The Ghost Tunnel

“She looks like a right belter,” Joey whispered to me as the girl pranced along the pier towards us, her tight sweater and jeans leaving little to the imagination. “She’s all by herself, so I reckon she’s sure to need a bit of company.”

The summer season was nearly over, and there was only a handful of people around. Joey and I were the attendants in charge of The Ghost Tunnel. It wasn’t hard work, but it was a magnet for willing women, and there was nothing Joey liked better than willing women. And that chilly, windy Wednesday evening, he seemed to have found a very willing woman.

“Hello, Dolores, how’s it going? Fancy a ride in The Ghost Tunnel? There are only two tokens. If you’re lucky, you might get a Joey-bonus.” With an outstretched arm, Joey beckoned to the girl.

“You cheeky so-and-so – and my name’s not Dolores, it’s Angelina.” It worked every time. None of the girls liked the name ‘Dolores’, and they always told Joey their real name without being asked. But Angelina’s coy expression seemed to betray the fact she might fancy him.

“Angelina, that’s a pretty name. Suits a classy girl like you. If you promise not to tell my gaffer, I’ll let you in for free. Robbie here,” – he pointed to me – “won’t say a dickey-bird.”

Angelina raised her eyebrows in mock horror. “But it’s scary in there, isn’t it?”

“Tell you what. I’ll go in with you to make sure you come to no harm. How about it, sweetheart? We’ll leave Robbie in charge here.”

It was his standard ploy. The cars for The Ghost Tunnel were two-seaters, so if there were an odd number of girls, he offered to accompany one of them, the prettiest, if he could. The ride only lasted four minutes, but it’s amazing what he accomplished in those four minutes. Many times, a young lady emerged from The Tunnel, hastily rearranging her clothing.

“That’s fine, mate. You go ahead and look after Angelina.” I shrugged my shoulders. It wasn’t a problem, although I have to admit I was sometimes envious of Joey’s brashness.

Joey helped Angelina into the car, leaving me to pull down the safety bar and press the button to set the ride in motion. It was only then the thought occurred to me. What was Angelina doing on the Pier, on her own, without a coat, on a chilly and windy Wednesday evening?

Even in the muted light, I could see his face was a ghostly white.

I’d got used to hearing women screaming as the car followed its journey through the ghouls, spooks and spirits of The Ghost Tunnel, but this time, apart from the whirring of the machinery, I heard nothing. After a few minutes, the exit door swished open, and the car reappeared. It was Angelina, brushing her hair and adjusting her sweater as I’d seen girls do many times before. But this was different. She was alone.

“Where’s Joey?” I asked, opening the bar and freeing Angelina from the car.

“Oh, he got out inside,” and she pointed to The Tunnel. “Said something wasn’t working properly in the Dracula Section and decided to investigate. Said it wouldn’t take long. Great ride, thanks.” She leaned over, kissed me on the cheek and strutted back down the Pier, waving goodbye as she did so.

It was strange. No one had reported any problems in The Tunnel, and Joey had never left the car mid-ride before. I waited a while, and when there was still no sign of him, I shouted to Dennis, the old chap in charge of the Rifle Range opposite.

“Dennis, I’ve got to close the ride for a bit. Joey seems to have gone missing. Could you give us a hand to look for him?” I turned the power off, switched on The Tunnel’s emergency lights and put up the ‘Closed’ sign outside.

We found Joey lying on the floor in the Dracula Section, sweat pouring down his face, his hands around his throat gasping for air, his whole body writhing and shaking like a jelly. Even in the muted light, I could see his face was a ghostly white.

Thanks to the Air Ambulance, he was in hospital within the hour. They kept him for a couple of days, but they never found out what was wrong. Although physically, he seemed to make a full recovery, he was never the same brash Joey as before. He was in a permanent state of nervousness, always looking over his shoulder as though someone or something was going to appear. The doctors said it was a medical mystery. Joey was no help, either. He said everything that day was a complete blank.

I did consider telling the police what’d happened. But then again, no real crime had been committed. No one on the Pier, not even Dennis from the Rifle Range opposite, remembered seeing Angelina, and sometimes, I wondered if I’d imagined her myself. Sometimes, I think she must’ve been a ghost.

But surely not?

NorthernLife Sep/Oct/Nov 24