November 20th 1988:
I woke at around 7:30, I had a cup of coffee from the flask I had brewed the night before then packed my bag and left my camp to make my way across to investigate the cave.
I began to scale across the slightly sloped edge of the canyon, keeping the cave in sight, I packed two flashlights just in case one died. I estimate the cave to be around 40 metres from my person now.
I arrive at the cave and note my position on my map, the cave looks to have an around 3 or 4 feet drop roughly. I open my backpack and attach the flashlight to my belt and use my grappling hook to scale myself into the cave. I crack a glowstick and place it at the entrance to mark my way out if needed. The cave is huge, has a stream running through it and is mostly lit by natural daylight cracking though some holes in the top of the cave.
I spend some time searching the cave, I find a couple of odd things: a notebook and an empty can of food. I'll check the notebook when I return to my camp. I feel confident exploring the cave because of the natural light and I can keep the exit in my sight at all times. As I walk around I notice a glimmer in the water, a red glimmer, blood must be. Its a dark scarlet shade dying the cool water, I make my way upstream and recoil at the smell of rotten meat, I force myself forward and find a dead coyote laying with its neck in the water. It appears to have had its throat slit, cleanly somehow. This must have been the coyote that was watching me last night, there's no other sign of life in this empty cave.
What killed it though?
I quickly leave the cave and make my way back to camp before dark, its 17:36 by the time I get back and the sun is just peaking out at me still above the dusty towers that cover the canyon range.
YOU ARE READING
The crooked canyons.
ParanormalThere's a reason no one walks through those canyons. There's a reason there's a charred ring around the canyons themselves. There's a reason anyone who enters doesn't leave, and that reason has a name. Skinwalkers.
