Fear in the Caverns

Screacher loathed the tourists encroaching on his ground, his sanctuary in the wild. “Why must they trespass, this is mine!” He spoke aloud, enraged. Rocky terrain flooded with tall trees and generous foliage consistent with that of a national forest, Mammoth Cave to be exact, in the state of Kentucky. Screacher had dealt with these eager nature hunters before. Hikers, trekkers, horse-back riders, “The whole blasted lot of them!” he grumbled. “They will pay, oh yes, they must pay. Just like the others…”

Davyan Morgan pressed the ridged window button on the door of his olive-green Jeep to breathe in the crisp fall air. “Just one more mile,” he cringed, easing his foot a bit off the gas pedal as if to calm his nerves slightly and buy him a little more time to ready himself mentally for what was to come. The 36-year-old Army veteran, now detective, smoothed his wavy, raven-black hair with a quick glance in the rear-view mirror. He had faced a gauntlet of military training, but they could not have prepared him for this.

As Davyan pulled into the parking lot of the Mammoth Cave Tourist Center, a khaki-covered park ranger ran out to meet him. “We’ve been waiting for you! How was the drive?” He hollered impatiently.

“Jackson?” Davyan hesitantly inquired.

“That’s me”, the man confirmed tipping his hat. “You arrived just in time, they found a body,” Jackson indicated over his shoulder to a local policeman questioning a visitor’s center employee under the overhang of the building. “Follow me,” the mildly disheveled park ranger ordered.

Davyan fled the comfort of the Jeep and jogged to keep up. As the two approached the entrance to the Visitor’s Center, the police officer turned at the interruption and nodded, “Jackson, Detective,” he said. “Excuse me, miss,” dismissing the employee, “This is private business. Thanks for the statement, go on about your duties.” In a gruff and emotional voice, the policeman, Tom Smithers, gave Davyan center attention and immediately jumped into the details of the report.

“Received a call this morning, dead body, female, found near a remote hiking trail by the Green River, washed ashore. Had to have been deceased over 12 hours, cause of death pending autopsy. They have ruled out drowning at this point, however, possible homicide,” Tom stated matter-of-factly.

“Has the body been identified, any family notified?” Davyan quickly probed.

Tom hesitated,” It’s Eileen Cunningham, David’s daughter,” He said shakily. David Cunningham was a Captain of the local Edmonson County Police Department.

“Damn,” sighed Davyan. “Let’s get going.”

An hour later, through thick forage and by the river’s edge, the men stood at the site where Eileen had been found. Some evidence had been found, a tattered rope, a piece of brown shredded cloth. Beyond the misty fog of the Green River churning quietly, where the water joined the River Styx beneath the surface, was the jagged outline of a cave entrance. The eerie sight of vultures circling overhead was disturbing, as Davyan came to terms with having to face his worst fear. The cave.

A jarred memory from times past flooded Davyan’s mind, his right hand began to tremble with fear. He was eight at his father’s farm, his German Shepherd King panting beside him as he walked slowly through the curling branches and overgrown grass towards the meadow to explore. Suddenly and without warning, the ground fell in beneath his bare feet, as he tumbled down, deep down, into darkness. He could barely breathe as earth trickled down all around him, the sinkhole showed him no mercy.

“Detective!” The hoarse sound of Tom’s voice jolted Davyan back to the present, “You ok?” Tom asked with concern.

“Uh, oh yeah. Fine…” Davyan offered back, although he didn’t feel fine.

“Looks like you’re gonna have to go in if we want to get more evidence,” Jackson exhaled while pointing to the rocky cavern.

Fear gripped Davyan so swift he almost toppled backwards into the thick brush. In an effort to recover, he muttered,”Y-yeah! Where’s the gear?”

Jackson tossed him the reflective vest and flashlight. “Remember, one hour,” He said stepping to the side as Davyan worked his way past him and through the stray rocks and broken branches that encompassed the site, “She’s counting on you,” haunting last words washed over Davyan as the gurgling of the water gradually drowned out the sound of the other men.

Sweat dripping. Heart pounding, Panic taking over. Davyan grimaced as he scraped his left forearm against the rough surface of the rock. Light was long gone yet for the burning bulb of the torch. Dust wafted up into his nostrils carrying a musty earthen smell, ceasing his breathing down to a minuscule panting that took over his being. “Look, Davyan, look!” He thought to himself forcing his concentration towards the intricately carved stalactites and stalagmites whose shadows appeared as ghostly figures beckoning his attention.

“Ok. Girl washes up on the surface having been carried from who knows how far below. What took you?” Davyan whispered to no one in angst, gripping the dagger-like walls with his fingers.

A sudden, ominous cackling crackled from beyond, “Look at him, Screacher, the way his eyes flash in fear! It’s so tangible I can feel his horror in the dark unknown!” The man or creature yet undetermined by Davyan peered at him from beyond the other side of the enclosure sending shockwaves of chills throughout his body at the sight of those white eyes reflecting towards him.

“Oh my, yes, yes!” Screacher crooned toying with his prey, “This will do nicely.”

It was at this moment that Davyan noticed the grungy brown clothing worn by this new horror matched to the core the piece of evidence found up above by the discarded body of Eileen Cunningham. As his eyes moved around the room set between himself and the figure, he realized the shapes of broken, human bones, not rock, adjoined the formations scattered about, and the staunch putrid smell of death poured into his nose.

Instinct took over as his heart sank and dread filled his mind, he leaped backwards over an angst-ridden corpse and ran. Through the tunnel. Through the domed room.

“Light, where’s the light!” He cried aloud.

A hand on his shoulder made his pulse flurry. With one last reflex that he could only explain later as muscle memory from military combat training he swiftly pulled the arm into his chest and with that a snap of the neck of Screacher done by Davyan’s other hand. Deafening thud.

Days later Davyan learned the man, the creature in the cavern was none other than an escaped convict who had gone mad while seeking refuge in the dark. To this day some of the many tourists and visitors passing by the lonely entrance where the Green River meets the River Styx say they can hear a faint cackling coming from the crevices as the water churns on.