Shadow #8

The "Black Ridge" mine was the heart of a small mining village. Generations of miners had dug its tunnels, searching for riches deep within the earth. It was a grueling but honorable job. However, one day, the digging uncovered something no one could explain.

A team of miners, led by the seasoned foreman Jovan, was working on expanding one of the deepest tunnels. The sound of picks and machines echoed through the dark shafts, but then something changed. One of the miners, Milan, struck his pick against an unusually soft rock. Instead of the usual cracking sound, there was a faint, hollow echo.

“What’s that?” Milan asked, pausing. The others gathered around, watching as a small puff of dust emerged from the strike. After removing a few more layers of earth, they uncovered a hole. It was black and deep, too perfectly shaped to be natural.

The first sign of trouble came in the form of sound—a faint whisper emanating from the hole. At first, they thought it was the wind passing through the tunnels, but as they dug further, the whisper grew louder and clearer. It sounded like a chorus of voices, as though hundreds of people were speaking at once, but the words were incomprehensible.

“This isn’t natural,” Jovan said, stepping back. “Leave it alone.”

But it was too late. The ground around the hole began to crumble, revealing a larger void. From it, the first shadows emerged—indistinct shapes that moved across the tunnel walls, even though there was no light to cast them. The miners stood frozen, watching as the shadows multiplied and began moving toward them.

“It’s just dust and gas,” one of the younger miners tried to rationalize, but his voice trembled. However, when one of the shadows passed close to him, he felt an icy chill run through his body.

The shadows soon began to take form—elongated, misshapen figures with arms that stretched out toward the miners. The first scream echoed when Milan fell, overcome with panic, as a shadow loomed over him. The others ran for the exit, but the tunnels seemed endless. The shadows moved swiftly, merging with the walls and floors, as if the mine itself was devouring them.

Some managed to reach the lift. Jovan yelled for everyone to hurry, but his gaze lingered on Milan, who lay motionless, surrounded by darkness. The shadows dragged him back toward the hole.

When the lift finally reached the surface, the surviving miners were gasping for breath. Their faces were pale, their hands trembling. No one spoke as they left the mine. The next day, they all quit. None of them ever returned.

The villagers spoke of closing the "Black Ridge" mine. The company tried to recruit new miners, but no one dared to descend. Rumors of voices and shadows spread far beyond the village.

Today, the mine remains abandoned, its entrances sealed with thick layers of concrete. But those brave enough to approach at night claim they can hear whispers from the depths and feel shadows following them, as if something from the mine never truly stayed trapped.

Years later, "Black Ridge" became a site of local legend, drawing the occasional thrill-seeker or paranormal investigator. None stayed long. The whispers, they said, were not just sounds—they carried emotions: anger, despair, and an overwhelming sense of longing. Equipment often malfunctioned near the mine, and cameras captured only grainy static or inexplicable dark shapes.

One particularly daring investigator, a historian named Luka, ventured too close to the sealed entrance on a cold autumn night. He claimed to hear his own name whispered softly, over and over, from within the mine. His report detailed the sensation of being watched, of shadows moving just beyond the reach of his flashlight. When he fled, he found faint, icy handprints on the windows of his car, though no one else had been there.

The villagers began to notice strange phenomena. Pets refused to go near the mine, and children spoke of seeing figures standing near the old shafts at dusk—tall, distorted silhouettes that vanished when approached. A local priest attempted to bless the area, but he left abruptly, refusing to speak of what he had experienced.

Over time, the village dwindled. People moved away, leaving only a handful of families, too old or stubborn to leave. They kept their windows shut tight at night and avoided mentioning the mine. On moonless nights, they swore they could see faint, flickering lights near the entrance, as if miners’ lanterns were still burning deep within the earth.

Despite the warnings, the occasional passerby would stop out of curiosity. Few ever returned, and those who did were never the same—quiet, haunted, and unwilling to recount what they’d seen. The villagers now believe the mine isn’t just a place of darkness but a prison for something that was never meant to be uncovered, waiting for the day when someone is foolish enough to set it free.