Tunnels 04, Closer

darlin'," Martha said in a sickly-sweet voice as she threw open the cupboard door. Chester was wrenched abruptly from his illusory world and back into the real one. To pass the long hours in the dark and escape from the horrible situation in which he was trapped, he was spending increasing amounts of time imagining he was back at his home in Highfield. He could conjure up the different parts of the house with such realism, remembering even the tiniest details. In addition to his room, he often walked around downstairs or in his sunny garden, where everything would be perfect and just as it should be.
    "Do you want some food or not?" Martha pressed him as he failed to answer.
    Still rather groggy, he mumbled a yes. She was silhouetted by a flickering light from behind her. Chester's first thought was that she must have found some candles, but there seemed to be far too much smoke for this to be the case -- is was as if a bonfire was burning close by. He had to remind himself that they were in a smart cottage, as the shifting illumination and the clouds of smoke lent the place a primitive feel. Through the smoke he could also pick out the smell of burning meat.
    "Martha, please can I come out for a while? Can't you untie me, just while I eat?" he asked meekly. "My legs are really stiff. I promise I'll do everything you tell me to."
    She looked at him with a frozen grin on her lips, her deranged eye twitching in its socket. Chester held his breath as several seconds went by, then she snapped her head round to look behind her. "Not right this moment... cleaning... got some cleaning up to do," she mumbled, turning back to Chester. "Have your food," she ordered, her voice adopting a nasty tone.
    "Yes, yes, I'm very hungry, yes," Chester gabbled immediately, not wanting to provoke another one of her insane outbursts. And he wasn't about to refuse something to eat, even if she'd prepared it with her unsanitary methods.
    She propped up his head as she spooned it into his mouth.
    "Yum," he said, gulping down the almost raw meat. "Tastes great. Thank--" But he couldn't speak as she rammed another large chunk into his mouth.
    "There," she said, when he'd finished, and lowered his head to the floor. "Good boy." She simply chucked the plate and spoon on the floor beside her, wiped her hand on her skirt, and then grunted as she got to her feet.
    Chester was thinking rapidly. He had to do something. He had to try to make contact with someone outside.
    But how?
    Then he had an idea.
    "Martha," he began.
    The mad eye was fixed on him now, but he wasn't going to let this put him off.
    "Martha, please may I have my rucksack?"
    The mad eye narrowed a little as it regarded him with suspicion.
    "Why?" she hissed, her lips barely moving. Then she repeated the word, stridently this time.
    "Er... I'm so used to resting my head on it... and just lying on the floor like this is really uncomfortable," Chester explained. As she gave no response, he girded himself for what he was about to say next. "Mother... Mummy , please may I have it... please?" he begged.
    This had an immediate effect on the woman.
    "Why, yes, of course," she said, her voice almost normal. "You stay right there, my lovely boy, and I'll go fetch it." She lumbered off, and Chester tried to worm his way out of the cupboard just enough to see what was outside. He was sure he could glimpse a real fire in the sitting room -- it wasn't in the fireplace, but in the middle of the floor. And there were also dark smears all over the fawn-colored carpet in the hallway, as if something had been dragged along it. Mud? he asked himself.
    He heard her returning and quickly retreated back inside his prison.
    "Thank you so much, Mommy," he said.
    She slid his rucksack under his head, then stood up to look at him.
    "Anything for you, my wonderful son," she cooed, then slammed the cupboard door shut.
    He waited until all was quiet, then very slowly rolled onto his side and brought his hands above his head so he could delve inside the rucksack. It was difficult because his wrists were lashed together, but after a while he found what he'd hoped would still be there.
    "Got it!" he whispered, holding it in the meager light that was seeping under the door. It was a small plastic box about the size of a pack of cards with a length of wire attached to one end, which acted as an aerial. He put the box in his mouth to grip it while he felt for the microswitch. Finding it, he turned it on. Then he quickly