Uncharted Caves

Warning: this story includes sensitive content, such as claustrophobia and death

I love adventures. I love journeys. I love anything related to discovering new things while also slightly risking my life. Did I mention that I love adventures?

My name’s Jonathan Sullivan. I’m an expeditioner of sorts. You might even call me a tomb raider (yes, like Lara Croft), since that has been one of my missions in the past years as well. I still remember the peak of my "career", when I sort of invaded the catacombs of Paris in hunt for a specific suitcase containing a very precious metal. Asking what’s in letters, boxes, or, in that instance, suitcases is not part of my procedure. I just live for the story, for the adrenaline that the journey will give me. I wouldn’t be exaggerating when I say this, however. I might’ve found the next peak of my career.

Fast forward to two years after the catacombs mission. I received a letter with a mysterious insignia and parched letter paper. The initials were "I A." Obscurely written in a remarkable stroke, but obvious enough to make out what it spelled out. I opened it swiftly, and to my shock, it was a business proposition.

"I want you to find my stolen gemstone in the Cave of the Stones in Mexico. Bounty: $2,000,000. Exact coordinates are as follows…"

I stopped reading since my mind already connected the words; "gemstone", "Mexico" and "bounty" to a singular word, and this is what it read: A D V E N T U R E.

Oh, and money too.

I hopped on the plane with the included tickets, tried to reach the cave in Mexico locally by ATV, and followed the given coordinates as well as I could with my quickly sketched route plan that I had on my map. Little did I know that this so-called cave is in a huge jungle, buried deep within the vast arrangement of exotic animals and dangerous traps, waiting for me to pass by and alert them. You might be creeped out by these mentioned elements, but not me. Every formula for a great and exciting journey consists of these elements, and even if one were missing, I’d be suspicious of being disappointed.

I also brought my scuba diving gear, since these caves are infamous for deep, murky waters. I should be prepared for anything, and that is always the case for my travels. My stamp book for each travel destination is marked with a corresponding color and stamp motive. Hopefully, this travel might be the biggest and boldest stamp of them all.

After five further hours passed and I roamed around the roadways leading up to the jungle and disappearing right before entering it, I continued by foot to the now only meters-distanced cave. Each step I took got eerier, since not only were the animals quiet around the cave, but something was off about the smell as well. I finally reached the cave entrance.

I tried to go through an opening of what seemed to be only centimeters in my eyes and scraped my clothing and gear whilst my effort unsuccessfully failed. My trousers now had a bigger tear than the opening of the cave itself. There was no way of entering naturally. I had to find a solution. After looking around for any clues, I discovered, whilst walking that the jungle floor was obviously covered in tree roots, leaves, and a lot of dead animals. None of which seemed to alarm me, but there was something harder underneath the area I was standing. Harder than the ground ten meters away from the entrance too. Something was off. My instincts were always right.

I pushed away the leaves and compost material off of the place I was standing on and quickly discovered that there were stone slabs underneath. Some sort of structures that could also move.

There were four of them, and it seemingly didn’t activate any special mechanism after pressing all four of them. There must be some sort of correlation between the stone slabs and the entrance; there just must be. I took out the parched letter again, which I took with me for reasons such as this.

I looked at the initials in detail again and realized that these strokes weren’t part of the author’s writing style. This was definitely intentional. The first letter I had a half-drawn roof coming down diagonally from the top. It looked like the number "1". The horizontal stroke that cuts through the right leg of the letter A resembled another number. The number "4". Were these the numbers for the order I should be pressing these stone slabs in? It couldn’t hurt to try, as these don’t seem to cause any reaction if pressed wrongly. But I was missing two of the other numbers that are needed for finishing the sequence.

Some other strokes were definitely caused intentionally as well, such as the C of Cave. It looked like a reverse "3", with a horizontal, arched stroke leaning off of the middle of the letter.

What’s next? We need one final number.

The bounty.

That couldn’t be the answer, could it? Three letters required for the correct sequence to the entrance of this cave are lying beyond interesting writing techniques of "words", but the final number is a blatant numeral that we all know? This seemed way too basic, but I had to give it a try. I pressed all four "buttons" with my foot in order. As mentioned, that would be 1, 4, 3, and 2. And to my surprise, open sesame. The huge rocks covering the actual entrance were now slowly reaching to the inside of the deep cave, slowly uncovering light from within and this horrible stench that just keeps getting stronger.

I made my way in, hoping not to use my scuba gear. I might be up for all kinds of journeys, but diving in deep waters is kind of my weakness. I lost my younger brother in the depths of the Atlantic Ocean during another one of our expeditions. We always tackled projects like these together. He was historically adept, and I was more the brawn compared to his brain. I never seem to forget about that day. That sunken ship had no reason to hook onto my brother like that. I still think, to this day, that it was planned. Someone wanted my brother to die, and they set up a trap in a place like that, where only two dumb, adrenaline-junkie brothers like us would go. To make up for my lack of knowledge, I studied all of his written material. He used to write about our expeditions, before and after. Presented me tons of historical notes, but I always skipped through them. After his death I actually started appreciating it and having a knack for it.

I’m getting off-topic. I just wouldn’t want my "water trauma" to activate again, since I seem to lose my breath underwater. You would think the oxygen tank is on my back for that exact reason, but I’m talking about a clump in my heart. Something that just contracts and blocks all exits of the airway. It’s an indescribable...no, insufferable feeling. Enough of that. I should go back to what I was doing.

Finally reaching the end of the cave tunnel, I found the light source, which seemed to shine all the way to the exit. It was very bright. And just as before, but worse...very smelly.

"Where is this coming from?" I thought to myself. After climbing over a set of boulders with my backpack—heavy in weight, but light on my back—I finally reached the top. They weren’t lying with the given name. This is genuinely...a cave full of stones. Blue stones, green stones, even pink stones. You name it, this cave has it. But the most significant color of them all...was red.

One side of the gigantic cave wall was completely drowned in red. But those weren’t stones that caused this effect. It was what I’m assuming to be blood. The smell got even worse. The red wall was still far away from me, but I had to check and see what the wall actually consisted of. I was now going the opposite way of the coordinates to the gemstone I’m looking for.

"It’s alright," I thought. I still have enough time, and the author was stupid enough to not list a deadline. This is a hard job after all, I’m assuming I’m free and without constraints regarding how and when I actually find the stone and finish whatever this is.

I reached the wall after passing by multiple rock formations, which were hard to cross. Being a professional rock climber just helps in moments like these. But what I saw next just didn’t help…

The wall was actually seemingly painted. It was completely red and still wet. I took a probe with my finger and smelled it. It was blood. That wasn’t the only alarming thing. The wall had a deeper entrance, similar to the actual cave access. I got in, this time with ease. I wish I hadn’t.

And I wish I hadn’t seen all of this. Not a lifetime of expeditions prepared me for what I was about to see.

Piles and piles of dead bodies. Rotten to the core, but flesh that is visibly still intact. Not even the catacombs in Paris were this creepy. I heard a pebble fall down, and immediately turned back. It wasn’t a pebble. It wasn’t a huge rock that was about to crush me either. No, none of that.

It was my brother. In the flesh. Not dead, but alive.

Pointing a gun at me, he said, "I finally found you. Our expedition is over, brother."

"What are you talking about, Morgan?"

"Don’t ask any questions; you are a few years late for that."

"Morgan, wai-"

Gunshot. White light. Starker than the initial light source of the cave.

Blood. Dripping down. Thicker than the blood painted on the wall.

My own brother shot me. My long, lost—well, actually, dead—brother shot me after years of sorrow. I was falling down into the deep body of water that was behind us. My fear of touching these waters would come true...but with no scuba gear. No life in my body. Just more sorrow.

I guess you could say I’m not a fan of uncharted waters. Nor am I of fratricide.

But on that day. Our fraternity died with me.