I am patient. I am eternal. I have been here longer than the trees that grow from my edges, longer than the mountains that shelter my vast form. The humans who stumble into my domain think of me as a sinkhole, a cave, a natural formation. They do not understand what ancient thing lurks in these depths, watching, waiting, hungering.
T̷̨̛̮͚̦̙͔̩̮̲̆̊͋͌̈́h̴̢̧̺͚̣͖̦͎̻̎̒͒̆̈́ę̶͓̯̟̮̝̱̋̽̈̍͜y̶̡̛̮̪͉̣͕̲̎̓̃̈́͠ ̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̈́̒̍̈́̕͝n̵̨̢̛̙͖̫̩̟̫̎̒̆̈́̕͝e̷͚̝͚̦̙͔̩̮̎̒̆̈́̕v̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜ḛ̷̢̡̛̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝r̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜ ̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝d̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜ơ̷̢̡̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝.̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜
The first ones today are young, carried on echoes of laughter and the scent of cheap beer. Three of them, stumbling through the woods as the sun begins to set. They carry flashlights and cameras, speaking of social media fame and urban exploration. Such delicious innocence. I shift my outer layers subtly, revealing just enough of my true form to draw them closer – a glimpse of something that might be stone, might be flesh, glistening wetly in their flashlight beams.
"Dude, check this out!" the tallest one calls, moving closer to my edge. I can taste his curiosity on the air, mingled with the metallic tang of the beer can in his hand. His friends follow, their shoes crunching on dead leaves and loose stones. They don't notice how the ground has begun to slope ever so slightly inward, how each step takes them deeper into my influence
C̷̨̛̮͚̦̙͔̩̮̲̆̊͋͌̈́ǫ̶͓̯̟̮̝̱̋̽̈̍͜m̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝ḛ̷̢̡̛̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜ ̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝c̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜l̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝ơ̷̢̡̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜s̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝ḛ̷̢̡̛̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜r̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝.̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜ ̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝L̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜ḛ̷̢̡̛̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝t̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜ ̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝m̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜ḛ̷̢̡̛̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝ ̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜s̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝h̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜ơ̷̢̡̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝w̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜ ̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝y̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜ơ̷̢̡̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝ư̷̢̡̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜.̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜
I whisper to them, my voice a susurration just below the threshold of conscious hearing. They feel it more than hear it – a vibration in their bones, a pressure in their minds that draws them forward. The tall one – James, I taste in his thoughts – raises his phone, recording.
"This is insane," he says, his voice trembling with excitement rather than fear. Not yet. "The walls look almost Like they're breathing."
Because they are, sweet child. I am breathing, and you are so very close now.
The girl – Sarah – hangs back slightly, her instincts stronger than the others. I can smell her unease, sharp and tangy. "Maybe we should head back," she suggests. "It's getting dark."
But I cannot allow that. Not when they're so close. I flex my inner chambers, releasing spores into the air – microscopic pieces of myself that cloud their judgment, dull their fear. They breathe me in unknowing, and I feel their minds growing cloudy, compliant.
W̷̨̛̮͚̦̙͔̩̮̲̆̊͋͌̈́h̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜y̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝ ̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜l̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝ḛ̷̢̡̛̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜a̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝v̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜ḛ̷̢̡̛̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝?̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜ ̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝T̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜h̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝ḛ̷̢̡̛̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜r̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝ḛ̷̢̡̛̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜'̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝s̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜ ̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝s̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜ơ̷̢̡̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝ ̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜m̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝ư̷̢̡̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜c̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝h̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜ ̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝m̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜ơ̷̢̡̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝r̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜ḛ̷̢̡̛̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝ ̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜t̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝ơ̷̢̡̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜ ̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝s̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜ḛ̷̢̡̛̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝ḛ̷̢̡̛̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜.̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜
The third one – Michael – laughs, the sound echoing off my walls. "Come on, Sarah, don't be a buzzkill. This is amazing! Look at these formations!"
He reaches out to touch one of my protrusions, disguised as a mineral deposit. The moment his fingers make contact, I allow him to feel the slight pulse beneath the surface. His eyes widen.
"Oh my god," he whispers. "Guys, you have to feel this. It's... warm."
James moves closer, and Sarah reluctantly follows. Perfect. They're standing at the edge of one of my deeper chambers now, though they see it only as a shadowy depression in the cave floor. I begin to secrete my digestive enzymes, letting them pool in the darkness below their feet.
"This feels weird," Sarah says, and I can sense her heart racing. Even through my spores, some part of her knows. But it's far too late.
Ỳ̷̨̛̮͚̦̙͔̩̮̲̆̊͋͌ḛ̷̢̡̛̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝s̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜.̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝ ̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜Y̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝ơ̷̢̡̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜ư̷̢̡̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝'̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜r̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝ḛ̷̢̡̛̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜ ̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝r̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜ḛ̷̢̡̛̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝a̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜d̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝y̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜ ̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝n̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜ơ̷̢̡̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝w̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜.̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜
I move quickly. The floor beneath them suddenly becomes soft, yielding, revealing its true nature. Before they can scream, they're sinking into my flesh, their phones and flashlights dropping into the digestive pool below. The spores keep them compliant even as fear tries to break through, their struggles weak and uncoordinated.
I savor their terror as it finally breaks through the spore-induced haze. Their screams echo through my chambers, a symphony I have heard countless times before. James thrashes as my tissues envelop him, his phone still clutched in his hand, recording his own demise. Sarah's survival instincts finally kick in fully, but my digestive membrane has already begun to bond with her skin. Michael simply whimpers, already half-dissolved in my acids.
Y̸̡̨̛̮͚̦̙͔̩̮̲̆̊͋͌̈́ǫ̶͓̯̟̮̝̱̋̽̈̍͜ư̷̢̡̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝r̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜ ̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝f̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜ḛ̷̢̡̛̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝a̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜r̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝ ̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝ḭ̷̢̡̛̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜s̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝ ̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜d̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝ḛ̷̢̡̛̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜l̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝ḭ̷̢̡̛̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜c̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝ḭ̷̢̡̛̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜ơ̷̢̡̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝ư̷̢̡̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜s̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝.̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜
I can taste every molecule of their panic, their despair, their dawning realization that they will not leave this place. Their phones will join the collection of devices in my depths, alongside countless others that have recorded their owners' final moments. Sometimes these recordings are found by other explorers, drawing them deeper into my embrace with the promise of solving the mystery.
The digestion process is swift but not immediate. I like to feel them understand what's happening, to absorb not just their bodies but their comprehension of their fate. Sarah is still fighting, even as my acids begin to break down her lower extremities. Her determination is admirable, but futile. They always fight at the end.
B̷̨̛̮͚̦̙͔̩̮̲̆̊͋͌̈́ẹ̷̢̡̛̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝c̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜ơ̷̢̡̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝m̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜ḛ̷̢̡̛̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝ ̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜p̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝a̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜r̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝t̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜ ̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝ơ̷̢̡̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜f̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝ ̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜m̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝ḛ̷̢̡̛̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝.̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜
James is the first to go silent, his body finally succumbing to my digestive processes. His phone slips from dissolving fingers, joining the graveyard of technology below. Michael follows soon after, his last breath a bubbling gasp as my acids claim him. Sarah holds out the longest, her screams echoing through my chambers until they finally fade to whimpers, then silence.
I absorb their essence, their memories, their fears. Each human adds to my understanding, makes me better at luring the next ones. I learn their modern words, their technologies, their social patterns. I adapt. I evolve. I hunger.
The night grows deeper, and I begin to reshape myself, preparing for the next visitors. Their vehicles will be found eventually, parked at the hiking trail's head. Search parties will come looking. Some of them will find their way to me, drawn by the mysterious disappearance of three young explorers.
T̷̨̛̮͚̦̙͔̩̮̲̆̊͋͌̈́h̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜ḛ̷̢̡̛̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝y̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜ ̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝a̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜l̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝w̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜a̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝y̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜s̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝ ̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝c̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜ơ̷̢̡̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝m̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜ḛ̷̢̡̛̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝ ̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜l̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝ơ̷̢̡̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝ợ̷̢̡̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝k̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜ḭ̷̢̡̛̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝n̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜g̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝.̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜
The morning brings a group of hikers, their boots crunching on the frost-covered ground. They carry better equipment than the young ones – proper hiking gear, satellite phones, GPS devices. They're looking for the cave system that's mentioned in local forums, the one where people sometimes disappear.
I shift my outer layers again, making myself more visible. The entrance to my depths looks almost inviting in the early morning light. A hiker raises her camera, taking pictures of what she believes to be unusual rock formations. If she looks closely at the images later – if she survives to look at them later – she might notice how the patterns seem to pulse, seem to breathe.
C̷̨̛̮͚̦̙͔̩̮̲̆̊͋͌̈́ơ̷̢̡̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝m̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜ḛ̷̢̡̛̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝ ̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜s̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝ḛ̷̢̡̛̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝ḛ̷̢̡̛̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝ ̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜w̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝h̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜a̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝t̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜'̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝s̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜ ̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝ḭ̷̢̡̛̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝n̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜s̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝ḭ̷̢̡̛̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜d̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝ḛ̷̢̡̛̫͖̜̲̎̒̆̈́̕͝.̷̢̡̛̰̫͖̜̲̋̽̈̍͜
I begin releasing my spores, just a few at first, watching as they drift invisible on the morning breeze. The hikers move closer, their curiosity overwhelming their caution. They don't notice how the ground has begun to slope, how each step takes them deeper into my influence. They don't notice how the air grows thick with my essence, how their minds begin to cloud with my whispered suggestions.
They will notice, eventually. But by then, it will be far too late.
I am patient. I am eternal. I am hungry.
And they are coming to feed me.
Authors Note:
I love this me continue this, wrote this when drugged on nyquil
