The Tunnel

Every sentence of this story begins with the next letter of the alphabet.

A low, dark tunnel presented itself in front of the old man. Bent over to see in, he was thinking, should I go, or not go? Crouching down, he slowly stalked in to the mysterious hole in the cement. Drops of water splashed down onto his neck, and he shuddered. Every step was drawn, and calculated by his shaking legs. Five minutes passed, and he had only gone a dozen yards. Gaping blackness was all that was before him now, no more color in this world. He stopped, and screamed quickly  as a cold hand touched his arm. In a frenzy of movement he flailed about to fend off the deathly touch. Jumping, he rapped his head on the ceiling. Kicking, he glanced his foot off a stone. Losing balance, he slipped to his back, and was to dazed to run. Mindful of every breath, he fearfully stared ahead for whatever horror had touched him. Nothing was there, and he started to feel foolish. Of course nothing was there, he was in an empty cave! Pushing terror aside, he plunged deeper into the darkness. Quality of air was growing steadily worse. Rock ahead, rock behind, rock above, rock below, he felt secure now in the solidness around him. Suddenly, again he stopped, hearing the unmistakable whisper of his own name. Terrified, he listened for some minutes. Unbroken silence filled them, besides the droplets falling musically to the rock floor. Volumes of horrid imaginations poured through his mind. "Who are you," he screamed. Xylophone tones of the water were all he heard as he stood rigid. "You," a voice slowly emanated from the pitch black in front of him, "I am you.” Zeal for the truth began to conquer the man, and so he continued.