The Tunnel

Claire hated Mondays. But thankfully this one was over and she could finally go home. After her move a few weeks ago she had been taking the subway to work and back home, but today it was so nice out, she decided to walk instead. It was a short, twenty-minute walk after all.
She exited the building and turned west. Before she left, she had looked up the route on a maps app, which was good thinking on her part, because a few minutes after she started walking, her phone battery died. “Piece of shit phone!”, she muttered but kept on walking while throwing it in her purse angrily.
At least the evening was beautiful. The weather was windy but still warm, the last rays of sunshine were visible on the horizon. Soon, one by one, the street lamps were turning on. She continued on her way when suddenly she came to a stop. In front of her was a tunnel. Is this the right way? She tried to remember the map she had looked at earlier. Deciding that she might as well, she went inside, hoping to make her way through it fast. She hated confined underground places, so her steps grew more hurried.
The tunnel air was nothing like the outside. It was damp and cold. Somehow it felt old, she did not like breathing it in. It felt like it was creeping into her lungs and staying there like a stone. Her heeled steps were an echoing click-clack on the concrete. The walls were dirty, here and there smeared with graffiti, that almost looked like sinister symbols. She did not stop to look at them, trying to get to the end as fast as she could without running. Briefly, she wondered, whether she should have worn her flats instead today – you could run faster in them. “I’m being silly”, she scolded herself out loud.
Click-clack.
Click-clack, thump-thump. What was that? Her steps faltered a bit, then continued. She heard footsteps behind her, she was sure of it. She stopped walking. So did the footsteps. Okay now, don’t panic. The pulse in her throat was beating so hard, she could feel it in her jaw.
Should I turn around? She thought anxiously. The moment she decided, that yes, of course, she should, she whirled around as fast as possible, expecting someone to stare at her face.
Nothing. Just the darkness behind her. Did those lights work when she had passed them earlier? She couldn’t remember, her heart still beating wildly.
Okay, now she had to turn around again. Breathing heavily, she again whirled around. Clear again. She was starting to get frightened, and she knew it. To keep the dread at bay, she repeated her now mantra in her head. Don’t be silly. Don’t be silly. She continued towards what she knew to be the end of the tunnel.
Thump-thump. Oh no. The footsteps started again behind her. Now in full-out panic mode, she ran towards the exit. Her breath came in rapid bursts. She stumbled. “Those frigging heels!”, she exclaimed but hopped on. Almost there. She could see the bright light at the end.
Wait. Light? Wasn’t it dark out? She slowed down slightly but did not stop.
Finally, she reached the end of the tunnel. As she stepped outside, she saw a street lamp right before the entrance to the tunnel. That’s where the light came from. A relieved sigh escaped her lips.
“I am an idiot.” she decided. The crisp outside air cleared her mind and renewed her bravado. Maybe she would feel better if she saw the tunnel entrance once again but in the light of the lamp? She turned and looked at the gaping dark hole, that had reduced her to a frightened little lamb. Satisfied, she took a deep breath, turning around, wanting to continue on her way home.
“Claire”, something said from the blackness behind her.

Scholz parked his vehicle a few meters away from the entrance of the tunnel. He got out of the car and stepped towards the waiting witness. He really didn’t like the graveyard shift.
“You called in?” he asked while holding up his identification.
“Yes, I found this.”, a jittery glance behind.
The man handed him a purse and pointed towards a broken heel on the ground.
“Shouldn’t someone in uniform investigate?” the guy asked, chuckling nervously. Scholz looked down at his plain clothes, then back at him. “Yes”, he said vaguely. But it’s the third time this month.
Staring back at the black tunnel entrance, it almost felt like it was staring back. Scholz murmured under his breath: “I fucking hate Mondays.”