Darkfall

shivered. Because the job involved delicate work, he had removed his gloves. Now his hands were growing stiff from the cold.
    Although the storm drains weren’t connected to the sewer system, and although the concrete conduits were relatively dry after weeks of no precipitation, Ted occasionally got a whiff of a dark, rotten odor that, depending on its intensity, sometimes made him grimace and sometimes made him gag. He wished Andy would hurry back with the circuit board that was needed to finish the repair job.
    He put down a pair of needle-nose pliers, cupped his hands over his mouth, and blew warm air into them. He leaned past the work lights in order to see beyond the glare and into the unilluminated length of the tunnel.
    A flashlight bobbled in the darkness, coming this way. It was Andy, at last.
    But why was he running?
    Andy Carnes came out of the gloom, breathing fast. He was in his early twenties, about twenty years younger than Ted; they had been working together only a week. Andy was a beachboy type with white- blond hair and a healthy complexion and freckles that were like waterspots on warm, dry sand. He would have looked more at home in Miami or California; in New York, he seemed misplaced. Now, however, he was so pale that, by contrast, his freckles looked like dark holes in his face. His eyes were wild. He was trembling.
    “What’s wrong?” Ted asked.
    “Back there,” Andy said shakily. “In the branch tunnel. Just this side of the manhole.”
    “Something there? What?”
    Andy glanced back. “They didn’t follow me. Thank God. I was afraid they were after me.”
    Ted Gernsby frowned. “What’re you talking about?”
    Andy started to speak, hesitated, shook his head. Looking sheepish, yet still frightened, he said, “You wouldn’t believe it. Not in a million years. I don’t believe it, and I’m the one who saw it!”
    Impatient, Ted unclipped his own flashlight from the tool belt around his waist. He started back toward the branch drain.
    “Wait!” Andy said. “It might be… dangerous to go back there.”
    “Why?” Ted demanded, exasperated with him.
    “Eyes.” Andy shivered. “That’s what I saw first. A lot of eyes shining in the dark, there inside the mouth of the branch line.”
    “Is that all? Listen, you saw a few rats. Nothing to worry about. When you’ve been on this job a while, you’ll get used to them.”
    “Not rats,” Andy said adamantly. “Rats have red eyes, don’t they? These were white. Or… sort of silvery. Silvery-white eyes. Very bright. It wasn’t that they reflected my flashlight. No. I didn’t even have the flash on them when I first spotted them. They glowed . Glowing eyes, with their own light. I mean… like jack-o‘-lantern eyes. Little spots of fire, flickering. So then I turned the flash on them, and they were right there, no more than six feet from me, the most incredible damned things. Right there!”
    “What?” Ted demanded. “You still haven’t told me what you saw.”
    In a tremulous voice, Andy told him.
    It was the craziest story Ted had ever heard, but he listened without comment, and although he was sure it couldn’t be true, he felt a quiver of fear pass through him. Then, in spite of Andy’s protests, he went back to the branch tunnel to have a look for himself. He didn’t find anything at all, let alone the monsters he’d heard described. He even went into the tributary for a short distance, probing with the beam of his flashlight. Nothing.
    He returned to the work site.
    Andy was waiting in the pool of light cast by the big lamps. He eyed the surrounding darkness with suspicion. He was still pale.
    “Nothing there,” Ted said.
    “A minute ago, there was.”
    Ted switched off his flashlight, snapped it onto his tool belt. He jammed his hands into the fur-lined pockets of his quilted jacket.
    He said, “This is the first time you’ve been sub- street with me.”
    “So?”
    “Ever been in a place like this before?”
    Andy said, “You mean in a sewer?”
    “It’s not a sewer. Storm drain. You ever been underground?”
    “No. What’s that got to do with it?”
    “Ever been in a crowded theater and suddenly felt… closed in?”
    “I’m not claustrophobic,” Andy said defensively.
    “Nothing to be ashamed of, you know. I’ve seen it happen before. A guy is a little uncomfortable in small rooms, elevators, crowded places, though not so uncomfortable that you’d say he was claustrophobic. Then he comes