The Cavern

I hated long-haul flying but my job necessitated it. The crowded hot tub in the sky always left me feeling dirty and tired. This once was particularly bad. Crying baby, obnoxious neighbours and crappy food. I had just wished to be off the godforsaken thing. I would give anything now to be back in that stale air. I’ve been sat here for at least 6 months now, surviving on a diet of bugs, berries and tinned food left over from the crash. Luckily for me I happened to land near an underground stream that briefly bubbles to the surface so water hasn’t been a concern. The sun shines down like a spotlight illuminating the ground around me but I feel no warmth this far down. I wish I had been careful what I had wished for.

It all started with a scream. At least that’s the first thing that caught my attention. Someone across the aisle was screaming loud enough to wake the dead. The cabin was still dark and most people were groggily coming around having been ripped from their dreams by this woman’s scream. She continued screaming until her neighbour placed their hand on her shoulder when she buried her face into their shoulder and sobbed uncontrollably. At this point people were looking out of the window by the woman in an attempt to divine what it was that she was so agitated about. People crowded around the small portholes and whispers began to spread around the dusky cabin. “The engines failing”. “We’re going down”. “This is it”. I didn’t believe it until I crossed the aisle and pushed my way through the throng. I pressed my face to the window much to the chagrin of the others trying to catch a glimpse. The woman was sat in an over-wing seat and so had a great view of the engine. The expanse of bright white wing contrasted starkly with the billowing black smoke coming from its underside. It spread out under the wing and slipped slowly over the sides to rise and disperse. The wing itself was in bad shape. Many of the metal panels were loose or missing altogether and as I watched, a large chunk of metal flew backwards and disappeared from sight. It seemed as though the plane was shaking itself apart. It suddenly dawned on me that we had heard nothing from the pilots and their silence suddenly seemed eerie. I wrestled back to the aisle and stormed towards the cockpit desperate to have some kind of explanation in this otherwise unreal situation. It was as though I were watching CCTV footage of someone walking with purpose down the aisle. It wasn’t real and the only thing that kept me from crumpling was the thought that it wasn’t actually all that bad. Laughable now I know. I was about 3 rows from the cockpit door when the plane plunged towards the ground and I was thrown into the air. The plane righted itself and I hit the ground as my legs buckled. I screamed in a facsimile of the woman in the window seat as I looked down and saw my leg twisted at an unnatural angle. I had landed on a heavy metal briefcase that had slid out of the overhead lockers and had shattered my lower leg. I clutched at my knee as the pain bought the whole situation into harsh realism. Pain flooded my system and despair clutched at my heart as I realised that my last few moments were going to be spent in agonising pain. My body began to falter and the last thing was aware of was the plane tilting downwards before I hit my head.

Blackness.

The darkness parted like a curtain and what I saw behind it was almost as horrifying as the sight I had seen previously. I lay at the bottom of a deep chasm the floor of which was dotted with small fragments of white metal that had previously made up the plane. Far above me was a tiny mouth, the only obvious way out of the pit. That was how I came to view it, as a pit specifically designed for my torture. Teetering on the edge of the mouth was the main part of the plane, its ragged edges sharp like teeth. Not close enough to the edge to actually fall but just far enough to leave me with a constant sense of worry that something might dislodge and come crashing down. That was then but now I almost wish it would fall, crushing me in the process. When I came to the first thing I noticed were a mat of broken vines above me that must have broken my fall. The gnarled tendrils cast long finger-like shadows in the late evening that swept their way gradually across the floor of the pit. As time went by the vines grew back and blocked out more and more light from my dungeon. I lived in a perpetual green-tinged twilight that lent a timeless gloom to my purgatory

There were no other survivors, at least not that ended up in the pit too. There were a few bodies of people that weren’t quite so ‘lucky’ as I was. They lay crumpled around the floor of the pit in mangled heaps almost taunting me. At first I thought I should at least try to give them a burial or something but I couldn’t bring myself to approach them. They hung menacingly in the corners of my vision reminding me of what could, and perhaps should, have happened to me. Before too long however the problem was solved for me. The bodies began to disappear. I would eventually fall asleep on my seat and then when I awoke another one had gone. I never saw where they went and I didn’t see what it was that took them. I did wake up once in the middle of the night but it was pitch black so I couldn’t see anything. But I could hear. I heard a rough dragging sound followed by heavy footsteps with ragged breathing. I sat up to try to peer through the darkness and the ragged breathing was replaced by manic laughter. The footsteps increased in pace and the laughter faded into the night but it felt like it was still echoing around the walls of the pit. They suddenly felt a lot closer together than they had before. I didn’t sleep much that night and as soon as the sun appeared in the mouth of the chasm I looked around. Sure enough, one of the bodies was missing and in its place was a single bloody handprint. By about the 2 month mark all of the bodies had been removed and I assumed I would be next. At that point I was still terrified by the prospect. I barely slept and each night I prepared for rough hands to grab me and whisk me away into the darkness. But each morning came and I was still perched on my seat. However, after another month something else began to happen. Each night as the moon appeared above the chasm and pale light diffused through the mat of vines, giving the area the feeling of being underwater, something began to move around. A figure appeared at the edge of the circle of light from the mouth of the pit but wouldn’t step forward out of the darkness. Instead, it moved around in the thick shadows that hung like cobwebs around the walls of the pit. It seemed to contort and stretch before my eyes. Its long nails scratched along the rocks and I would discover long marks in the rock the next morning. Each footstep was deliberate and slow. It never got closer than about 20 feet from me and it would often pause at the edge of this invisible barrier and I would be able to see it’s body heaving up and down with each intake of breath. After a few nights of this kind of sinister standoff I finally cracked and shouted something at it. I don’t remember what it was but I remember its reply clearly in my head. The ragged breaths stopped suddenly and the thing was still. A low croak emanated from it and slowly grew as it formed a word. I didn’t believe what I was hearing at first but then it hit me like a hammer. Sarah. My name. As though reading my fear, it began to laugh hysterically. A laugh that got bigger and bigger until it was occupying all of the space in the cavern. It pushed me back against the rock and flooded my head. I pressed my hands against the side of my head and screwed my eyes shut to try to keep it out but it was to no avail. The laughter kept me pinned in place and I could feel nothing but blind, animal fear.

I came to the next morning and the dungeon was once again silent. I walked over to the spring on shaky legs and washed my face with the cool water. As I turned back again, I gasped. There carved into the wall with deep gouges were 5 letters. S.A.R.A.H. Next to the scratches was a long smear of fresh blood.

For the last 2 months each and every night would see the return of the thing in the shadows. Sometimes it would laugh and sometimes it would weep. Weep like a small child. I don’t know which one was better but each night bought the fear flooding back fresh. During the day I was gripped by a terrible ennui that held me in place sat on my seat. And each night my body was flooded with white-hot fear that only dissipated with the coming of the dawn. Each morning the sun shone on another carving in the wall of the pit. Yet another deep cut that spelt out my name. Some were seemingly daubed with hot red blood that slowly cracked and browned. They started off at the mandatory distance of 20 feet or so but as the weeks went by they crept forward. 15 feet. 10 feet. 5 feet. This morning I woke to find Sarah carved at my feet. This one was carved with more care than the rest of them. It was as though it was an offering to me.

I have spent the day considering what might be in store for me tonight. I’ve been sat here for almost 6 months and each spin of the Earth brings no joy for me and no change in this limbo in which I have found myself. The prospect of what is to come fills the survivor in me with dread but she has been pushed further and further back in my mind as the months went on. I find it difficult now to conjure up any real emotion. I don’t know what is worse, for that thing to find me finally or to crawl through yet another day. I don’t know what I want. I stare down at the word in the stone at my feet. The shadows fill each letter like a cup. I look up and see the moon shining down through a gap in the vines. I stare forward and the shape appears at the edge of the darkness. It is time.

The laughter starts.