The Cave

Deep below the earth, inside the bowels of the mountain, a man traverses the rapidly tightening tunnels to reach the 'drip-drip-drip' of the water.

The Cave

The cave was dark and humid. Razor-sharp stalactites, formed over a period of hundreds of years covered most of the ceiling and made the small opening in the mountain appear like the mouth of a shark. No light seemed to reach the cavern’s depths, except for when the moon was out. Then, pale blue rays found its way through a tiny crevice high up in one of the cave’s walls. This caused the stalactites to glitter and emit a cold, ominous glow. Tonight, however, the moon was covered by dark, threatening clouds, and a soft rumble in the distance held the promise of a storm-to-come. The wind had already begun picking up, and a soft howling could be heard through the passage-ways leading into the heart of the mountain. Droplets of water hitting the flat, stone floor echoed lightly through the cave with their drip-drip-drip. Somewhere in the dark, sounded the labored breathing of a man approaching.

The man was a soldier. He wore heavy steel armor around his arms and legs that was covered in the crimson red of blood, and a blunt axe hung from his side. His torso was covered by a tightly-knit chainmail that had several holes in its otherwise meticulous design. The man had a number of cuts and bruises scattered across his face and body, and his breath weighed heavily in his chest. He stopped several times to wipe the sweat from his brow, before continuing his decent down into the mountain. His stumbling footsteps caused tiny rocks to scurry across the stone floor, and sometimes his chainmail would come in contact with the stone, giving off a terrible screeching sound that drowned out everything else. He stopped and listened to the sounds of the mountain, holding his breath. With one hand on the wall on his left, he started moving again, slowly, but surely, towards the welcoming drip-drip-drip of the water, deep down below somewhere. He was thirsty, oh so thirsty. His lips cracked and sore like dry leather in the desert. He couldn’t remember when he had last had a drink. Was it hours or days? He had no idea, no concept of time anymore. He stopped again. The sound of the water’s drips was coming closer, wasn’t it? Yes. He could hear it clearer now. Almost there. Struggling on through the narrow passage, the man had to stoop down to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling above. The way forward was narrowing, the walls seemingly closing in on him, the floor and ceiling moving towards each other. The man got down on his knees with some difficulty, his bones were creaking from the strain, but he carried on. He had been through worse trials than this, much worse. He would get through this one too, like he had all the others and this would be no more than yet another story to tell around the campfire. Still, there was the strong possibility that there wouldn’t be any more nights by the campfire. How many of his men had gotten away? How many lay slaughtered on the grassy fields? They were surrounded when he had been knocked out by a fleeing horse, and when he awoke, the enemy had bypassed him, probably dismissing him for dead. It wouldn’t be that hard to do, seeing how the battlefield was covered by thousands of bodies, both friends and foes alike. He had crawled away on his belly, until he reached the outskirts of the forest. Then, he ran and ran until he could run no more. When he stopped and looked around, he suddenly found himself at the foot of the mountain. Dead-tired and with night rapidly approaching, he started walking. Just as the last of the light was about to leave him, he saw it. The opening in the mountain was well hid by dense shrubbery, and if he hadn’t stopped where he stopped, his eyes would have missed it completely. He said a quick prayer to thank the gods for his luck and for his life, then, he entered the cavern.

He spent the first twenty minutes or so resting and getting used to the darkness of the cave, before traversing deeper inside its bowels. The dark didn’t bother him much. When robbed of the possibility of sight, his other senses never lead him wrong. His sense of smell was the first to perk up after having spent some time in complete darkness, but that didn’t do him any good, seeing how he himself seemed to be the worst smelling organism around for miles. Sweat, blood, grime and a little hint of vomit was what accosted his nose at the moment. But, it was nothing he wasn’t used to. Living exclusively with dirty, filthy men all around you for months at a time will do that to a man, and after a while, he couldn’t smell it anymore. His hearing was the last of his senses to join in. The sound of his heavy breathing, intensified by the echo of the stone walls around him, made it sound like he was surrounded by a platoon of out-of-breath soldiers. He tried to still his breath and his pounding heart, and soon picked up the sound of water; the sound of life.

The man had gone as far as he could go. The passage-way was too narrow to continue. He was now lying with his stomach to the ground and the ceiling to his back, trying not to breathe too deeply, feeling the weight of the mountain resting on top of him with every single breath. He had hoped the way would open up before it got too cramped, but no such luck. The man rested for a while before starting his backwards-crawl back the way he came. It was slow going, his chainmail constantly snagging on sharp rocks sticking up from the floor and ceiling. Several times he had to move forward again to un-snag himself, before he was able to keep going. Eventually, he made enough progress so that he could finally sit up. He fell back against the stone wall, taking a breather before starting the long journey back towards the cave entrance. His thoughts were starting to grow muddy, and his eyelids suddenly felt like they had iron weights attached to them.  Once his breath slowed enough for his hearing to pick up again, he could hear the enticing drip-drip-drip of water once more. It was almost like a taunt, a promise: this far, but no further. So close, but, yet so far. His mouth felt like it had forgotten the concept of moisture, and the constant drip-drip-drip would have driven him to tears if his body had had any tears to spare. Defeated, the man settled in his heavy armor and could now feel every bit of his being aching at the weight of all this iron he was draped in. He started to remove one of his iron gauntlets when he suddenly had a moment of clarity: He could remove it all to try and fit through the narrow part of the tunnel. He became excited at the thought, but grew a little worried that he hadn’t come up with this sooner. He definitely had to get some water in him, and fast, or he might risk losing his mind to delirium and die in here of thirst. Feeling a little rejuvenated by the sudden realization, the man proceeded to relieve his over- encumbered body from all his armor, and once again started crawling down the narrowing tunnel towards the drip-drip-drip.

 

The man found the tunnel to be less cramped this time around, but it was still a tight fit. He didn’t have his armor to snag him up on every little piece of sharp rock jutting from the stone all around him, but that meant he no longer had the protection from it neither. Wherever he crawled, rocks poked and prodded his chest and back, tearing at his thin, sweat-covered undershirt. But, the man soldiered on, as soldiers are known to do, and with a final grunt and squeeze, his body fell through the opening and into the cave at the bottom. It wasn’t a long drop, but exhausted by his effort, the man lay still on the smooth stone-floor, catching his breath and smiling into the darkness. He could feel his shirt getting soaked by the puddles that had formed underneath him, and with another grunt, he rolled over and started licking and slurping up the delicious water like a dog. It tasted like dirt and minerals, and it was the best drink he had had in his life. The floor was for the most part slick and even, but here and there, deep holes had formed, allowing more water to gather, and it was in one of these holes the man now had his face submerged to his ears. He took deep gulps of the icy water that froze his insides deliciously, giving his skin goose-bumps and sending shivers down his aching spine. He eventually had to come up for air, and with a content grunt he fell back down on his side to rest.

His eyes were still closed, seeing how he didn’t really have any use for them down here, but the man now found himself aware of a white, bluish glow penetrating his eyelids. He slowly opened his eyes and his gaze fell upon hundreds of spikes protruding from the cave’s ceiling. They were giving of a serene light that filled the entire room, and gave him a clear look of his surroundings. At first he had thought the spikes hanging from the ceiling to be the source of the light, but on closer examination, he found the light to be coming from above, through a small crack in the stone roof. He looked around and found the tiny hole in the wall he had emerged from, surprised at himself for being able to fit through it. He slowly got to his feet and found the cave to be more than spacious enough for him to stand upright. His eyes, slowly adjusting to the blue light, fell upon a large and flat stone-wall on the opposite side from where he had entered. He took a couple of shaky steps towards the wall, and discovered strange markings carved into the face of it. It seemed to have been drawn using charcoal, and it resembled a gigantic cloaked figure of some sort. The man ran his fingers over the lines, expecting the charcoal to smear on to his fingertips, but the markings appeared to have been somehow burned right into the fabric of the stone, and his fingertips showed no evidence of him having touched the black lines. The cloaked figure didn’t appear to be that of a human-being, its legs not being legs at all, but deformed limbs ending in something that resembled hoofs. Its arms were longer than any man’s, and it held what looked like a large dagger in between its crooked fingers. Its head was completely covered by the hood of the cloak, and the face appeared completely black. The man gave another shiver and took a step back. Above the drawing, there appeared to be some sort of text, but it wasn’t in any language the man had ever seen before. He squinted to try and make some sense of this bizarre artwork that stood before him, but he finally gave up and sat down on the floor, his back to a wall and within seconds he was sound asleep.

The man awoke to a loud crack of rock against rock. He jumped to his feet and looked around, disorientated for a moment, but suddenly remembering where he was and relaxed a bit. He gave his head a shake to clear it and let his eyes adjust to the cold light that still filled the cave. He gazed upwards to the small crack in the ceiling where the light emerged from. It must still be night-time, he reasoned. The light that shone down upon him and shimmered in the hanging crystals above him had to be that of the moon. How long had he been sleeping? He felt rested enough, and that usually meant that he had been resting fitfully for at least four to five hours. But, there was no way of knowing down here in the dark. He got down on his hands and knees and lowered his head down to get another drink of water when he heard it again: The same sound that had woken him. A sharp crack from somewhere behind him had him scurrying backwards until he had his back against a wall. His heart threatened to leap out of his chest, and he was breathing hard. Then he remembered who he was: A soldier, a veteran of countless battles fought underneath the banners of the Royal Guard. An elite swordsman with more confirmed kills than most of the men in his unit, and not to mention, a hell of a bare-knuckle brawler. He gave a little laugh at his own stupidity and let his body relax once again. He was currently residing inside of a cave, and caves have a tendency of falling apart, little by little. He had probably heard a small rock falling loose from the ceiling and hitting the stone floor, giving off a loud echo that had him running for the hills. He gave another chuckle and decided it was time for him to start moving again. He hadn’t taken a single step before a loud growl erupted all around him. The man reacted on pure instinct, positioning himself with his back to the wall, in a steady fighting-stance, ready to face whatever was coming. His heart had resumed its rapid beating and the man held his breath and listened for any sign of movement around him. Another rock hit the floor, then another and another. It seemed that a hole was opening up in the wall opposite him, and he could now hear the sounds of scraping. It sounded like talons being dragged across a metal sheet, screeching and tearing that pained his ears. Larger and larger pieces of the wall came tumbling down, hitting the stone floor with heavy thuds and cracks. The man froze in his spot; his body seizing up and the feeling of dread and despair had wrapped itself around him so thick it felt like death itself was standing just a hairs-width away from him. The last bit of stone fell from the new hole in the wall and came to rest in front of his feet. Silence followed, and it was a full silence like nothing the man had ever experienced before. The cave had become completely void of any sound. The soft howl of the wind traveling through the small passages had died down and the constant drip-drip-drip of water falling on stone had dried up. The only sound he could hear was the sound of his own blood, rushing through his ears, being forced faster and faster around the inside of his body by his violently beating heart. Suddenly, the light started to dim around him. It wasn’t like the moon being covered up by clouds, but almost like the cave being filled with a solid darkness; A darkness that had a shape, and a feel of oppression to it. The man found the air harder to breathe. It felt as if the cave was filling up with smoke, and he felt his lungs protest at his every intake of breath. The hairs on his body stood on end, the air becoming electric around him. Then, full darkness descended upon the cave. It was like someone had pulled a wool sack over his head. The darkness and silence was utterly complete. The man tried to get his body to function again, but his arms and legs felt like they were made of solid stone, cold and unwieldy. After what felt like an eternity, he managed to get his legs moving again, towards the hole he had come from. He had to feel his way along the rough, stone wall, but eventually he felt the tiny opening. He didn’t hesitate, but proceeded to almost throw himself head-first into the hole in the wall. It seemed to be a much tighter fit this time. When he had entered the hole from the other side, he had been positioned with his feet the other way around, allowing his body to get used to the steady tightening of the tunnel. Now, he found his upper body violently trusted into the gap, his heart beating against stone, his lungs not getting enough air to accommodate the panic-stricken state his body was in. He managed to scurry a little way in before realizing he was utterly and completely stuck; trapped underneath several tons of rock, the entire weight of the mountain above him and below him. Claustrophobia was now setting in and he found himself panicking even more, trying to wriggle his body loose from this stone coffin. Behind him, he now heard the slapping of footsteps on the wet floor. They were moving slowly towards where he was lying. He could feel cold hands touching him, reaching for his legs, clawing at him. He heard a loud ringing in his ears and suddenly realized it was his own screams echoing through the darkness. He screamed for help, knowing nobody would come for him, knowing this was the place he would die. Crushed beneath the mountain, deep below the earth, where no one would ever find him.    

 

Author's Note

Short fantasy horror story. Looking for feedback, especially what readers feel when they read it.