place because he’d ran straight into the wall ahead of him.

Dazed and in pain he staggered to his feet. Moments later he remembered what had caused him to run headlong into the wall in the first place. He felt and brushed violently at the whole of his body, just in case what ever it was, was still attached to him. To his relief he felt nothing and there stood in the total darkness catching his breath and smelling the air around trying to calm himself down.

The horrible and terrifying creature that had caused him to panic and end up in so much pain had been another sewer inhabitant, a rat, who’d found something new in its territory and had decided to investigate. As soon as Tim had began to run, the creature had jumped off, watching him dash screaming into the darkness beyond.

Three hours later Tim was still wandering along the sewers. The only thing keeping him going was his will to stay alive, not that he thought for one moment that he’d die down there. No. What he was afraid of was been late for his work, because if he was, John Barr would surely kill him.

He stopped suddenly and sniffed. There his nasal senses had picked up a smell. A very familiar smell. What he now smelt was the odour of beer, and with that he came to the conclusion that he must be near the drains of one of Fileys pubs. The question on his mind now was, which one?

Slowly and still sniffing the air around him, he groped his way forward, following the strength of the smell to try and locate its source. Occasionally he’d feel the roof of the tunnel to see if there was a manhole or drain or hatchway leading upwards.

Along he clambered, hoping for some hatchway or exit from the tunnel he was in. Trying his best to keep on course towards where the smell was coming from.

He was in luck, in the distance ahead he could hear muffled sounds, sounds of what seemed like singing. As he got nearer he managed to make out the sound of what seemed like a choir, accompanying this the smell of drink was also stronger. At its strongest and loudest point he looked up and was able to see light penetrating through what seemed to be the edges of a hatchway above.

There leading to the hatch were steps, a ladder upwards and Tim began to climb, the sound of the singing and now talking getting louder as he approached the shafts top. Nearer and nearer to it he came and reaching the very top he gave one almighty push.

Above the hatch flew open and Tim, now nearly blinded by the light he encountered, began to slowly pull himself out of the hole.

Screams and cries erupted from all around him causing him to lurch back and nearly fall back down into the pit. He looked one way, and then the other. Trying to adjust his eyes in the bright and blinding light to see what was going on. There were people, all of them in a panic for some reason, and all of them pushing their way towards a single door at the end of a room in an attempt to get out. Beer and wine glasses were been thrown and scattered to the floor as the crowd tried to leave in what seemed to be an uncontrollable panic stampede.

Pulling himself out into the now deserted room, Tim wondered where he was, and why all the people there had suddenly left so quickly. Constantly, the singing he had heard blared out from speakers along the walls. It seemed like a pub he was in. The number of discarded glasses and drink laying around pointed to that, but the seats; there was something odd about the seating arrangement of the place. All the seats were in line. It was as if he were in a church.

Slowly he walked towards the open door. There beyond was daylight and a street.

Looking out he immediately realised where he was, but at first he couldn’t believe it. There across the road was the Fire Station. Red painted doors. Red painted window-frames. Large Fire Brigade sign above the door. He was on Mitford Street and the building he seemed to be in was the Salvation Army hall.

What was now puzzling him were the half finished tumblers of drink? The choral music emanating from the speakers on the walls and why the people there had left so suddenly? This wasn’t the Salvation Army he’d been always told about.

Removing his now stinking and grime covered suit, he again walked towards the door. There hanging from a hook was a key. Taking this and leaving the building, he turned and placed the key in the lock. He turned it, wondering if it would work. It turned and the door locked tight.

He hastily headed back to the Star. With any luck he’d be in time for his work and not a chastisement from John.

Chapter 5

The Salvation Army building was subsequently deemed as been unsafe. Not that in any way was it structurally unsound, but its hazards were of a spiritual nature. What the gathering had seen there that afternoon was some hideous slime-covered creature emerging from the depths of hell to reek vengeance upon them for their sinful ways. None dare tell of this, thinking that if they did a curse would be bestowed upon them and they would be taken to eternal torture and damnation by the thing they had seen there that day.

The Salvation Army itself suffered another blow, having to close down its newest building and thus lose more of its much needed funding. It had already lost one building on Union Street to the Buccaneer Bar. This had opened up almost overnight and started selling cheaper drink than them and within months they had to sell their oldest and only hall to a development company; there after paying a very high price to the same company for a new one to be built.

Their loss, in its way was perfect for Tim. Not because he had atheistic tendencies, nor did he dislike the Salvation Army in any way. The thing that was so perfect, so useful to him was the deserted building and its hatchway to the sewers below.

No one dare go near the building due to the stories and tails that were told, so he could use the key he had taken to get in. There he had peace to change, never fearing been disturbed or bothered by anyone; and he knew that there was absolutely no danger at all of anyone accidentally falling down the shaft and injuring themselves.

Through time and through drink one night, Tim mentioned to some of his friends of his liking for the quietness he found in the drains below the streets of Filey. They themselves not wanting to go into the stinking sewers, but thinking it to be a laugh, filmed Tim, adorning his sewer-suit, descending to the quietness of the drains below.

On YouTube, the hatchway in the Salvation Army building is where Tim can be seen descending. If you look you can see the rows of now deserted pews along the side of him.

If you yourselves are ever down any of the many drains that run below the streets of Filey, you may be lucky enough to catch a glimpse of Tim, although this may only be by pure chance, as if he hears or smells you coming, he’ll be off. Wanting peace and to be alone in his own quiet world below.