An old house? A nearby ruin? Not me. It was not a building. No, not a building at all. Not even old. A five foot tall, dank, slippery concrete water run-off tunnel. It was built under a road that connected a large park to an equally large cemetery in and old neighborhood in Toronto. We would dare each other to walk through it alone. We entered from the park side and emerged in a low spot in the cemetery. There was a double bend part way through that dimmed the light and there was always a trickle of water running through the tunnel. It sounded like voices whispering in the dimness. The tunnel was round and you had to walk on the slope of the tunnel wall, slippery with water and something green that grew on the tunnel floor. What we called the “slime line” ran partway up the walls of the tunnel, marking the high-water mark from spring storms and snow-melt. It still gives me shivers just thinking about it.