I work in sewage management, and it is about as luxurious as it sounds. I deal with shit all day. Literally. It pays the bills, I suppose.

I'm relatively new in the field, only having worked in it for the past couple of weeks. Lots of the older guys like to pick on me, calling me green around the gills or a little too mannish for a girl. Normally I respond with a nice big middle finger. This attitude caused me to fit in immediately, though I don’t think my coworkers’ snide comments about me being mannish are totally unwarranted. I helped my grandpa on the farm when I was a little girl. I worked under the table when I was sixteen, helping fill pillows down at the local textile factory. Needless to say, my hands are larger and coarser than most women my age.

As it turns out the majority of people raise a fuss over raw sewage backing up into their homes before they worry about anything else. Most of the job doesn’t involve backed-up sewage though. Most of my duties revolve around maintenance so that that very thing does not happen.

It wasn't long till I heard rumors of the Fingers Man that lives in the tunnels under the streets and beneath our feet.

Gordy, one of the burly foremen that supervise teams was the first person I ever heard tell tale about the Fingers Man. It was lunch time and we all sat on the side of the road, hidden from passerby behind the work truck while munching on packed sandwiches and balancing on busted plastic milk crates. The sun was still high in the sky, but the truck's shadow rebuffed some of the heat.

There were four of us. Me, Gordy, John, and Joaquin shot the shit while guffawing through hunks of food.

"You see anything strange down there yet?" asked Gordy while looking at me.

I shook my head while nibbling into a juicy tomato that hung over the bread. "Just rats."

"Rats are the least of your worries, ya'know."

I raised an eyebrow at him while he tossed his empty sandwich bag into the cooler between his legs. I'd yet to see this kind of attitude pour out of him. Most of the time Gordy could be described as a jolly old soul. Always cheery, always patting the belly beneath his beard that led down towards his belt like a cartoon dwarf come to life. John and Joaquin both sat quietly. No laugh could be heard. Only the zooming of cars passing by on the road met my ears.

"You never seen anyone else down there?" he asked me, stone cold seriousness exuding from him as he craned forward over his knees and pushed his hands together.

This was strange. I was sure it was some kind of prank. They were hazing me, of course. That was the only explanation. "Like the boogeyman?" I wiggled my fingers at him, mimicking a ghost.

He coughed into his hand. "Erhm. Yeah'. Something like that. Sure, I guess you could call him that if you'd like."

"Him?" I asked.

"The Fingers Man."

"The fingers man?" I cracked a grin.

"He normally shows up when you're alone."

"Bullshit."

Joaquin jumped in. "He's telling the truth."

I looked at the three men sitting in the circle with me. Only serious faces peered back. Apparently both John and Joaquin both lost their appetites, because they put away their unfinished lunches, John lighting a cigarette. "There ain't no damned fingers man in the sewage tunnels."

"I seen him," that was John, "He moves so fast sometimes, you're not even sure he was there at all." He sighed. "Must live on the rats and waste down there." He grimaced at the thought of this and flicked the ash from the tip of his cigarette.

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Gordy brushed his beard with an open palm. "For real. It's wild. You'll be focused on a burst pipe or looking for a spot to step without getting piss in your boot and then bam, he's there." He smacked his palms together.

I went all doe eyed. "Oh really? Well I hope that one of you big strong boys will be there to rescue me if he ever comes for little ol' me." I laughed at the bunch of them.

Gordy grinned at me, shaking his head. He stood, tossed the empty milk carton he was sitting on back into the truck, stepped over to me and said, "Back to work, Stacy." while patting me on the shoulder.

Later that night, I found it hard to use the toilet in my apartment. I kept staring into the bottom of it, wondering whether or not I would see fingers poking out from the bowl, beckoning me to take a seat. I was being ridiculous. I knew that. Still I hovered without touching the porcelain while urinating.

I made my boyfriend spoon me all night, but I could not sleep a wink.

The next day, I hopped in the shower, rode up to the station, and geared up.

First on the docket was a simple repair job so I went out alone with Gordy, still rubbing my exhausted eyes while he drove. Apparently, a pipe had sprung a leak that was long overdue for fixing. I had to go down, apply the sealant, wait for it to dry, then come back up and mark it off as done. Easy peasy.

I donned my headlamp and belt while Gordy set up plastic cones and removed the manhole. The entry point was in an alley way so Gordy would stay above ground and keep a look out. Very much not OSHA approved, I'm sure.

I moved down the ladder while clicking the light on my forehead. Once I reached the walkway, I looked around. There was the familiar sound of dripping fluids and the echoing sound of my own footfalls. I slipped into my mask and goggles. This was something I should have done before going down and I regretted not doing so immediately. The stench was cringe inducing and flooded into my lungs. I'll be smelling it well into the next life.

The walkie came alive on my hip with Gordy's voice, "Look alive down there." Long pause. "I know you thought I was kidding, but if you see him, you come right back up."

I pulled the walkie to my mask and blew the loudest raspberry I could manage. Hazing the new blood. I'd seen that happen before in plenty of social circles, but at a certain point, they'd have to drop the act.

I found the leak quickly enough. Without much ado, I got to work, kneeling, and applying the sealant from its spray canister. I had to be careful so as to not get any on me. That stuff is nasty. The sealant made quick work of the leak. I waited patiently for it to dry, ten minutes, then applied another coat.

It sounded as though a rock ricocheted from one of the walls a bit further into the tunnel. I turned my head and my light followed.

He stood there at the end of the tunnel where it split in opposite directions. His eyes glowed yellow like a cat's in the light. He had his back turned towards me, but his head was tucked in between his legs and he stared at me with his head next to his misshapen genitalia. Long dark hair flowed down to his ankles.

"You get it?" Gordy's voice chattered through the walkie.

I didn't dare move.

We stared at each other for a moment in that dark tunnel. I swallowed dry so hard I could feel my jawbone click into place.

He leapt onto my walkway, maintaining his strange stance, still watching me through his legs. I could focus on nothing but the sound of the sewage sludging by in the bottom of the tunnel. I couldn’t move. I urged my legs to take me away. They wouldn't.

"Stacy. Full disclosure. You're freaking me out." I could hear apparent panic coming from the walkie.

I don't know when he’d gotten so close to me, but there he was, within arm’s reach. I could see him clearly, more than ever. The skin was covered in lesions and scarring. The hands expanded out over his arched and twisted back. The fingers stood out against the darkness like massive wings, stretching out three feet each.

"Goddammit Stacy! I'm coming down!" said Gordy through the walkie.

Without my permission, my hand grabbed the canister of sealant. I sprayed the demon-thing squarely in his eyes.

No reaction. The fresh coat of sealant dripped from his upside-down face. He stayed in place.

His fingers were bending towards me. He was going to grab me whole.

I began stepping backwards slowly, expecting that he would lunge at me at any moment. He never did. His fingers bobbed, still extending towards me.

I walked backward towards the entry point, never taking my eyes off him.

I climbed the ladder, always maintaining eye contact as I moved. As I lost sight of him and pulled myself to the surface, I saw him wiggling his fingers at me like a spooky ghost.

That's the boogeyman.

We closed the manhole. I was in shock.

Gordy grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me. "Stacy. Did you see him?" he sputtered out while his face twisted into a beet red.

"Take me home." I said.

Every time I'm alone in the bathroom, I see a long finger that breaches the surface of the water, beckoning for me to take a seat.

I think he's hungry and I won't feed him.