The still trench L u c a s D u r a n D The Still trench The air was thick with the smell of mud and smoke, the stench of a battlefield that had long since ceased to be any- thing but a wasteland. Lucas Durand Ovi ebooks are available in Ovi/Ovi eBookshelves pages and they are for free. If somebody tries to sell you an Ovi book please contact us immediately. For details, contact: ovimagazine@yahoo.com No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior permission of the writer or the above publisher of this book An Ovi eBooks Publication 2025 Ovi eBookPublications - All material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks Publications & the writer C The still trench The still trench Lucas Durand Lucas Durand An Ovi eBooks Publication 2025 Ovi eBookPublications - All material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks Publications & the writer C The still trench T he air was thick with the smell of mud and smoke, the stench of a battlefield that had long since ceased to be anything but a waste- land. Private William “Billy” McGrath crouched in the trench; rifle in hand, his ears ringing from the explosion that had torn apart the trench moments earlier. The rhythmic barrage of shells had become a constant companion, the ground trembling with each new impact. His boots were soggy, soaked in the mud that seemed to cling to every part of him, the weight of it dragging on his resolve. Above him, the sky was a grim sheet of grey, and the faint outline of the sun had long disappeared be- hind the relentless clouds. Nightfall was settling over no man’s land, thick and suffocating, as if the very darkness itself was part of the enemy’s plan. The soft Lucas Durand glow of distant explosions painted the landscape in a sickly hue, casting long shadows across the bodies and broken paraphernalia that littered the ground. Men, once brave and full of life, were now reduced to bones and tattered uniforms. Their faces were twist- ed in eternal grimaces of pain, hollow with the resig- nation of those who had already given up hope. Billy had seen it all in the past two weeks. Men torn apart by shrapnel, others swallowed by the earth it- self, dragged down by sudden explosions or the sheer weight of the mud. But amidst the endless death, something else had begun to gnaw at his sanity. The claustrophobia of the trench. The constant din of ar- tillery, louder than the human mind could bear. The unbearable stench of sweat and decay. There was a madness creeping in. Not just the madness of war, but something worse. A sense of being trapped, of being prey, hunted by something unseen. And Billy could feel it—feel the watching eyes from the dark- ness beyond the trench. The enemy was there, just out of sight, waiting for them to make the smallest mistake. “McGrath, you bloody fool! Get moving!” Sergeant Carter’s voice sliced through the chaos, harsh and in- sistent. His silhouette, barely visible in the dimming The still trench light, cut through the smoke-filled air. Carter was al- ways the first to act. Always moving, always think- ing. A man of action, and right now, that was exactly what Billy needed. Billy’s fingers tightened around his rifle, his heart racing, but his legs refused to cooperate. He was fro- zen for just a moment, too long. The explosion had thrown him off, and now the world felt too big, too endless. His thoughts were jagged, splintered into fragments that didn’t seem to fit together. His mind screamed at him to move, but his body betrayed him, locking him in place like some poor animal caught in a trap. “McGrath! Move it!” Carter shouted again, more urgently this time, and it cut through the fog in Bil- ly’s mind. He staggered to his feet, the heavy weight of his gear pulling him down, but the fear of his Ser- geant’s wrath was enough to get him moving. Billy stumbled forward, his boots sinking into the soft, wet earth. The roar of artillery seemed to cre- scendo above them, the explosion of shells punctuat- ing their every step. The trenches were a maze, twist- ing and narrow, the walls caked in mud, the ground uneven and treacherous. Sergeant Carter was ahead, his movements sharp, purposeful. Billy did his best Lucas Durand to keep up, but it was hard. Harder than it should have been. Finally, they reached the end of the trench, where the landscape opened up to the barren stretch of no man’s land. A hellish expanse that had once been an ordinary field, now turned into a graveyard of fallen soldiers, barbed wire, and craters. The wind howled across the desolate land, and Billy felt the chill of it, creeping beneath his uniform. Carter crouched low behind a sandbag, scanning the horizon. Billy dropped beside him, trying not to make a sound, the weight of his body sinking into the mud as he kept his eyes trained on the distance. There was a moment of eerie silence, and then it came again the rumble of artillery in the distance, echoing across the land like some great beast stirring in its sleep. Billy’s heart was pounding, his throat tight. Something felt wrong. The wind had changed, the air thicker, heavier. As though it was waiting for something. And then he saw it. A faint outline in the earth. Something out of place, partially concealed by a fallen log. His breath caught in his throat. The still trench “Do you see that?” Billy whispered, leaning closer to Carter, his voice low, barely audible over the dis- tant boom of another explosion. Carter’s eyes narrowed, scanning the object care- fully. “That’s new,” he muttered, his voice laced with suspicion. “Don’t like it. Get down. Don’t let them see you.” Without hesitation, the two soldiers dropped to the ground, crawling through the muck with prac- ticed stealth. The log was only a few meters away, and the strange shape was growing clearer. Billy’s mind raced. A hole. A pit, carefully covered by debris and natural camouflage. It was too neat, too perfect to be an accident. And then, the faintest smell of stale air drifted up from below, musty, old, and faintly metal- lic. “A tunnel,” Billy breathed, his pulse quickening. He had heard rumours, whispers of hidden passag- es, secret routes beneath the earth where both sides moved unseen. The Germans were known for their cunning, but tunnels this close to the front lines? It was dangerous. Too dangerous. Without another word, Carter signalled for Billy to follow. They crawled toward the hole, the mud mak- Lucas Durand ing each movement sluggish, each inch forward feel- ing like an eternity. McGrath’s mind raced. The air felt heavier now, charged with something he couldn’t explain. Every shadow seemed to move, every creak of the earth felt like a warning. It was as though the very land beneath them was alive, watching, waiting. They reached the edge of the hole. McGrath peered inside, squinting in the gloom. The tunnel stretched deep into the earth, its entrance dark and foreboding. It was a German tunnel—there was no doubt about it. The smell of stale air and damp stone, mixed with the scent of oil and the faint echo of distant move- ments, confirmed it. Carter’s voice was barely a whisper. “Stay close. We go in quiet, no noise. They won’t know we’re here.” Billy nodded, his mind struggling to focus. He was already thinking ahead. What if the tunnel wasn’t just a way to move soldiers? What if it was something worse? The thought gnawed at him, but there was no time to dwell on it. With his rifle clutched tightly, Billy lowered himself into the tunnel’s narrow mouth. The earth smelled musty, the air stagnant. It felt wrong. Everything felt wrong. But Carter was ahead, already moving deep- The still trench er into the darkness. Billy followed, his movements careful, deliberate. They were ghosts in the dark now, moving beneath the earth, hidden from the carnage above. And then, it came—the unmistakable sound of footsteps. Faint at first, but growing louder. Coming from deep within the tunnel. Billy froze. His pulse surged. German soldiers? Carter raised his hand, signalling for silence. His eyes were wide, scanning the shadows ahead. The sound of the footsteps echoed off the stone walls, rhythmic, deliberate. Too close. Too deliberate. Without warning, a shadow moved at the end of the tunnel. “Get down!” Carter hissed, pulling Billy into the cover of the shadows just as a German soldier passed by, his boots scraping against the stone floor. Billy’s breath caught in his throat. There were more of them. And they weren’t alone. Lucas Durand I. The tunnel stretched far beneath no man’s land, a labyrinth of damp earth and jagged stone. Billy Mc- Grath’s heart pounded in his chest as he and Sergeant Carter descended deeper, their footfalls muffled by the thick mud and detritus that clung to the ground. Each breath felt heavier than the last, the oppressive air hanging around them like a vice, suffocating in its stillness. There was a sense of claustrophobia down here, the walls of the tunnel feeling as if they were closing in with every step. “Keep your wits about you,” Carter’s voice was low, clipped with tension. “If this is a German tunnel, they’re not far behind. We don’t want to be their next meal.” The still trench Billy nodded, but his mind raced with questions. How had the Germans managed to dig such an ex- tensive network beneath the earth, so close to the front lines, hidden in plain sight? The sheer size of the tunnel was unnerving. His fingers tightened around his rifle as they moved forward. Every creak of the wood, every flutter of a rat’s feet on the ground, made him jump. The eerie silence of the place was far more unnerving than the chaos above them. The walls of the tunnel were rough, jagged stone carved out by years of labour, some ancient, some recent. Faint light from a single, flickering lantern illuminated the darkness ahead, casting long, eerie shadows along the uneven path. Billy’s skin prickled. He hated this place, hated the feeling that something was watching him, waiting for him to make a mis- take. They weren’t alone down here. He could feel it. “You hear that?” Billy whispered, gripping his rifle tighter. He wasn’t sure if the sound was real, or just a trick of his mind, faint voices, whispering from the depths. Carter raised a hand for silence, his sharp eyes scanning the shadows. “It’s nothing. Keep moving.” His tone was sharp but measured, the calm of a man used to danger. Lucas Durand Billy nodded, though doubt gnawed at him. The deeper they went, the more the air seemed to thick- en, the stench of earth and decay growing stronger. The tunnel wound and twisted, a maze that seemed to go on forever, its origin unknown. Was it really German? Or something else entirely? He had heard rumours of ancient catacombs beneath the old bat- tlefields, strange places where history had been bur- ied in more ways than one. They continued in silence, the only sounds their breath and the soft scrape of boots against stone. The whispers from deeper in the tunnel grew louder now, echoing off the stone walls in a way that made Bil- ly’s skin crawl. He tried to push the thought from his mind, but the uncertainty gnawed at him. And then, just as the oppressive quiet was becoming unbearable, a distant thud reverberated through the walls, followed by the unmistakable clatter of boots on stone. Billy’s pulse spiked. His instincts screamed at him to run, to get out of this cursed place. But he knew better. Carter was the seasoned soldier, and Carter was not running. Not yet. Billy’s eyes locked on his sergeant, searching for any sign of recognition in the older man’s face. Car- ter had heard it too. His expression remained calm, The still trench but Billy saw the quickening of his breath, the subtle tension in his shoulders. There was something about the noise, the way it reverberated, that told him it wasn’t just the wind. They weren’t alone. Then, in the silence that followed, a figure ap- peared at the entrance of the chamber. A faint silhou- ette, barely visible in the dim light of the lantern. It was tall, too tall for a man of ordinary stature. Billy’s mind raced. Was it a soldier? A German? Or was it something worse? The shadows made it hard to tell. “Who’s there?” Billy demanded, his voice shak- ing despite his best efforts to stay calm. He tried to sound confident, but his heart was hammering in his chest. His rifle shifted in his hands, ready to fire at the slightest provocation. The figure didn’t move at first, just stood there, si- lent, as if evaluating them. The flickering lantern cast a ghostly glow on the walls, but it was impossible to make out any detail of the figure’s face. It could have been a German soldier or something else entirely. Billy’s mind was on edge, the air thick with the ten- sion of waiting. Then, a voice, low, cold, and unmistakably Ger- man ...echoed from the darkness. “You should not be here.” Lucas Durand Billy’s blood ran cold. He turned to Carter, whose face had gone ashen. It wasn’t the voice of a German soldier, but something worse, something... darker. “We’re in the wrong place, McGrath,” Carter said, his voice tight, his eyes searching the dark corners of the tunnel. He took a step back, motioning for Billy to do the same. “Who are you?” Billy demanded again, his voice now raw, desperate. There was no answer. Just the sound of shuffling boots, drawing closer. And then—there it was. The unmistakable sound of movement in the dark. Footsteps, echoing across the tunnel, growing louder and louder, until it was clear there was no escape. There were others, coming from deeper in the labyrinth. They were not alone. Billy’s heart raced as his mind screamed at him to act. He glanced at Carter, who was already making his way to the far side of the chamber, eyes scanning for a way out. “Get ready,” Carter muttered under his breath, pulling out a knife from his belt. He moved silently, disappearing into the shadows of the chamber. Billy followed, slipping into the darkness behind him. The still trench “Stay close,” Carter whispered, his voice barely au- dible in the darkness. “If this is a trap, we’ll need to fight our way out. But don’t make a sound unless I give the signal.” Billy’s throat went dry. The silence in the tunnel was broken only by the sound of their footfalls, as they made their way cautiously through the maze of corridors. There was something wrong here. It wasn’t just the Germans they had to worry about. It was the feeling that something was following them, lurking just out of sight. The air was too still. The darkness too deep. They stopped at the intersection of two tunnels, their backs pressed against the stone walls. Carter’s eyes flicked toward Billy, his face a mask of concen- tration. “I don’t like this,” Billy muttered. His voice was tight with fear. “It’s too quiet.” Suddenly, the sound of footsteps grew louder, echoing down the tunnel. Billy’s breath caught in his throat. There was nowhere to hide now. The fig- ures were coming closer, too many of them, and they weren’t German soldiers. Lucas Durand From the darkness, a shape emerged. At first, Billy thought it was a figment of his imagination, a shad- ow moving unnaturally in the dark. But then it solid- ified, a tall, gaunt figure, dressed in rags, its face ob- scured by the low light. The figure reached out with long, skeletal hands, and Billy recoiled, stepping back into the shadows. Before he could react, Carter was already moving. He lunged forward, knife raised, and in a flash of movement, the figure crumpled to the ground with a low, sickening thud. Billy’s breath came in sharp gasps, his heart ham- mering in his chest. “What the hell was that?” he gasped. Carter wiped the blood from his blade, his face grim. “I don’t know. But we’re not alone down here. This... this is a German tunnel, but something else is living in it. Something worse than soldiers. Some- thing we can’t even begin to understand.” Billy’s mind raced, struggling to grasp the enormi- ty of their situation. The whispers in the tunnel, the strange figures in the dark. It was all too much. Too much to comprehend. They weren’t just fighting for survival. They were battling something far more in- sidious. The still trench “You’re right,” Billy whispered, his voice barely au- dible. “We have to get out of here.” Carter shook his head. “It’s too late for that now. They’ve already found us.” Lucas Durand II. The air in the tunnel grew heavier as the rum- ble faded, replaced by an unnatural silence. It was as though the walls themselves were holding their breath, waiting for something to happen. Billy Mc- Grath’s heart hammered in his chest as he skidded to a halt, his boots slipping on the damp floor. He glanced over at Carter, whose face was hard, unread- able, but there was something in his eyes. Something that hinted at the old sergeant’s own doubts. “Stay sharp,” Carter muttered, scanning the dark- ness ahead. His voice was tight, clipped. “We’re in no man’s land, but down here, the rules have changed.” Billy nodded, barely able to focus. The German sol- dier’s panicked words echoed in his mind: “They’re not like us... Something worse than the war.” What had