Some might say that the tunnel system is slightly labyrinthine, but I think most students would agree that the tunnels are a nice luxury, especially when the ice, snow and wind are out to get all of those not wearing scarves or hats. But, I also think that most students would agree that they usually venture into the tunnels only during the light of day, not at night, when the tunnels awaken, serving their true purpose.

I had let my hat fall out of my jacket pocket at some point during my trip through the tunnels that afternoon. I realized this as I was heading out one Friday night and decided to retrace my steps in search of my hat. The set of doors I usually enter the tunnels through was locked, but a few shoulder shots and some heavy kicks with my size-11 Nikes sent the doors flying open.

The halls were dark, save the red glow from the EXIT signs every so often. I had gone around a few bends and was beginning to lose trust in my sense of direction. All I could hear was the hum and buzz of the furnaces and security devices. I saw my hat folded and stepped underneath one of the water fountains. I knelt down to grab it, dusted it off, and wrapped it right around my head. I noticed that the locker doors began to rattle and soon they were swinging open and smashing against one another. The water fountain began leaking a little from its base and the ceiling started flaking, dust showering down in my eyes.

Something was coming. It couldn’t have been the train — it could never shake the tunnels like that. No, this was something else altogether.

As the tunnels shuddered and warped, the sound of an oncoming herd filled my ears, not readying myself for flight, but standing in anticipation of some great force.

And around the corner they came — a wave of squealing, chirping, rubber-tailed rats, claws sliding and sounding off like fingernails on a blackboard. There wasn’t a tile in sight. The rats weren’t tripping over each other or moving in a chaotic manner, they were orderly, like a platoon, marching in furry lines. I had nowhere to retreat as the filth moved closer, their odor beginning to ooze and cling to the walls of my nostrils. I covered my mouth as tears began to drip from the corners of my eyes.

Then, as panic set in, as images of a ravenous ball of fur and disease devouring flesh, I leapt up on the water fountain and crouched on it till the end of the train passed me. I hopped down and cautiously followed the rats to the first set of doors. The rats plan was being carried out perfectly, as they crawled on top of each other’s shoulders while on perched on their hind legs, the fattest rats at the bottom. The totems of varmint pressed their rubbery feet in unison until the doors creaked open enough for those below to scurry through, the others moving quickly to catch up. Then, at the last set of doors, the rats snuck beneath the doors’ gap, free in the night.

As soon as the rats were in the open a large truck swung around the corner, out of an alley. Perhaps the exterminator? Maybe Splinter from “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles” to rally his troops in a coup against the human population of Boston? Then I saw the truck’s back latch open, inviting the phalanx of rats in. As I squinted to try to make sense of what was happening, I noticed that the rats were crawling into boxes, about 25 per box. This was an assembly line. This was procedure.

Then the truck’s latch shut and the truck drove off. I could barely make out the lettering on the back of the truck at first, but then I jogged after it and everything became clear to me. The truck’s latch read “Northeastern Dining Hall Services” in bold, black and red print.

Needless to say, after that dream, I passed on the “chicken” nuggets and filet of “fish” the next day. I haven’t been to the tunnels since, but I can sense the rumble of the tunnels as the rats do their nightly march from the underground sewer passage, through the tunnels and into the delivery truck that delivers the delectable meals to over 18,000 students. And every once in a while I see that truck drive past my dorm I imagine a bitter looking man with long sharp teeth and whiskers behind the wheel, gnawing on a chunk of cheddar cheese.

— Brian Wraight is a freshman journalism major.