Hydroelectric Power Station

 

During my time as a mechanical engineer at the Main Hydroelectric Power Station, I acquired two things that subsequently ruined my life: a wide, deep scar near my left temple, which forces me to grow my hair long, which has never suited me, and an unbearable, bordering on panic, fear of dark corridors. The memories of that evening will never fade; they will haunt me every night, and that creature will haunt me in my dreams as long as I breathe. I won't claim that my words are entirely true (though I would very much like to be refuted by someone knowledgeable—a geologist, a biologist, or even a psychiatrist), and what's more, what I saw cannot be true. But one single detail prevents me from admitting I'm crazy, a detail that now causes every awakening I make to be accompanied by a shrill, wild scream of terror.

On January 15th of that year, I was on night duty in the main building of the power plant itself, in my small but comfortably furnished cubbyhole, which could almost be called a workshop. Apart from me, there were only about five other staff members in the entire building, all of whom, except the duty officer, were sleeping soundly, as the system was functioning perfectly and there hadn't been even a minor incident for almost a year. During that rather dull year, I immersed myself in books and read all of London, Dickens, and half of Dostoevsky, not to mention a large number of completely trashy and forgettable books I found in our small library among the operating manuals, regulations, and blueprints. Don't be surprised if a simple mechanic suddenly turns out to be more well-read and erudite than you—you simply don't know what a whole year of boredom, far from any civilization, is like.

So, that night, not wanting to sleep during work hours like everyone else, I went out to the left-bank dam to get some fresh air, to shake off the drowsiness that had washed over me from reading The Brothers Karamazov. Our German Shepherd, Kira, ran out with me—a healthy but incredibly kind five-year-old creature, brought here as a puppy and raised by the entire staff. However, before I could fully enjoy the local river air (and it is clean and beautiful here, believe me), I heard a distinctive crackling sound over my radio and the green light lit up. The station duty officer (I won't reveal his name here) briefly reported over the radio that the control panel had received a signal about some kind of malfunction in the second hydroelectric unit. This surprised me greatly, as it had been shut down three days ago and was scheduled to undergo scheduled turbine maintenance the day after tomorrow. It was strange, of course, but it was worth checking. I decided not to disturb my peacefully sleeping colleagues and took only Kira with me, and even then, more for company than anything else, as I couldn't even fathom the possibility of any danger whatsoever.

All the way to the turbine hall, I was haunted by a strange, oppressive premonition of either danger or some other anxiety about this signal. Not long ago, three months ago, it had already been stopped at the insistence of the mechanical engineer whose position I was currently occupying, now fired for negligence. He swore that every night for two weeks he'd heard a strange, steady knocking sound coming from beneath the turbine, deep down, but shutting down the hydraulic unit and then inspecting the turbine itself yielded no results. After that, management decided the old man, who wasn't known for his sobriety, had started drinking on the job, and they quickly fired him, replacing me. I admit, I was something of a skeptic... back then.

So, I descended into the turbine room. The first thing I noticed was the pungent, unpleasant, sour odor permeating the entire room, hard to miss. Kira paced back and forth up and down the stairs, but obeyed my command and reluctantly followed me to the second unit. The closer we got, the stronger the smell became, and the more uneasy Kira felt. "Most likely, the smell is somehow related to the problem that has arisen," I thought, and decided to go downstairs to inspect the turbine itself, although I had no idea what could be causing the odor.

Upon descending, the first thing I noticed was at least one problem: none of the lights were working, which immediately led me to suspect that the sour odor, which had become almost unbearable inside, was coming from damaged and corroded wires. After examining the lamp closest to me, I was convinced, however, that the wires were intact and the cause of the malfunction lay elsewhere. I quickly climbed up and came down with a portable lamp, the light of which was sufficient to at least slightly illuminate the entire interior of the turbine. First, I began to inspect the remaining lamps, confirming that they were all working properly and the problem lay elsewhere entirely. I paused for a moment and thought, but not even a minute had passed when a deafening sound came from somewhere below, as if from the spiral chamber.The sound of metal hitting metal completely stunned me. I clutched my head, covering my ears, but the ringing seemed to penetrate my palms and spread through my head in painful waves, causing me to lose my footing and fall onto the cold, damp concrete. Kira, also confused by what had just happened, was barking loudly from above. Recovering slightly from the shock, I tried to stand, and only then did a thought occur to me, causing a cold sweat to break out in my skin—what the hell was that? My mouth suddenly went dry, and my hands trembled slightly as I realized I was alone in the eerie darkness, God knows where, alone except for the dog above, while something terrifying and probably incredibly dangerous was happening below. Against my will, images, one more fantastical and sinister than the next, formed in my head. Only with a remarkable effort of will did I force myself to my feet, convinced that no further sounds were coming from below. Wincing from the ringing still in my ears, I wandered toward the stairs.

Upstairs, I was about to report to the duty officer over the radio, but suddenly a strange and unusual feeling of shame surged within me—why had I mistaken that sound for something ominous? Most likely, one of the pipes, poorly secured during the initial overhaul, had come loose and struck the turbine blades, and that was what had scared me so much? "The guys will definitely laugh at me," I thought. Of course, I didn't want to be known as a coward, so after a brief hesitation, I decided to descend into the spiral chamber and find the ill-fated pipe, then take it to the duty officer to file a report. Putting on protective goggles (the smell wasn't exactly pleasant on my eyes either) and grabbing an adjustable wrench and a portable light just in case (you never know what might happen), I approached the ladder leading to the spiral chamber and, chuckling to myself, headed down the steps. However, there I found the same scene—none of the lamps worked, and the smell was even worse and stronger than even inside the turbine. After a quick look around, I spotted one of the pipes lying on the floor near the bottom of a blade. I grinned, picked it up, and was about to climb out when a strange hum from the other side of the turbine caught my attention. Taking the lamp in one hand and the pipe in the other, I carefully made my way to the other side, and then nothing could stop me from letting out a terrible scream of despair and terror—in the solid, impossibly thick concrete wall of the cell was a huge hole, just under two meters in diameter, leading somewhere deep, astonishingly smooth and incredibly deep. I fell backwards and simultaneously began coughing convulsively, as the acrid stench had become absolutely unbearable here, practically eating away at my lungs from the inside. Still coughing heavily, I crawled to the nearest wall, my gaze fixed on the hole in astonishment and fear. What was this anyway? How, how did this get here? I found the strength to stand again, and then, on stiff legs, I finally approached, tying a handkerchief over my face like a respirator. Suddenly, I heard an approaching bark from behind. It was, of course, Kira, who had boldly rushed down, probably in response to my scream. However, as she ran toward me, she immediately fell silent and, a moment later, backed away, whining pitifully and trying to hide behind me.

The depth of this hole was truly astonishing—I shone the beam of my flashlight down there (which reached more than half a kilometer—I personally checked in my free time), but I still couldn't see the bottom. I had no idea what it was or how it could have even formed, and decided it wouldn't hurt to call the duty officer now. I took the radio from my belt and was about to press the call button when the buzzing sound came again—from that same abyss, I realized, only now noticeably closer. Here I was gripped by a truly primal, instinctive fear, sticky and disgusting in its taste, gripping every cell of my body and forcing it to disobey the commands of my panicked brain. The flashlight beam still couldn't pick out anything there, in the pitch-black, ancient darkness of that damned tunnel, and the roar grew louder and louder, as did the smell, which now seemed almost tangible. I was shaking violently, sweat pouring in streams, but my legs still refused to obey me, when suddenly something happened that apparently saved my life. Kira, who had been whining desperately all this time somewhere behind me, flew out and, barking loudly, rushed into the depths of that hellish abyss, disappearing from sight a few moments later. It was as if the invisible shackles of fear were lifted from me, and I almost fell forward, suddenly regaining my mobility. I even managed to shout "Kira!" a couple of times before I saw the creature's silhouette in the lantern light. The mere sight of it made me immediately run away, slipping almost at the very stairs and losing consciousness, apparently from the blow to my head... or perhaps from the experience. The last thing I heard, already falling, was Kira's pitiful howl, abruptly cut off.

It was terrifying. I saw this creature for a split second, but I remembered it forever.