Snacks From the Butler's Pantry

The door was left open, giving us the perfect opportunity to explore. The tunnel led deep into the sewers below the city. It was lit strategically with vents and skylights that led up to the street above. The dim light revealed just enough so we could follow the trail. It was obvious someone had come this way before us.

The water tumbled through the twisting channels, soupy with human waste and disease. A flimsy plywood bridge spanned the gap, soggy from the wet air. I led the way across, confident the bridge could hold my weight. I would have made it, except for my overeager companions. They did not wait for me to make it to the other side before joining me, and the bridge collapsed under our combined weight. I squeezed my eyes tightly closed, and held my breath as I hit the filthy water. I did not want to let any of the infectious soup enter my mouth or eyes. With eyes closed, I felt my way along the slimy stones to the safety of the other side.

I lost my friends in the scramble, but did not care to wait for them. Before me was a wooden door set into the moldy stone wall. It looked neatly sanded and oiled, with a welcome mat and brass door knocker. Before I could think to knock, it opened, revealing the smiling face of an older gentleman smoking a pipe. He invited me in without hesitation, happy to have a visitor, even one covered in wet sewage.

His home was warm and dry. It looked surprisingly nice for being located in the sewers. Fine hardwoods lined the walls, and thick carpets were piled on the stone floor. There was a full, luxuriously sized bathroom with clean running water and a shower. There were even windows that opened out onto a busy cobblestone street. This made the least sense to me. I could not figure out why anyone would build a house so centrally located that could only be accessed from the maze like sewers.

My host seemed very familiar to me, and we immediately started conversing like old friends. He told me about his bizarre history. Wrongfully accused of child molestation, his reputation was ruined, and he lost his job as a school teacher. It didn't matter that he was proven innocent. His family and friends all abandoned him. He knew of this abandoned hideout from his childhood. The neighborhood kids used to sneak in on parade days to safely throw things out the windows at the people below.

I saw he had a dream journal, so I asked him about lucid dreaming. It just so happened he was an avid lucid dreamer, and knew many people in the DV staff. He said he had disagreements with the way the DV staff was treated, so left for another forum. I got his phone number and email address and promised to look him up.