Turning around, I saw by the light of Pat’s phone a long, long pathway stretching ahead of me, as far as I could squint into the darkness. It went on, and on, and on …

‘Oh my God,’ I breathed in disbelief.

The tunnels – the mythical tunnels under St Mary’s – were real.

‘Right this way, ma’am,’ Pat said in his chipper fake-tour-guide voice, waving me forward with his light. ‘Our next St Mary’s underground tour will be departing in approximately eight seconds. Please fasten your seat belts and keep all arms and legs inside the trolley. No gum-chewing, profanity or flash photography.’

He flipped the phone back towards me and shone the light in my face. ‘I meant that one about the damn profanity, Heck.’ Then he snapped his fingers. ‘Gosh darnit, Heck, I’ve broken my own profanity rule! Well, fuck it. Let’s explore these motherfuckin’ tunnels.’

There we were, twenty feet under St Mary’s. The tunnels were pretty friggin’ legit: ten feet wide, and so tall that even the seven-foot center on the basketball team (who I’m pretty sure has the coach mixing human growth hormone into his Powerade) could stand up straight in them. And they weren’t some kind of accidental geological formation either: someone had built them on purpose, and they’d done a good job, too. Shining my phone light upward, I saw there were wrought-iron archways every ten feet or so, and even old-school metal lanterns hanging from them, although they weren’t lit.

‘How long has this been here?’ I marveled.

‘Forever,’ Pat told me over his shoulder. ‘Some people think the school was part of the Underground Railroad. Other people said moonshine smuggling during Prohibition or something.’

‘Moonshine smuggling at St Mary’s?’ I scoffed. ‘Yeah, right. More likely the school dug them so priests and nuns could scurry around spying on everyone, and make sure no one was dry-humping during vespers.’

‘Here.’ Pat suddenly stopped short. ‘So, right now, we’re standing directly under the main building.’ He shone his flashlight and I saw that the tunnel curved sharply to the right. ‘And in that direction is Girls’ Quad.’

‘How the hell long is this thing?’

‘Oh, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet. It goes on forever, dude. There’s another exit in Girls’ Quad – the grate behind St Anne Hall – but the tunnels keep going. They circle around behind the main building, then Boys’ Quad, then straight back down the whole avenue. The only place under St Mary’s that isn’t tunneled is the lake – that’s why we started by the staircase down to the lake path. C’mon.’

He set off at a little jog, his light flashing in the dark. Usually, Pat sauntered. But, in the tunnels, he was excited. He wanted to impress me.