It all began as one of those spontaneous weekend adventures. A group of us — me, my brother, and two friends — decided to hike a trail we’d never tried before. The sun was bright, the air crisp, and the forest path felt almost untouched. We laughed, shared snacks, and took photos, thinking this would be just another lighthearted trip.
Then we noticed it: a narrow crack in the hillside, partly hidden by vines and roots. At first, we thought it was nothing. But curiosity is a dangerous thing. We pulled away the overgrowth, and what we found was a dark opening, wide enough for a person to slip through.
We hesitated. Something about it felt wrong — too quiet, too cold, as if the air itself was heavier there. But in the end, our curiosity won. One by one, we crawled inside, our phone flashlights cutting thin beams through the darkness.
The tunnel opened into a small chamber. The walls weren’t like the rough stone of natural caves; they looked smooth, almost carved. Strange markings ran across them, etched deep into the rock, symbols none of us recognized. And in the center of the room stood a stone table.
It wasn’t just the table that froze us in place — it was what lay on top. Rows of melted candles, burned down to waxy stubs. A circle drawn in red on the surface. And in the middle, a pile of bones — small, fragile, unmistakably human.
The air turned colder. None of us spoke. My brother whispered that we should leave, but my flashlight caught something else on the wall behind the table: handprints. Hundreds of them, smeared in red, pressed against the stone as if left by people trying to claw their way out.
Suddenly, a sound echoed from deeper within the cave — not the wind, not an animal. It was rhythmic, like footsteps.
We didn’t wait to see who — or what — was coming. We bolted out, scrambling through the narrow opening, tearing our clothes on the rocks and branches as we fought our way back into daylight. We didn’t stop running until the cave was far behind us.
To this day, none of us have spoken of it to anyone else. But sometimes, when I close my eyes, I still see those handprints. And I know… whatever was inside that cave wasn’t natural.
