The Wall Read Free

an adult, maybe. But what would I say, and why on earth would they believe me or be interested? I found a torch that works. Something moved and went bang. In fact, what were the chances of me even getting to the interesting part of the story before being told off and punished for climbing into the building site? Besides, even if they did believe me, and I had uncovered something important, would I be allowed to see it? Would I ever be told the truth about what was discovered? Probably not.
    If I want to find out what’s under there, I have to do it myself, and I have to do it straight away.
    I bend my knees and heave at the metal, revealing a glimpse of a dark hole. I push again, the hot, sharp edge digging into my skin, but with a firm shove, it slides aside. I drop the sheet, and immediately realise this hole is no ordinary hole. There’s a rope tied to a metal pin that has been hammered into the soil just under the surface. The rope is knotted at regular intervals, each gap the length of my forearm. I can make out four knots, then nothing: just a black void. The hole is the size of a manhole, but an irregularity to the shape gives the feeling it has been dug without machines. This is the entrance to something.
    I kneel at the edge and shine the torch downwards, with my arm stretched out as far as it will go. In the weak, thin beam, I trace the rope to where it ends in a tangled white blob, sitting on a dark surface that looks like soil. But it’s hard to be sure.
    I can’t look at a high thing without wanting to go up it. Now I’m staring down this hole – a hole like nothing I’ve ever seen before – and the same voice is piping up, telling me I have to go down, I have to take a look, I have to know what it’s for and where it goes.
    I have a hunch as to what this might be, and I know how dangerous it is to get involved with anything like it, but on the other hand, stumbling across this mystery, in the middle of my boring, boring town with nothing to do and nowhere to go, is like finding buried treasure. I can’t just leave it there and walk away.
    Maybe I ought to work out the risks, remind myself of everything I’ve been warned about, take stock of what I have to lose. I know that’s what David would do if he was here with me, but that’s not the kind of person I am, and it’s not who I want to be, either. Mysteries are for solving, walls are for climbing, secret hideouts are for exploring. That’s just how things are.
    I pocket the torch and slide myself into the hole. The first knot is just beyond the reach of my feet, so I squeeze the rope with my knees and edge myself downwards, hand over hand, until I have a knot to stand on. After that it’s easy to shunt myself lower, knot by knot, to the bottom. I’m just beginning to enjoy the climb when I hit the soil, and find myself wishing the hole was deeper.
    The earth at the bottom is softer and darker than on the surface, cool against the palm of my hand. There’s a musty smell, like a bag of football kit you’ve forgotten about for a few days. I switch on the torch and immediately see that my suspicion was correct. The hole is more than a hole. It’s a tunnel, held up with props of rough wood and thin planks that look like they’ve come from packing crates. Mostly, though, it’s just a thin but seemingly endless tube of soil, disappearing ahead into darkness, in the direction of The Wall.
    Now I have a choice. I can go back up, collect my football, and head home; or I can go through. I know what I ought to do. I know what every other boy in Amarias would do. But as I see it, those are the two best reasons there could possibly be for doing the opposite.

I’ve lived in Amarias since I was nine, and in those four years I’ve never once been to the other side. The Wall is taller than the tallest house in town. If I wanted to see over it, I’d have to stand on the shoulders of a man who was standing on another man who was standing on