Page 92 of Pepper, the Biker & the Vanishing Body

Then, predictably, she followed me into the dark.

CHAPTER 26

The air in the tunnel was damp and thick, carrying the scent of earth, mildew, and secrets long buried. My flashlight beam cut through the darkness, revealing crumbling stone walls, wooden support beams warped with age, and cobwebs that looked like they belonged in a haunted house.

Amy exhaled loudly behind me. “So, let me get this straight. We are voluntarily walking into a pitch-black, underground tunnel—where rats, ghosts, and possibly a murderer might be hanging out?”

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” I teased, stepping carefully over a section of uneven earth and crumbled stone. “Watch your step.”

She sighed dramatically. “You know, I could be home right now. Safe and sound watching a mystery show where the detective does all the work, and I get to eat snacks.”

I chuckled. “Where’s the fun in that?”

I heard a chuckle in her response. “Where’s the survival in this?”

“We’ve survived worse dilemmas.”

“True. You got us into endless ones.”

“But I always got us out of them,” I reminded.

A sudden clunk echoed through the tunnel, cutting off our banter.

Amy grabbed my arm. “What was that?”

I swung my flashlight toward the direction of the sound. The tunnel stretched ahead, a long, gaping corridor of blackness. My pulse kicked up. There was someone else down here.

I tilted my head, listening. Silence. But not the comfortable kind. The kind that crawled under your skin and made the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

“We’re not alone,” I whispered.

Amy tightened her grip on my arm. “I hate when you say things like that.”

I pressed forward, keeping my light low. We had no idea how far ahead the person was, but if he’d been using this tunnel, then he knew his way around. We were at a serious disadvantage.

Then came another sound—soft, shuffling footsteps.

Amy froze. “Pepper…”

“Stay close.”

As we crept forward, the tunnel walls seemed to narrow, closing in around us. I ran my fingers along the damp stone, feeling for anything unusual. If there was a hidden turnoff or door, we had to find it before we were found.

The air grew colder.

Then, ahead of us, a light flickered.

Amy sucked in a breath. “That’s not our light.”

“No,” I agreed.

“Please. Please, let it be a ghost,” Amy whispered.

We moved cautiously, keeping to the edges of the tunnel. As we got closer, the source of the flickering glow became clear—an old oil lantern, set on a stone ledge. The flame trembled as if disturbed by movement.

“The person left that on purpose,” I murmured. “He wants us to know he’s ahead of us.”

“Why couldn’t it be a ghost,” Amy muttered. “So, what do we do? Keep going toward the obviously ominous lantern?”

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