The Darkened Obelisk

Deeper Dark

At the risk of sounding truly mad in all ways I shall keep my story limited in its narration. The various details and specifics I hold as true should not be realized upon the world, lest their minds become as corrupted and ravaged as my own.

Know that this is not a story, but a warning. A warning to all humanity. For any soul foolish enough to mimic my folly is damned a thousand times over, as I have been. Their own curiosity and hubris will shackle their mind and being to a plane of terror that they would loath to imagine. Beneath the boards of the rotting shell that was once my home is a cellar of plain origins but constructed by some twisted mind. In this chasm that was once a home is everything expected of a place built in the 60's. Pipes and plumbing of lead and decayed material all dated, but functional. The cellar in question contains a particular corridor of man-made stone about three meters high and one wide. It extends off for roughly 300 meters until it ends at a wall that serves no purpose. This passage, too, served no purpose for the home, but rather the diabolical intent of some malicious force lurking in the dark. Out of blind and fetid curiosity I entered this corridor and at once I felt a great, creeping dread. I knew not what could occur when entering the damned hallway, but this horrid research was what I needed for my own emotional ease.

It was a night, plain and simple. Nothing extraordinary about the way I went to bed or unceremoniously finished my work that day, but horrific in the events that followed. I awoke to the sounds of whistling from inside the house. It was not the dull and hollow chant of the wind. It was a slow, rhythmic pattern of a song that I could not name. I lived alone and had no pets. The idea that it could have been the old house was dashed when I realized no heat was on and no breeze blew through that evening. The wind outside was as dead as my heart while I listened to the noise that made me shudder beneath my sheets. 

I walked with a large Maglite I kept within my room toward the sound in my basement unsteadily. With the flashlight raised and a length of pipe from my unfinished kitchen in hand, I proceeded into the dark below. The noise ceased at once when I entered the underground, and I gripped my makeshift weapon tightly, calling out to whoever was in my basement. There, of course, was no reply to my feeble attempt at controlling this situation. I swung the light through the dirty cavern, but I was met with nothing but boxes of unpacked items forgotten over the time I had spent in this place.

I scoured the basement, something that took little time as it was barren and unfinished. There was nothing in that cement chasm. The chill reached through the soles of my feet and made its way up my legs. The floor was ice cold, far more frigid than I have ever experienced. My gaze and light fell to the entrance of the strange passage down there in the dark. My light did not seem to extend to the end of the passage, and looming in the shadow I felt that perhaps there may be someone at the end. A sense that overtook logic. I foolishly theorized that I simply could not see the other wall because there was a curve in the tunnel. But as uneasy as that cement branch made me, I simply had to check. I had to know no one was lurking there still. My length of pipe was raised above my head, knowing my movement was limited in this tight space, as I inched my way forward, trying to squeeze all of the terror out into the pipe I held.

I proceeded onward, icy cold collecting in my limbs and in my heart as my fear grew. I called out again, hoping and praying that it was simply my imagination that prompted my search. I prayed I would not come across anyone or anything so that I could simply return to my bed at peace and return to blissful ignorance of what lurked below. This, of course, did not happen. I regret every moment of my life that I live with the knowledge of what I have seen, but I cannot remove it from me regardless of how hard I try.

I walked for perhaps a minute before realizing I had gone much further than I should have to reach the end of this stretch. By now, a soft noise was making itself known at the very edge of my hearing. It almost felt like white noise at first. Perhaps it was the tiniest voice in the void of sound before me, or the ringing of ears that would come unprompted. But past the soft padding of my feet on the floor it was there: omnipresent within what I was beginning to fear was my burial chamber. The fear set in and I decided to return, making my way back from where I entered, shaking all the while.