Equipped with the logbook’s revelations, Clara returned to the crawl space. She found the access point tucked behind a heavy shelving unit in the mudroom. It was not hidden behind a trick wall; it was simply obscured by the sheer weight of household storage. She cleared the boxes away, revealing a small wooden hatch that smelled of damp earth and old wood.
She descended with her torch, though she felt the same paralyzing dread as when she had heard that noise. That’s when she saw it! There were narrow-gauge railway tracks leading ahead. They were not improvised; they were professionally laid, designed to carry weight through the darkness. The tunnel did not just go into the mountain; it was a feat of hidden infrastructure.
She followed the tracks with her eyes as far as the light reached. The air was colder here, moving in a faint, rhythmic draft that felt like the mountain was breathing. She saw the rusted silhouette of a hand-operated cart slumped in the shadows. The scale of the secret was overwhelming. She backed out, gasping for the familiar, dusty air of the kitchen. Again, the thought hit her, What exactly were you transporting, Uncle Mark?