Lighthouse Horror Podcast - I'm an Ohio Small Town Cop. This is my SCARIEST Story

Episode Date: January 19, 2026

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The call came in while I was locking the rear door of the sheriff's office. Sheriff Russell, I said into the radio. We've got a missing child. Dispatcher Harlan said. Eight-year-old male. Last seen about 20 minutes ago near the retention basin off Larcombe Road. I stopped where I was. The key stayed half turned in the lock.

Name? I asked. Nolan Rig. Harlan replied. Didn't come home when he was told. Neighbors saw him riding a blue bike near the basin. I'm on my way, I said. Deputy Bullock is already on round. Harlan replied.

That was enough to move. I locked the door, crossed the lot, and got into my cruiser. The engine turned over on the first try. I pulled out with the lights on and headed east, past the grain elevator, and the closed feed storm, then out onto the stretch of road where houses thin out and fields take over. Larkham Road runs straight for a mile, then drops into a shallow basin where the county carved out a retention pond decades ago. It's not a scenic place. It's a low spot designed to hold water when the rain comes down hard enough to overwhelm the ditches. The

pond sits in a concrete bowl surrounded by reeds and tall grass, with three small grass, storm drains feeding into it from three directions. A handful of houses sit back from the road behind long gravel drives. An old baseball field borders the far side. Its backstop bent and its dugouts half collapsed. When I crested the deb, I saw the lights before anything else. Deputy Bullock had her cruiser angled across the shoulder, headlights cutting across the grass and the concrete lip of the basin.

A woman stood in the beam with both hands locked on top of her head. A small blue bicycle lay on its side near the mouth of a culvert. I parked behind her and stepped out. Bernice Bullock was standing near the front of her cruiser, facing the culvert. She was five foot two, late 40s, about 110 pounds on a good day. She didn't fill space, and she didn't draw attention to herself. What she did was stand still and watch. She'd been with the department long enough that I didn't need to ask what she'd already noticed.

Sheriff, Bernice began. Bikes his, culvert entrance is open. Mom's right there. I nodded and walked past her toward the woman in the headlights. Ma'am, I said. I'm Sheriff Russell. Is Nolan your son? Yes, the woman said.

He was just outside. I mean, he was just right here. I told him to stay where I could see him. He was riding his bike back and forth, and I went inside to check dinner. When I came back, he was gone. About how long were you inside? I asked. I don't know. A few minutes. Okay, okay.

What was he wearing? wearing. Red shirt, she said. Gray shorts, black shoes. I nodded once and stepped away so Bernice could move in and keep her focused. I walked back toward the bike and crouched. The chain was still on the gear. The front wheel was turned hard to the left, like it had been dropped without slowing.

One handlebar grip was scoffed. The grass around it was pressed flat in a short line. leading toward the culvert opening. The culvert fed into the retention pond under the road. The metal grate that should have covered the opening had been bent outward years ago. Its bolts rusted and snapped. Inside, the concrete sloped down to a narrow ledge above shallow water. The tunnel curved out of sight after about 20 feet.

I stood and keyed my radio. Harlan, I said, Confirm fire in EMS or rolling. I want volunteer fire with lights. I want units from the next township for perimeter. Harlan said. Notified. Bernice had moved closer.

She stood a few feet back from the opening. Flashlight down at her side. Eyes tracking the wall and the ceiling just inside. There's a maintenance line tied into this system, Bernice said. Runs under the old ball field. I nodded. Big enough to walk?

Well, parts of it, Bernice said. Kid-sized most of the way. That mattered. If Nolan went in on his own, he might not have come back out without help. Kids panic underground, I've seen it before. They don't follow turns. They keep going until they're lost. An older man approached from one of the nearby houses, stopping short when he saw Bernice's

posture. Bernice turned slightly toward him. Sir, stay back, please. I live right here, the man said. Name's Lyle Drum. I saw the boy earlier. I stepped toward him. What did you see?

Well, he was riding his bike, Drum said. near the basin. You see anyone else with him? I asked. Drum hesitated, then lifted his chin toward the culvert. I, um, I think I saw a clown. Bernice didn't move. A clown?

I asked. Yeah, yeah, Drum began. It was standing near the storm drain. I'm real bright, white, white face." Standing how? I asked. Well, it was just standing there. Drum continued.

Like he was waiting. I looked past him at the concrete mouth of the culvert. My mind did what it always does when someone says something that sounds like a story. They tried to set it aside so it wouldn't interfere with the work. I noted it. A clown by a storm drain. This wasn't dairy. A few minutes later, a kid about ten years old stood near the edge of the road with his bike

between his legs, watching the lights. Bernice walked over to him. Hey, she said. Did you know Nolan? Yeah, the kid said. Did you see him today?" Bernice asked. Yeah, he um, he rode past me.

Did you see anyone else? The kid nodded. There was a clown, he said. Bernice didn't react. Where? She said. By the drain, the kid said. He waved at me.

I keyed my radio again. Harlan, I began. Log multiple witnesses reporting a clown near the storm drain. There was a pause before Harlan answered, he said. Volunteer fire pulled up with floodlights and began setting them up along the basin. The field brightened in sections, shadows breaking apart. The widows breaking apart and reforming as the light shifted. I went back to my cruiser and pulled out a spare flashlight and a roll of barrier tape.

I clipped the light to my belt and handed the tape to Bernice. Keep people back, I said. Bernice nodded and started stretching the tape across the gravel access road. I started the culvert entrance and looked in again. The concrete was damp. The ledge was narrow but usable. The ceiling overhead showed old stains and exposed rebar. Water moved slowly across the bottom, carrying leaves and debris toward the pond.

I keyed the radio one more time. Arlen, I said. Russell and Bullock are preparing to enter the storm system at the retention basin. Harlan replied. I stepped down out of the concrete. retreat lip and leaned into the dark. Bernice finished tying off the tape and moved up beside me. Well, you ready?

I asked. Bernice nodded. Let's go. I stepped inside and Bernice followed close behind. The temperature dropped immediately. The smell changed too. Outside had been wet grass and standing water. Inside, it was concrete, rust, and something older.

I took two steps in and stopped. The light from outside didn't reach far. The beam from my flashlight caught a clean tunnel through the dark, but everything beyond it stayed flat and featureless. Wait a sec, I said. Bernie stopped without bumping into me. I planted my left boot on the ledge and shifted my weight slow. testing it. The concrete was slick, but solid. The ledge ran just wide enough to walk single file

without scraping the wall. Water moved along the bottom channel, shallow but steady, carrying leaves, twigs, and bits of trash that clicked softly as they bumped into each other. I took another step, then another. Each movement echoed back at us. Delayed just enough to be distracting. Every sound we made came back thinner and stretched out. I raised my light and swept it along the ceiling. Old stains ran in long streaks where water had once flowed higher. Rust bled outward from exposed rebar, frozen in place like veins.

The ceiling wasn't low, but it wasn't generous either. high enough to stand, fairly comfortably, low enough that I kept checking it. Bernice walked behind me, her light angled slightly higher than mine. We didn't talk. There wasn't anything to clarify yet. Ten steps in. I stopped again and looked back. The entrance already felt farther away than it should have. The rectangle of daylight behind us looked smaller, framed by concrete, in shadow. I could still see the barrier tape fluttering faintly in the breeze outside, but it didn't

reach into the tunnel. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a roll of tape. Marking entry, my set. Bernice nodded. I tore off a long strip and pressed it to the wall at shoulder height, smoothing it down so it wouldn't peel off in the damp. I added a second strip beneath it, angled toward the exit, then step back and check that it was visible from both directions. Entry marked, I said. Copy, Bernice replied. I keyed my radio. Harlan, I said, we're inside.

Entry point marked, standing and walking. Copy. Harlan said. Signals clear. I took another step forward. The ledge stated. consistent, running along the right wall. The water channel widened slightly, deep enough now that I couldn't see the bottom through the surface reflection. The tunnel curved gently left.

I slowed and checked the map again, unfolding it carefully and holding it flat against my thigh. This should be straight, I said. Bernice leaned in enough to see without crowding me. map shows no curve I folded it back up yeah we're not lost yet we followed the curve the tunnel widened again

just enough that the ceiling lifted and the walls pulled back a maintenance walkway appeared along the left side raised above the water line its surface was rough and uneven grooves worn into it by decades of boots and equipment carts I stopped and scanned it.

The walkway wasn't on the map. Neither was the ladder bolted into the wall 20 feet ahead. It ran straight up into the ceiling, disappearing into darkness. The metal rungs were rested but intact, bolted deep into the concrete. There was no signage, no tag or warning. Bernice angled or lied upward. That's not on the plan. hands.

No, I said. I didn't climb it or touch it. I noted it. I pulled out the chalk from my pocket and handed it back to Bernice. All right, mark it, I said. Bernice knelt and drew a clearer arrow pointing back the way we'd come. She added a second arrow beneath it, then wrote a short note beside the ladder. I watched the water while she worked.

They moved steadily, but the direction wasn't consistent anymore. In some places, it flowed toward the basin. And others, it swirled back in on itself before continuing on. I keyed the radio again. Harlan, I said, we're at the widened section with a maintenance walkway and vertical ladder. Not on the map. There was a pause. Repeat last.

Harlan said. I repeated it. Copy. Harlan said. Bernice looked at me. Signal lag. Yeah, I said. And we moved on.

The tunnel narrowed again after the ladder, funneling us back into a single ledge. The curve straightened out, then split. Two passages opened ahead of us. One continued straight. the other angled down and right, the water there deeper and moving faster. I checked the map again. There shouldn't be a split, I said.

I stood there with a map folded in my left hand, and my light fixed on the junction. Bernice didn't say anything. She angled her light toward the right-hand passage first, then the left. Checking ceiling height? Checking the water. Checking how far the beams carried before the dark swallowed them. I folded the map and put it away. Mark it, I said.

Bernice stepped forward and pulled the chalk from her pocket. She knelt and drew a clear arrow on the wall, pointing back the way we'd come, then added a second mark beneath it. She marked both branches, identical symbols, same height, same spacing. When she stood back up, I could tell at a glance which way led out. We took the left passage. It narrowed almost immediately.

The ceiling dropped just enough that I felt it without having to duck. The ledge thinned, forcing me to turn my foot sideways with each step. The water here moved faster, shallow but insistent, making a constant sound as it slid past the concrete. I slowed and checked my footing again. Again. Easy, I said. Bernice stayed a step behind me.

Her light tracked higher now, following the curve of the ceiling instead of the floor. We went another 20 yards before the tunnel straightened. The sound changed first. The water didn't get louder or quieter. It got hollow. The echo came back wider, stretched. longer than it should have for space we were in. I stopped and lifted my light.

The tunnel had widened again, not as much as the earlier section with the walkway, but enough that the walls pulled back and the ceiling lifted. The concrete here looked older. The seams were rougher. The stains were darker. I took one more step and stopped. Bernice, I said.

I pointed with my light. At about knee height along the right wall, something pale caught the beam. I moved closer, slow, careful not to smear it. White paint. It was thin, like it had been dragged rather than applied. Not a handprint, not a shape. It was a streak that started clean and then broke apart, as if something had brushed past and carried part of it away.

I held the light steady and leaned in. The pain had soaked into the concrete pores. Bernice stepped up beside me and angled her light across it instead of straight on. There's more, she said. She swept the beam forward. Another smear showed up five feet ahead. Then another, higher up this time, close to waist level. I reached into my pocket and tore off another strip of barrier tape.

I pressed it to the wall above the first smear, then added a second strip angled back toward the entrance. Paint marker, I said. Bernice nodded. Got it. I moved forward again, slower now. The paint appeared in intervals, sometimes on the wall, sometimes on the edge of the ledge. Once, a faint streak ran along the ceiling with a concrete curved overhead.

I stopped and raised my light higher. The ceiling here showed more exposed rebar than before. Some of it bent downward, some snapped flush with a concrete. Near one of the bars, a thin line of white pan. Paint ran along the curve, broken and uneven, like someone had passed close enough to brush it. I didn't say anything. We kept moving. A few yards later, my light caught something else.

Footprints. They were faint at first, half filled with water. But the pattern was clear enough once I adjusted the angle. Small shoes. rubber soles. They ran straight down the center of the passage. I followed them with my light until they stopped. Yeah, not turned, not scattered, stopped.

The concrete beyond them was perfectly clean. No scuffs, no drag marks? Just water and bare surface. Bernice stepped up beside me and looked at the same spot. They don't continue, she said. No, they don't, I said. She swept her light ahead anyway, checking both sides. Checking the ceiling.

There was nothing else to follow. I keyed my radio. Harlan, I began. We've got confirmed child footprints inside. Paint markings present. Tunnel layout doesn't match county map. There was a burst of static before his response came through. Copy.

Harlan said. Say again on the markings. White paint, I said. Multiple smears. Another pause. Copy. Signals getting weak. Bernice looked back the way we'd come.

The tape we'd placed at the last junction was still visible. But it looked far away now. The tunnel behind us seemed to stretch longer than it had when we walked in. I turned forward again and raised my light. The passage ahead dipped slightly and opened into a darker space beyond the reach of the beam. We keep going, I said. Bernice nodded. We stepped forward together, and behind us, the water kept moving.

The tunnel sloped down. forward more sharply, the ledge tightening until I had to turn my foot sideways again. The sound of the water shifted as we went, less open, more enclosed. Something moved ahead of us, fast, scraping, claws hitting concrete hard enough to spark sound, water splashed up against the wall, then again, closer this time. stopped and brought her weapon up. I lifted my hand. Hold. The sound came again, louder now, chittering and frantic, bouncing off the tunnel and coming back distorted, and then it burst into the light. A family of raccoons exploded out of a side channel on our left, bodies low and panicked,

scrambling over each other as they ran straight at us. One slipped down the ledge and slid into the water before clawing its way back up. Another leapt past my legs, brushing my knee as it went. Bernice flinched back a half-step, then froze when she saw what they were. Raccoons, she said. They rushed past us and vanished into the darkness behind,

water churning in their wake. For a few seconds, the tunnel was full of noise, splashes, claws, chittering. Then it settled again, echoes thinning out until only the water remained. I lowered my hand. Bernice lowered her weapon. False alarm, she said. Yeah, I replied. I swept my light ahead again, checking the side channel they'd come from.

It was low and narrow, angled down and away. Nothing else moved. Bernie stepped forward. I turned to say something to her, and that was when my light caught her shoulder, and the space behind her. Something was standing there. It filled the tunnel from wall-the-wall,

tall, upright, a white face, red lines running from its mouth up towards its eyes, bright colors, puffy shapes where clothing should be, a clown. For a second my hands didn't work. The flashlight dipped and banged against the concrete, and I caught it just before it hit the water.

Bernice, I started, but the clown lunged. It moved faster than it should have. One moment it was standing still, the next it was on her. Mouth open wide, teeth flashing as it clamped down on her upper arm just below the shoulder. Bernice screamed and slammed back against the wall, her feet sliding on the lead. The clown released her immediately and twisted away. Limbs pumping as it ran past me, feet slapping water and concrete as it disappeared down the tunnel ahead. I aimed to get a shot, but it was already gone.

Bernice, I said. She was on the ledge, clutching her arm, blood spilling between her fingers and dripping into the water below. It bit me, she said. I dropped to a knee and pressed my gloved hand hard over the wound. The bite was deep, skin torn, blood coming fast. I keyed my radio. Harland, officer injured.

Static. I tried again. Nothing. Bernice's breathing was quick and uneven. Her eyes fixed on the tunnel ahead. Look at me, I said. She did. I tore my undershirt free, folded it tight, and pressed it down over the wound.

I wrapped it hard, nodding it tight enough that she flinted. Pressure, I said. She nodded and pressed her other hand over it. Can you stand? She pushed herself up against the wall, got her feet under her, and studied. Bernice was tough. I'm okay, she said. I'm okay.

I didn't argue. I try the radio again. Dead. That's bad, Bernice said. Yeah. She looked back the way we'd come, then forward again. We should go back, I said. She shook her head.

Bernice, I want to find the boy, she said. That thing still got him. I looked at her arm. The bleeding had slowed, but hadn't stopped completely. You can still shoot, I asked. Yeah, I nodded. We brought our weapons up, flashlight steady, and moved deeper into the tunnel. After a few steps, Bernice spoke.

What the hell was that? A clown, I said. What did it look like? I kept my light forward. Just a clown. I didn't tell her the rest. I didn't tell her about the white face that wasn't painted, sloppier cracked, but smooth and even, like it had been applied with care.

I didn't tell her about the red lines that ran from the corner of its mouth, straight up towards its eyes, perfectly symmetrical. The kind of detail you only notice when something's close enough to hurt you. I didn't tell her about the orange hair, parted cleanly. down the middle and flared out at the sides, stiff and dry looking, like it hadn't moved even when the thing did. I didn't tell her about the costume, how it sat on the body like it belonged there, roughed collar, puffed shoulders. I didn't tell her about the teeth.

They were sharp. The mouth opened wider than it should have. I didn't tell her that when the light of. Hit it. There was a second where I questioned what I was seeing. I knew exactly what it was supposed to be. I thought I was looking at Pennywise. That clown.

The one from it. But I didn't say any of that. It wouldn't have helped. I just kept walking. Bernice didn't push. She adjusted her grip on her weapon. and stayed just off my shoulder. Light moving with mine now. Overlapping fields so there weren't gaps. The tunnel ahead dipped again, deeper this time. The water thickened, moving faster along the channel,

carrying debris that bumped and scraped as it passed. The walls here were narrower, the ceiling lower. I felt the space pressing in without having to think about it. My radio stayed silent. I keyed it once more anyway. Parlin, I said. Nothing came back. Bernice noticed. Still dead? Yeah.

She nodded and shifted her stance, keeping her injured arm tied against her body. Blood had soaked through the cloth I'd died, darkening it. But it wasn't pouring anymore. We moved another 30 yards before I saw next mark. White paint again? I stopped and raised my light higher. The ceiling above us caught the beam, and the paint continued there to. Broken streaks running along the curve.

Was something it moved overhead. Bernice followed my light. It went up there. Yeah, I said. We didn't discuss. Howe. The tunnel widened ahead into a low chamber where several smaller pipes fed into the main channel. Water poured in from two of them in steady sheets, splashing hard enough to mask smaller sounds. Rust stained the walls in long vertical lines beneath each inlet. Something lay near the edge of the water. I stepped closer and knelt.

It was a shoe, small and black, rubber sole, one of the laces was torn clean through the ends frayed. Bernice stopped beside me. That's his. I picked it up and turned it once in my hand, then set it on the ledge where it wouldn't drift away. I think we're close, Bernice said. I nodded.

And that was when we heard the sound coming from deeper in the tunnel ahead. Something was moving toward us. Fast. I raised my weapon and angled my light forward. Bernice did the same. Water shifted ahead of us. Bernice's light held steady on the tunnel mouth ahead. My beam caught a narrow cone through the dark.

it, the tunnel swallowed everything. Then the sound changed. The scrape moved upward. Higher now. Closer to the curve where the wall met the ceiling. It came with a second sound underneath it. Fingernails, or something like that, dragging quickly. Russell? I hear it, I said. The shape arrived in pieces before it arrived as a whole. A hand came first, pale and gloved looking in the beam. Fingers spread wide as it grip the wall. Then another hand, higher up, pulling. Then a head slid into view, upside down, clinging to the wall.

The clown crawled out of the darkness. It wasn't walking, wasn't running. It used the tunnel like it owned every surface, hands and feet on concrete, climbing the curve, rolling onto the ceiling, then dropping down without losing speed. Its costume was perfectly intact, white-ruffled collar, puffy sleeves, bright colors. The face was the part my brain latched onto. I hadn't been wrong before, even though I hoped that I'd imagined it, or seen it wrong in the darkness. But no, it looked exactly like Pennywise.

It opened its mouth then. Teeth? Too many Teeth. I fired. The first shot hit center mass and snapped its torso back against the wall. It didn't fall. It grabbed higher and kept coming. The second shot kicked off the concrete behind it. The third hit its shoulder and spun it slightly.

But it recovered instantly. Limbs gripping, body flowing back into its line. I fired again and again. The shots weren't clean. The target was not steady. It dropped from the ceiling and hit the ledge hard, then surged toward us on all fours, fast enough that the water beneath it broke into white spray.

I fired until the slide locked back. The sound of the empty click was loud enough that Bernice heard it. Reloading, I said. The clown dropped in front of us then, landing low and springy, then lunging forward. Bernice still didn't shoot. Her gun for me. followed its head like her eyes didn't care about anything else.

And the clown launched itself at us. For a fraction of a second, it was airborne. Arms spread, mouth open. Bernice fired one shot, and the round hit it square between the eyes. The clown snapped backward mid-lunge. It flew past us and slammed into the wall behind with a hard, wet impact that shook the tunnel. It hit the concrete, slid down, and collapsed onto the ledge in a twisted heap.

It didn't twitch. It just lay there. Bernice lowered her gun, but kept it pointed. Got it, she said. Yeah, good shot. I stepped toward the body with my light fixed on its head. Blood pooled beneath it and ran toward the channel, dark and thick. The makeup on its face started to smear where it struck concrete.

The orange hair looked flattened on one side. Bernice took a step with me and then stopped, favoring her injured arm. The cloth I'd tied around her upper arm had soaked through. Wasn't pouring, but it was bleeding steadily. I kept my gun trained on the clown's head and moved in another step. And then the body changed. It wasn't subtle. The white face collapsed inward as if the structure beneath it had softened.

The red lines warped and slid out of symmetry. The mouth shrank and then stretched again, reshaping. The ruffled collar sank down into the neck as if it were melting into the flesh. The puffed sleeves shrank, fabric tightening, and then disappearing into the arms. The clown's limbs lengthened. The elbows pushed backward, then snapped forward. The shoulders broadened and then narrowed again, like the body couldn't decide what it was supposed to be. Bernice stared. Russell? I see it.

The clown's head elongated. A snout pushed out where the nose had been. The face narrowed. The jaw reformed around different teeth. A deer took shape on the ledge. Not a clean deer. Its chest heaved once. Antlers pushed out of its skull, growing fast,

scraping against the ceiling before stopping at an angle. Its legs kicked once, hooves scraping concrete, then it stilled again. The deer's eyes were forward-facing for a second, and then they slid outward as the skull reshaped again. The antlers retracted into the bone like they were being pulled back inside. The body shrank. The deer collapsed down and became a dog-sized shape, ribs. tightening, spine compressing, fur appearing and then vanishing. The head changed twice in a second, muzzle forming and unforming. Bernie swallowed hard. What the hell is that?

I think it's a shape-shifter, I said. The word sounded like it belonged in a movie, but the thing on the ledge didn't give me a better one. The body jerked again. For a second, it looked like it was trying to grow bigger into something with broad shoulders and a heavy chest. I raised my weapon, and I fired into it. I emptied the magazine until the slide locked back again. The echo slapped us from every direction.

smoke hung low in the tunnel and mixed with a damp air. My ears rang hard enough that the water sounded distant for a moment. The body shuddered once, then went still. I stood there with a gun raised, waiting for another change. Nothing happened. I looked down the tunnel again. Let's find the boy. Bernie's breathing was tighter now.

She pressed her good hand against the cloth on her arm. I'm still walking, she said. I looked at her wound. Yeah, you're still bleeding. We moved past the spot where the creature had fallen. I kept my light in my weapon trained forward, sweeping the beam across the walls and ceiling and slow arcs. The tunnel ahead dipped into a wider space.

The air changed slightly. Water flowed faster here, fed by multiple channels we couldn't see. My radio stayed silent. I keyed it once anyway. Harlan, I said. Just static. We went another 30 yards before I saw something that made me stop. A shoe sat on the ledge ahead, tipped on its side.

Same kind. Small and black. I stepped up and picked it up by the heel. The tunnel opened into a low chamber where three smaller pipes fed into the main channel. Water poured from two of them in steady sheets. Rust stained the walls beneath each pipe. The ceiling was higher here. I swept the beam around the chamber.

And then I saw the balloons. Red balloons floated near the ceiling. and along the upper curve of the wall, their strings dangling down. Some were tied off in clusters. Bernice stopped beside me. What the hell? I didn't answer. I moved my light past them and saw the boy.

Nolan was in the corner of a side tunnel, curled on his side with his knees drawn slightly up, one arm tucked under his head like he'd fallen asleep in the wrong place his red shirt was darkened with water his hair plastered to his forehead I crossed to him fast careful with my footing and knelt I put two fingers to his neck

pulse I checked his breathing shallow steady he's alive I said Bernice let out of breath she'd been holding. I didn't waste time trying to wake him. I lifted him under the arms and got him out of my shoulder.

His head lulled against my back as I turned. We didn't look at the balloons again. We just moved. The walkout was faster, but not sloppy. I followed our markings. Tape strips, chalk arrows, places where I'd pressed a tape higher. to keep it out of the water. The tunnel felt less wrong on the return.

The curve that had bothered me earlier came back as a curve. The split appeared where it should have. The ladder was still there. Our tape marks were visible again. The white paint was gone. I noticed it when my light passed over the wall where it been. The concrete was bare. No paint.

I didn't stop to argue with my eyes. Bernice noticed too. Russell? Yeah, I saw it, I said. We kept moving. When we reached the entrance, the rectangle of daylight hit my face like a physical thing. Flood lights lit the grass outside.

Voices carried from the road. Boots crunched gravel. Volunteer fire and EMS were waiting. waiting exactly where they were supposed to be. I stepped out and handed Nolan over to the first EMT who reached for him. Bernice came out behind me and leaned against the concrete lip, holding her arm tight. They guided her to a flat patch of grass and cut away the soaked cloth I'd tied around her arm. The bite marks were deep enough that the medic's expression tightened when he saw them.

I crouched beside Bernice while they worked. I looked at her, smiling lightly. You know you're still a good shot, I said. She held my arm for a moment and nodded. We'd known each other a long time. I was glad she'd been down there with me. Later that night, after Nolan was stable and Bernice was in a room with her arm wrapped and stitched, I went back out with a full team.

We entered the system with better lights, more people, and a plan. The tunnel looked normal. The chamber with the pipes looked normal. The corner where Nolan had been was empty. No balloons. No white paint. And there was no body. They found our barrier tape and our truck marks.

They found Bernice's blood where it splashed onto the ledge and dried. They found shell casings where I'd dropped them. They didn't find anything else that made sense. I kept thinking about why it chose that shape. Penny was. Maybe it'd seen the movie. Maybe a poster. I still don't know.

I went home near dawn. Wash the sewer stink off my hands until my skin burned. And then I called a friend two towns over. Sheriff Lost works Daggerland. I'd heard the stories coming out of that town. Every cop in Ohio had. The missing people. The deaths.

The thing that came out of Lake Erie to kill. And how a few men and a black German shepherd had finally stopped it. I'd never known what to do with any of it until now. Lost picked up. And we talked like two sheriffs talk when they're trying to. trying to keep their voices level. I told him there was something here too. Something bad.

He didn't act surprised. He didn't laugh. He didn't ask me if I'd been drinking. We said we'd get together soon. Talk things over. Try to figure out what was happening. I don't know what the hell's going on. I don't know if it's limited to Ohio or if it's spreading everywhere.

All I know is this. There's something out there that almost got us. And you need to be very careful. That thing can look like anything. And I don't think it's done.