Providence
holds many attractions. Its charms include not only historic College
Hill, the dubious “hurricane barrier” and a bizarre fake
fortress -- but also, of course, the many sites featured in the
works of H.P. Lovecraft. The
writer was born and buried in this town; College Hill is strewn
with his former residencies and landmarks mentioned in the stories.
To put it
mildly, Lovecraft was one to really appreciate a good tunnel.
His story “Pickman’s Model,” for instance,
embellishes the Boston subway system with a score of labyrinthine,
haunted passages. One
can only guess that he was at least partly inspired by the perfectly
creepy tunnel right below College Hill.
The
train tracks now leading from a damaged bridge on the Seekonk River
to an abandoned lot near Benefit Street pass below Brown University
through the core of College Hill.
The tunnel was built in 1908; the last train traversed it
in 1981. At that point
the Seekonk Bridge was raised one final time: it still juts out
vertically above the river, its mechanism permanently broken.
Because of the attraction it holds for climbers, suicides,
and (according to the Providence Journal) at least one escaped naked
mental patient, the bridge has been referred to as a “magnet
for the deranged and the deluded.”
Run, do not walk, to Providence.
The
tunnel is approximately two miles long; only one track has been
laid in a space wide enough for two.
It is sealed at both ends, allowing access only through
two (currently unlocked) metal doors.
There are no other exits.
Should anyone decide to lock the doors on you while you are
inside ... well, refer to Lovecraft for your options.
Entering
on the bridge side, it is advisable to find a branch or metal pipe
to balance with on one of the rails: the tunnel is almost completely
flooded. The sun may
shine outside, but within, it permanently rains.
Water drips from the stalactite-studded ceiling in small
streams and occasional fierce torrents throughout the tunnel, causing
a cacophony of trickling and percussive sounds.
Not only
is it noisy but also pitch black.
Beams from flashlights disperse in the thick haze, leading
to the illusion of large shapes hovering on the tracks directly
ahead. Being formed
of mist, they scatter as one approaches.
But these repeated hallucinations in the endlessly dark and
dripping passage are quite unsettling.
The sense of vulnerability is heightened by the fact that
the flashlights might be seen from other points in the tunnel while
any lurkers could be concealed in the dark.
In the middle
section a dry stretch appears, littered with corroded debris, such
as a car. At that point
the other end of the passage becomes more visible.
Surrounded by grandiose, catacomb-like arches, beautifully
reflected in the still water, the brightly lit doorway appears like
the pinnacle of a mystical journey.
Basking in
near-religious splendor, the weary traveler exiting the tunnel is
greeted by the florid yells from the construction workers laboring
on an adjacent site. But
the journey is not yet over.
After scrambling
up the slope surrounding the exit, one surfaces on a parking lot
facing a picturesque house on Benefit Street.
This house sits directly above the final stretch of the tunnel.
And to a connoisseur of horror tales, it is immediately recognizable
as a former funeral parlor -- the parlor where Lovecraft’s
services were held.
