{"id":2537,"date":"2021-10-09T04:21:48","date_gmt":"2021-10-09T04:21:48","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/hauntedduluth.com\/twin-ports-terror\/?page_id=2537"},"modified":"2021-10-09T04:32:13","modified_gmt":"2021-10-09T04:32:13","slug":"a-night-in-the-tower-soudan-mine","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/hauntedduluth.com\/twin-ports-terror\/a-night-in-the-tower-soudan-mine\/","title":{"rendered":"A Night in the Tower-Soudan Mine"},"content":{"rendered":"\t\t
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A Night in the Tower-Soudan Mine<\/b><\/div>
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Greta Singleton groaned. She raised her hand, felt slick wet blood and a goose egg on her forehead. She didn\u2019t dare open her eyes, for fear it would hurt.<\/span><\/p>

The last thing she remembered was walking at the end of the Tower-Soudan Mine tour line, a half-mile underground on the 27<\/span>th<\/span> level of Shaft No. Eight. She\u2019d been on the last event of the day of Minnesota\u2019s oldest, richest, and deepest iron ore mine. The outing was extra credit for her University of Minnesota Duluth Geology class.<\/span><\/p>

For the grand finale, the group had visited a large \u201croom\u201d where the shaft dead ends. The walls of the room were curved like a rocky womb, punctuated by alcoves where miners had dug deeper, looking for iron ore.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

The guide had explained how miners used to work, showed some of their hand tools \u2013 picks, shovels, and pry bars \u2013 and demonstrated where they would have stood, chiseling valuable hematite from the walls with ear-piercing drills.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

Then the guide had doused all the lights that were scattered across the room to give the visitors an idea of what true darkness felt like underground.<\/span><\/p>

The depth of it had taken Greta\u2019s breath away. The dark was heavy, oppressive, cold, wet, and unlike any other shade of black she had ever seen–a hopeless, starless night from which there was no escape. She waved one hand in front of her face. Of course, she could not see it.<\/span><\/p>

After a few moments, the guide warned them and turned the lights back on. The visitors stood, blinking like newborns under the glare of hospital lights. A few bats flitted in the low airspace overhead. Someone asked how many miners had died while the mine operated. The guide said, \u201cAfter the mine moved underground, only a dozen died. But the mining company was the one tracking the numbers, so who really knows?\u201d<\/span><\/p>

When the tour ended, the guide started leading them back down the spiral staircase to the railcar tram, which would shuttle them to the hoist for the trip above ground.<\/span><\/p>

Greta lagged in an alcove off the main room, mesmerized by the feelings brought on by the darkness. She wasn\u2019t ready to return to the tram and reenter the world of light and normalcy yet. She needed time to adjust.<\/span><\/p>

As she finally began to walk, Greta recalled feeling a whisper-light hand on her shoulder that was closest to the rock wall. She turned to see who wanted her attention. Instead of a person, all she saw were flashes of light, then blackness.<\/span><\/p><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t

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Now, lying on her side with her eyes still closed, she carefully moved her arms and legs. She rolled onto her back. Her ribs ached on the side where she must have fallen. Other than that, and her splitting headache, she seemed okay.<\/span><\/p>

Greta opened her eyes. Darkness gathered around her, predatory, hungry. From a dim light near the spiral staircase, she could tell she was still in the dead-end room of the mine. She listened, not hearing anyone else. Was everyone else gone? If so, she must have been unconscious for a long time.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

Slowly, she sat up, felt in her coat pocket for her phone.\u00a0<\/span><\/p><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t

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When her fingers closed around her phone\u2019s hard plastic case, relief coursed through her. She knew it was a long shot but punched in her security code anyway and looked at her reception bars.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

The dreaded circle with a slash through it flashed in the upper right. Although her cell phone was billed as one of the most powerful, it still couldn\u2019t receive a signal a half-mile underground. She activated the flashlight function. The beam fell on the yellow hard hat she had been wearing, which lay a few feet away like half of a broken eggshell.<\/span><\/p>

Greta examined the alcove where she had last been standing and saw what must have been her downfall: a rocky outcropping sticking out about a half-foot from the wall at head height. She touched her forehead again, winced. The rock must have nudged under her hard hat and flipped it off her head as she fell.<\/span><\/p>

Not bothering to retrieve her useless helmet, she arose and started walking to the staircase. Thirty-six steps down, it would take her back to the shaft where she could follow the tram rails. She hoped she could just walk to the hoist and get out of here after a clanky three-minute ride to the surface.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

Along the way, she wondered how the tour guide could have left her. Sure, she\u2019d been trailing behind, hidden in the alcove, but didn\u2019t they count everyone in the tram and in the hoist? Maybe the guide had been in a hurry to get home. Still, it was no excuse.<\/span><\/p>

Despite the ache in her head, after climbing down the stairs, Greta began walking faster. Being alone down here was creepy. She didn\u2019t want to look at the reddish-gray walls too closely. They seemed to be closing in. Instead, she concentrated on the lights ahead.<\/span><\/p>

Once, she thought she heard a soft scratching and the fall of pebbles. She stopped and said, \u201cHello? Hello?\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

Her words echoed down the shaft. Nobody responded.<\/span><\/p>

As she continued, she made the mistake of wondering who \u2013 or what – had touched her shoulder before she got knocked out. Yes, the touch had been light, but definite. She shivered and loped toward the hoist.<\/span><\/p>

Finally, she reached it \u2013 a cage-like elevator with a metal gate in front. She paused, breathing hard, trying to remember how the guide had operated it. She recalled hearing a series of beeps and buzzes–some sort of signal. She located a panel of buttons on the side of the hoist and reached toward it.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

The lights went out.<\/span><\/p>

Her breath caught, then she started hyperventilating. They must be closing down for the night! Didn\u2019t they know she was still down here? Heart pounding, she punched a button, even though she knew it wouldn\u2019t do anything.<\/span><\/p>

Greta fought to control her panic. She bent over, a hand on the hoist frame to anchor her. Was she going to have to spend the whole night down here? The tours ran Monday through Saturday, 10 a.m. until 4 p.m. Was she trapped until tomorrow\u2019s first tour?\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

Greta straightened. She wanted to yell up the hoist shaft, alert someone that she was down here, but her breathing wouldn\u2019t allow it. She gulped air, trying to slow her respirations. As she gradually calmed, she noted the cold seeping through her lightweight coat. The mine was 51 degrees year-round. She zipped her coat and remembered seeing a few miners\u2019 jackets on hooks near the hoist, probably left to provide \u201catmosphere\u201d for the tours.<\/span><\/p>

She peered at the bars on her phone again, hoping her reception was better because of her proximity to the hoist shaft. No such luck. At least her battery was charged. She shined her phone\u2019s flashlight around, locating the jackets. She chose the smallest and put it on. It smelled of must with a metallic tang of ore dust. The sleeves dangled past the ends of her coat sleeves, flopping over her hands. She rolled the sleeves back and hooked the metal clasps down the jacket front.<\/span><\/p>

She surveyed the hoist area, her home for the night, looking for some way to communicate with the land above. Was there an emergency phone? Only empty tour cars and two wooden benches huddled along the rocky walls met her gaze. The benches would be warmer than a metal rail car, so she made her way over and sat on one.<\/span><\/p>

A soft sob escaped her. She\u2019d decided to major in Geology because rocks fascinated her. The forces that formed them were unique and their shapes and minerals so varied. Rocks were constant and undemanding.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

Greta wanted to share her wonder with children as a middle-school Geology teacher. She loved kids, especially her cousins, ages three and five, who listened with wide, innocent eyes as she explained what the Earth had looked like when rocks were created so long, long ago.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

She never wanted a child of her own, though. The thought of giving birth gave her the willies, with all that pain and pushing. Besides, when she was young, her neighbor had died in childbirth. She had witnessed the stark desolation of the family afterward–the father trying to raise the baby on his own, always calling Greta\u2019s mother for help. When she grew older, Greta babysat the motherless child; the girl was clingy and hollow, shaped by her mother\u2019s absence.<\/span><\/p>

A half-mile below the earth\u2019s crust, Greta wiped her eyes with the jacket sleeve. Her dorm mate Felicia wouldn\u2019t miss her. Felicia was at a party and if she came back to their room, she would be so out of it, she wouldn\u2019t notice Greta was gone until late tomorrow morning.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

Greta\u2019s parents would be of no help. They lived half a continent away in Florida. And she didn\u2019t know where her boyfriend Dennis was. Or even if he really was her boyfriend. They\u2019d been hanging out for about a half-year but hadn\u2019t even kissed yet.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

Greta wasn\u2019t sure why Dennis hadn\u2019t made a move. Part of her was relieved; she knew she wasn\u2019t ready. She wanted closeness but was too worried about getting pregnant to pursue anything more physical even though she had access to birth control. Their casual relationship wasn\u2019t the kind where they kept track of each other\u2019s movements.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

Greta turned off her phone light and curled up on the bench, drawing the jacket tighter around her. It was going to be a long night. She\u2019d better get double extra credit for this tour.<\/span><\/p>

She fell asleep only to get stuck in a nightmare about inky black water. She was swimming, but the water was so, so cold. Her arms and legs grew leaden. Slowly, she began to sink, down, down into the blackness. Her lungs were running out of air, squeezed by a tight pressure. She fought to break the surface, but her arms and legs wouldn\u2019t obey . . .\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

Greta awoke with a start and a yell. She took great gulps of air, relieved to find her chest unencumbered. But the darkness . . . the darkness was unabated. An irrational urge to flee from its oppressive weight made her leap to her feet and run blind down the shaft.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

One of her feet hit a tram rail and Greta\u2019s ankle turned. She fell heavily to the muddy ground, panting hard. She lay there, sobbing between breaths.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

Gradually, she stopped crying and her breathing calmed. She took her phone out of the jacket pocket and turned on the light. She was only about 25 feet away from the hoist. Her panicked run had seemed so much farther in the dark.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

Greta crawled over to the wall and leaned against it for support as she gingerly felt her ankle with hands covered in red mud. It was swelling already, an angry red lump growing by the second. At least the ache in her head had lessened.<\/span><\/p>

Greta sighed. <\/span>Great. Just great.<\/span><\/i><\/p>

Then she noticed something gleaming not far away, shoved against the wall. She dragged herself over a few feet and shined her light on the object. A tin of sardines and a few small plastic packages each containing two saltines lay there.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

Who knew how old the food was? Maybe some miner had dropped them back in the 1960s, the last time the mine was active. She was hungry, though. Solid food in her stomach might make her feel better.<\/span><\/p>

Greta wiped her dirty hands on her pants and inspected the can–no signs of swelling or breakage. She couldn\u2019t find an expiration date. She probably didn\u2019t want to know, anyway.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

She rolled the tin open with the old-fashioned key on the end. The fishy smell of its contents made her empty stomach growl. She opened the saltines and dug a chunk of fish out of its olive oil bath, placing it on a cracker.<\/span><\/p>

It wasn\u2019t that bad. Perhaps like wine, sardines got better with age. But as she ate, she realized her meager supper was going to make her thirsty. Did mines have water fountains? Probably not.<\/span><\/p>

Greta finished her meal and limped back to the hoist, this time with the guidance of her flashlight. She wasn\u2019t going to make that mistake again–running blind down a tunnel in the dark. She couldn\u2019t believe she had done that. She sat on the bench and turned out her light, putting her phone in airplane mode to save the battery.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

Here she was, stuck so far underground not even cosmic rays could penetrate. This thought reminded her of the university physics lab that had been built in the mine. From her research before the tour, she suspected it was on this same level. Researchers from the University of Minnesota had been looking for decaying protons or dark matter or something. She knew the lab had been dismantled, but what if that area offered another way out?\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

Her tour group had already been to one end of the shaft on this level without passing the lab. It would make sense that the lab lay in the other direction.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

Greta sighed. Did she want to do this? Staying by the hoist felt safer. Besides, her ankle hurt. She lifted her leg up onto the bench trying to limit the swelling. For a half-hour she debated whether to stay or go. She decided she didn\u2019t have anything else to do. It was worth at least trying to find the lab. Maybe she\u2019d get triple extra credit.<\/span><\/p>

She turned on her light, wincing as she stood on her wounded ankle. It was twice its normal size now, and an angry purple. She shined her light around, trying to see if anything was available to help her walk. She spied a shovel down the tunnel in the direction she intended to go and hobbled over to it. She was able to brace the handle under her armpit. Walking with the shovel was awkward, but it took partial weight off her foot.<\/span><\/p>

She had traveled a dozen yards when she came to another metal spiral staircase going up. She slowly climbed, shovel clanking with every move. Heart pounding at the top, she stopped to rest a few moments. She shined her light around this new area, but it looked much like where she had just been: full of rocks, dirt and a tram car line. It was just as dark, too.<\/span><\/p>

Greta continued down the shaft, eventually noticing a door off to one side that said, \u201cEmergency Exit.\u201d Her spirits rose. With a moment\u2019s hesitation, Greta tried the door. It opened easily. Her phone light showed a flight of stairs going up. Did the stairs lead all the way to the surface? It would be a long trek, but she was motivated.<\/span><\/p>

Shovel under her armpit, Greta started to climb. Having nothing better to occupy her mind, she counted the flights as she went. She passed a door labeled \u201cShaft #26,\u201d and kept going. Her tally reached ten when the flights ended at a door labeled \u201cShaft #25.\u201d It didn\u2019t look like she was going to be walking out above-ground. She swore silently and pushed at the door, her mouth dry and salty.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

This level looked more disheveled than Shaft #27. Rocks were strewn about, condensation dripped from the ceiling, and a musty smell pervaded the air. She wasn\u2019t sure how this place was safer in an emergency. No lights, either. Maybe it offered refuge if the lower levels flooded or if they caught fire.<\/span><\/p>

She walked to the left. The shaft snaked this way and that. She didn\u2019t see any signs of other people or any way out. As she progressed, the musty smell grew stronger, more acrid. The floor turned spongy. She trained her light on it. The ground was covered with something that looked like thick black worms or grubs. A tiny noise made her look up. The ceiling was covered with layer upon layer of little furry brown bats. Occasionally, one would squeak. In between the rows of bats pinkish-brown nubbins squirmed–baby bats?<\/span><\/p>

Greta was too terrified to move.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

From farther down the shaft a loud noise erupted–like a metal pole falling on a metal floor. At once, the bats shrieked and began flapping into Greta\u2019s face. She raised her shovel, trying in vain to shield herself. She waved the shovel back and forth, feeling the impact of several small bodies on it. Then she turned and hobbled as fast as her ankle would allow, her light bouncing crazily off the walls and floor.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

She stepped wrong and turned her good ankle. She fell to the ground, her phone and shovel flying. Thankfully, her phone flashlight did not shut off.<\/span><\/p>

Greta sat up and rubbed her new sprained ankle, moaning and panting. Bats were still flying around her, but their numbers had dwindled. She collected her wits and crawled over to her phone and then to the shovel. Gingerly, she stood, testing her ankles. Her shoes were covered in filth. She limped on feet now, but was still able to totter to the emergency door. She escaped, shutting the door firmly against the bats. She leaned on her shovel, resting.<\/span><\/p>

\u201cOh my god, oh my god, that was so gross!\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

Her words echoed down the stairwell. As she waited for her heartbeat to even, she thought about what to do next. She had no desire to continue down to level 25. She had zero curiosity about what had made the sound that scared the bats. Somehow, she didn\u2019t think the sound was made by a person. She had no desire to go find the lab, especially not with two bad ankles. All she wanted to do was go back to the hoist and wait for morning. That seemed safest, extra credit be damned.<\/span><\/p>

As she started down the stairs, Greta happened to look down. A bat was clinging to the back of her shovel.<\/span><\/p>

She screamed and bashed the bat and shovel against the floor, more times than needed merely to kill the animal.<\/span><\/p>

\u201cOh God, pleeease get me out of here!\u201d she yelled.<\/span><\/p>

Shovel back in position, sobbing softly, Greta clomped her way down the stairs, then down the spiral staircase. Her bench sat where she had left it, seemingly ages ago. She collapsed onto it, and elevated both ankles. Along with the filth from level 25, her shoes were covered with red muck from her fruitless trek. She would need to buy new ones.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

After she calmed, Greta stood and gingerly made her way over to the jackets, taking another off its hook and spreading it over her legs once she returned to her bench.<\/span><\/p>

She turned off her phone light. As she tried to sleep, Greta thought about how unnatural mining was–sticking workers yards underground where they couldn\u2019t see the sun for hours. They risked cave-ins, poison gas, groundwater floods, and all for what? For some rocks that could help make steel. She began to wonder if all that effort to bring rocks to the surface was worth it. She also began to wonder if Geology was her true calling. What if she couldn\u2019t find a teaching job? They were hard to get, especially in northern Minnesota. Then she\u2019d have to work for an oil company or a mining company. She didn\u2019t want to do that. It was just as extractive as mining. She wanted to learn and to share her knowledge.<\/span><\/p>

As she carefully rolled onto her side her spiraling thoughts turned to Dennis. Was she okay with having this non-physical, uncommitted relationship with him? No. She wanted more. She wished she had someone she could count on, someone who would miss her if she never got out of here.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

Wait. What was she doing thinking like that? Of course she\u2019d get out of here. It might just take a while.<\/span><\/p>

The image of the young bats, squirming and pale on the ceiling of the shaft above, replayed in her mind. She shuddered involuntarily. Greta understood that part of her horror in encountering the bats was from her own fear of childbirth. Her fear had magnified because she was alone in the mine, with no buffers; just her, the rocks, the darkness, and the bats.<\/span><\/p>

The more she dwelled on it, the more her fear of the young bats seemed childish. What could a bunch of tiny flightless bats do to hurt her? Nothing. They were just bats. Nothing else. They were separate from her deepest fear. And was it worth letting her whole life be affected by this fear of having a baby? Maybe she should talk to someone about it–talk to a counselor once she got out of here.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

She was going to get out of here, right? She only had to hang on for a few more hours. If she slept, the time would go more quickly.<\/span><\/p>

Yes, she should talk to someone. When she got out of here, she would do that. And she would talk to Dennis.<\/span><\/p>

Greta fell asleep, then gradually awoke in the darkness, not sure if she was still sleeping. The pain as she moved one of her feet let her know she was very much awake. She felt for her phone in her jacket pocket, took it out and unlocked it. The time said 9:45 a.m.<\/span><\/p>

Great! Soon, she\u2019d get out of this hell hole. Her mouth tasted of old fish. The goose egg throbbed beneath her hair, but her headache felt better. She wondered when they\u2019d turn the lights back on in preparation for the tour. She supposed the group wouldn\u2019t come into the mine right at 10 o\u2019clock. They had to gather and watch a movie first. She estimated that might take fifteen minutes. But then,they\u2019d be coming, and she would be saved.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

At 10:20 she sat up, turned on her phone flashlight and looked at the elevator, full of expectation. At 10:30 she became impatient. Where were they? Why weren\u2019t the lights turning on?<\/span><\/p>

Gradually, and with a terrible sinking feeling, Greta remembered that today was <\/span>Sunday.<\/span><\/i><\/p>

She sat back against the wall and turned off her light.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

The darkness welcomed her.<\/span><\/p>

END<\/span><\/p><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>

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“A Night in the Tower-Soudan Mine”<\/span><\/div>
by Marie Zhuikov<\/span><\/div>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t
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Marie Zhuikov is a novelist, science writer, and poet from Duluth, Minnesota. Her most recent work is \u201cGoing Coastal: An Anthology of Lake Superior Short Stories\u201d (2017 North Star Press), which she edited and co-authored. It won honorable mention from the Northeastern Minnesota Book Awards and was a finalist in the 2020 Minnesota Author Project, Communities Create Contest. She\u2019s visited the Tower-Soudan Mine three times but has yet to get stuck in it overnight. <\/span><\/p>

For more information, visit marieZwrites.com.<\/span><\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

A Night in the Tower-Soudan Mine\u00a0 Greta Singleton groaned. She raised her hand, felt slick wet blood and a goose egg on her forehead. She didn\u2019t dare open her eyes, for fear it would hurt. The last thing she remembered was walking at the end of the Tower-Soudan Mine tour line, a half-mile underground on …<\/p>\n

A Night in the Tower-Soudan Mine<\/span> Read More »<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"_uag_custom_page_level_css":"","footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-2537","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"yoast_head":"\nA Night in the Tower-Soudan Mine - Twin Ports Terror<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/hauntedduluth.com\/twin-ports-terror\/a-night-in-the-tower-soudan-mine\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"A Night in the Tower-Soudan Mine - Twin Ports Terror\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"A Night in the Tower-Soudan Mine\u00a0 Greta Singleton groaned. She raised her hand, felt slick wet blood and a goose egg on her forehead. She didn\u2019t dare open her eyes, for fear it would hurt. 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