It took us a little under 24 hours to get the parts for the projector. A buddy of mine just so happened to have the key components in his shop and once back at the matinee, Jake and I wasted no time getting it working.

Neither of us really talked much during those few hours. I think it was because we were both terrified and curious as to what the film reel we had discovered might possibly reveal.

Eleven hours after we started the ordeal, we were done and ready to see for ourselves. I don't know why, but I suggested we make popcorn for the occasion. Maybe it was to lighten the mood?

Jake shrugged at the idea. "I guess it couldn't hurt," he muttered. So I went over to the old machine and tinkered with it for another half hour, distracting myself in the work as I thought back to the old days at the theater. I was racking my brain trying to remember anything significant happening here,  but my mind kept drawing blanks. Before the events of a few nights ago, I would've scoffed at the notion that there was anything out of the ordinary.

Maybe I used that extra time to delay the inevitable. But eventually Jake grew tired of waiting and told me he was starting the projector. I nodded anxiously, my appetite now gone. The machine flickered and the reel whirled as we watched a dark splotch appear on the movie screen. Then the splotches formed what appeared to be a grainy image and eventually made into a clear picture of the strange tunnel we had seen.

For a moment, nothing happened on screen. We were just watching what seemed almost like surveillance footage of the tunnel, and the strange door that we had encountered. Then we saw something move just off screen and both of us held our breath. I don't know what I expected. But it certainly wasn't seeing a grainy image of myself and Jacob standing in the tunnel, mimicking our actions from a few nights ago.

"The fuck...?" Cobb muttered as the reel continued to play. There wasn't any sound but I could see clearly enough that we were talking about the door, it had to be almost verbatim what happened when we were down there.

I say almost because of how the film ended. Jacob and I were touching the door, and instead of it being a solid mass like we had experienced, the two of us on screen appeared to be able to move through the wall as though it were made of water. It even shimmered like a pond did as we went through the other side.

Jake and I were speechless as we watched the solid surface return to normal and the reel came to a sudden abrupt end. We stood there silently in the projection room a moment longer before finally Cobb muttered, "Look. I'm all for a good prank every now and again but this isn't funny man."

"You seriously think I would be capable of something like this?" I objected with a half-hearted laugh.

Jake didn't take that kindly. Suddenly his hands were against my shirt and he shoved me to the wall. He had this sudden rage about him that reminded me of the way he'd acted when I saw him that night in the theater.

"Don't mess with me old man! How else do you explain the fuck this is?" he stammered.

I could tell he was frightened. And thankfully he could see that same fear reflected in my eyes so he loosened his grip and ruffled his hair.

"I'm sorry about that..." he muttered. "It's all right," I said adjusting my shirt and rubbing my back.

We stood there for another moment of long but awkward silence. Then Jake declared, ""I want to see it again."

I nodded , anxiously resetting the reel and waiting for the film to start. But this time it was nothing but blank footage; as though somehow the images we had seen were now erased.

"Damn it... We need to go back down there. Get a better look," Cobb decided.

"Bad idea. We shouldn't go back down there until we know what we're dealing with," I told him.

"You're joking right? It's got to be some punk ass kids that are trying to scare us! Probably hid some cameras down there or something," he muttered. I didn't have the energy to point out all the flaws in his argument.

"Well then we should at least contact the police," I said.

"And tell them what? 'Hey we found a creepy vault in the bottom of an equally creepy theater that may or may not also be a gateway to Hell?' We'll be the laughing stock of everyone in town, especially without proof," he remarked.

"All right fine. Then we get proof. This can't be the only film. Maybe there are others hiding in the floorboard too?" I suggested.

Jake seemed agreeable to that idea so for the next few hours we worked together pulling up portions of the floor in theater 2, hoping to find something. I was sore and tired and in desperate need of a break, but I didn't dare mention it for fear that Jake might want to go back to the tunnel. Instead I worked through the pain straight until lunch when Jake finally had another idea.

"Where did you put all the old account sheets?" he asked, wiping sweat from his brow.

"Upstairs. Most of it was unsalvageable but there were a few ledgers from the late eighties, what're you thinking?" I asked.

"Can you go grab them? I'm thinking maybe we can make a paper trail of expenses, it might show us what the previous owners were doing right before they closed shop," he suggested.

I didn't see what benefit it could be, but I didn't want to dissuade any idea he had at this point; so I obliged and we began to review the musty files over a couple of ham and Rueben sandwiches.

Most of the early entries seemed pretty mundane. Wiring. Cleaning equipment. New lighting. There were listings of utilities being paid out of an account regularly that appeared to be owned by someone named Roger Darcey, and copies of every single month's rent in the amount of 469 dollars and 13 cents.

But as Jake and I kept reviewing them, a few notable trends were standing out. For example, the theater seemed to replace its carpeting almost every six months. That was excessive and costly. And then there were the shipments of cement and mortar, which didn't have any receipts to account for them. But perhaps most important was a transaction slated for March 13, 1988; approximately two and a half weeks before the Mooncreek closed its doors for good.

fifteen iron chains imported from Talerin Steel, seventy pounds of chloroform, three custom made posters and one custom made camera for theater 7

"That's a lot of chemicals. Probably enough to take down a couple of grown elephants," Jake guessed.

The chains concerned me the most. I recalled the strange scratches in the tunnel deep below our feet and wondered if some sort of creature had been sealed away by the owners ages ago.

"What do you think the deal is with the posters?" Jake asked, breaking me from my frightful daydream.

I looked around the dilapidated structure, trying to remember if I had ever seen any movie posters on the walls at all.

"Must have been something they threw away," I suggested.

"We should check all the hallways, just to be sure," Jake suggested.

We split up, with me going to the western side of the matinee. It wasn't as friendly as it had once been now that I knew something strange was happening just under my feet.

As I wandered and checked every possible location for where a movie poster might've once hung, I sighed in frustration and remarked to myself, "I guess this is a dud."

Time seemed almost immeasurable inside the theater. There weren't any windows to gaze out and check to see how much had passed. And there was little happening around me to give any indication to how long I had been at the task.

Eventually I returned to the main lobby and waited for Cobb, hoping that maybe his expedition to the east side of the theater had proven more productive.

Instead a few moments later he was back with the same glum expression of disappointment.

"The answer has got to be in that damned basement," he said.

"We should think this through," I argued.

"Oh believe me I have  While I was busy staring at blank walls, I sent out a few texts to anyone in the area who might have heavy equipment to blast that sucker open," he said triumphantly.

"This is a bad idea," I warned him and the younger man just rolled his eyes.

"You May be content to sit back and watch whatever the fuck is happening here unfold, old man; but I'm not. I'm getting to the bottom of this now," he responded. His tone told me it would be pointless to argue. So instead, I used the time waiting to go check camera 7 like I had originally intended to.

It was in pretty bad shape and so was the rest of the projector room, in fact it seemed like there had been a fire that had probably torched the whole first four rows of seating. I bent down to examine the burnt carpet fibers and smelled them, surprised to find that it still held a fresh scent. For the next hour I tinkered on the projector, trying to get it to work. Jake even came in to help me while he was waiting, but neither of us had much conversation this time.

Finally after about nine o'clock, Jake checked his phone again and muttered, "They're outside the building. You should come down with us."

"Thanks but no thanks," I said dryly. I didn't want to admit the thought of going to the basement again scared the living hell out of me.

"Tonight we're getting answers one way or another," he told me and gave me a reassuring shoulder grab.

I nodded, wishing him luck and then returning to my tinkering. I was nervous. And frightened. I didn't imagine the journey into the tunnel could possibly end well. Eventually, it became so distressful that I knew I couldn't just stand by and have Jake risk his life so I started to leave the theater.

That was when camera 7 abruptly came to life. I was halfway down the stairs and I saw the faint light of it's main lens go forward, shining bright and brilliant on the massive canvas.

Then, like the way a cold breeze rustles through a few dead trees on a winter's night the A/C kicked on and I felt the hairs on the edge of my neck stand up straight.

I had the unsettling sensation that I was the one being watched.

Words appeared abruptly on the screen.

Take. A. Seat

My hands felt sweaty and I obeyed.

Eyes. forward the next message said. I clenched the seat and waited. Then the image shifted to show that of the tunnel again.

Jake and his friend were laying down the explosives, arguing in silence about where to properly detonate.

Then I saw flashes of imagery that reflected a countdown.

Dear god. It was a trap.I moved to get up when I felt a cold hand on my shoulder. I heard a childish voice whisper in my ear but I couldn't understand what they were saying. My heart plummeted as the countdown reached zero. Then the screen erupted in a flash of light and explosions.

"No!!" I screamed jumping up and spinning around. But there was no one there. And the film had ended as well. Wasting no time, I ran from the theater down the hall to the back of the theater.

I called out to Jake for some kind of response, searching each corridor for any sign of him. Finally, I caught sight of him near corridor 3 and I shouted in relief.

"Thank god. Thank god," I said running to his side and grabbing shoulder as I caught my breath.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Are you?" I said checking him for injuries or scratches. There were none.

"Where is your friend?" I asked.

Just then the other man popped out from the nearby restroom and zipped up his pants before remarking, "Sorry for the delay. All right let's get to it."

"No. You can't," I stammered and then proceeded to tell them both what I had seen. Jake listened intently while the new guy was trying his hardest not to look at us both like we were crazy.

"You two sound like you been getting high all day," he said with a nervous chuckle. But neither of us responded with even the hint of a smile.

"This is serious man," Jake said as he grabbed his tools and started toward the rear of the theater again. "What're you doing? Didn't you hear what I just said?" I stammered.

"Yeah you just gave me all the push I needed and you're coming down there with me," he growled. I sighed in frustration, watching as he dipped into the dark stairwell.

The other man went next and I followed in the rear, my body literally shaking as we descended.

When we got to the bottom of the stairs, Jake frowned as he peered down the hall.

"What's the matter? You got cold feet?" the third man whispered. I could even hear the faint sound of fear in his voice despite his teasing.

"I could have swore this hallway went that way," Jacob said pointing the opposite direction where it was just a brick wall.

"Must be just a faulty memory," I said and began to walk slowly down the corridor.

It didn't take long for us to find something of interest on the left wall.

"What is this?" Jake's friend asked as he rubbed the grime off the paper and then muttered, "It looks like a movie poster..." I gave him a nervous look and then together We finished wiping off the wall and gave it a shine with our light, getting a good look at the advertisement.

"The Mooncreek Monster, a Film by Roger Darcey," Jake read as he looked at the ominous artist's depiction of a shadowy beast looming over what appeared to be a silhouette of the very theater we were standing in.

"That was the name of the proprietor," I realized as we examined the rest of the poster.

"Hey. Is this some kind of sick joke?" Jake's friend asked.

I shone the light in his face to see he was as pale as a ghost. "What's the matter?" I asked.

"Roger Darcey... that's my name."