December 9, 2024
Richard stood in Hunter’s room, frozen. The smell of cardboard and dust filled the air as he packed the last box, his heart heavy with guilt. Sammy had insisted it was time—time to box up their son’s toys, his clothes, his life. One year. One long, agonizing year since Hunter disappeared from his bed, leaving only blood on the sheets, and a hollow, endless silence in the house. Richard believed their son had been kidnapped, while Sammy had already made peace with the worst. It was the only way she could survive. But the pain, the uncertainty, had driven a wedge between them. The marriage wasn’t over yet, but it was close.
“I’ll finish up here,” Richard said quietly, though he knew Sammy wasn’t listening. She hadn’t been for months.
As he dismantled the bed, his hands trembling, something caught his eye—scratch marks. They marred the floor beneath the bed, dozens of them. Some were small, childlike. Hunter’s. His stomach churned at the thought. But the others… they were different. Deeper. Jagged. Not human.
He crouched down, pressing his ear to the floor. For a long, tense moment, all he heard was the thudding of his own heart. Then, faintly, something else. It was like the crackling of a fire, but far away. The floor beneath him felt warmer. It was impossible. His mind must’ve been playing tricks on him, but—
Hunter had warned him, hadn’t he? Before he vanished, their son had said something was under the bed. Richard had brushed it off, told him it was just his imagination, the way kids make up monsters in the dark. Now, with his ear against the floorboards, that burning sound clawed at his sanity, along with his memories.
That night, while Sammy slept in their cold, empty bed, Richard found himself drawn back to Hunter’s room. He needed to know what those marks meant. He had called the police, hoping they would take it seriously. But they had moved on. Everyone had. Except Richard.
He lay on the floor, staring at the spot beneath where the bed used to be. Occasionally, he heard soft, muffled sounds—moans, or perhaps laughter. Was it just the wind outside? Or something else? Hours passed, his eyelids growing heavy, until—
“Dad…”
Richard shot up. His pulse pounded in his throat. He knew he’d heard it. Hunter’s voice. He wasn’t imagining it. He scrambled to the garage, grabbing an axe, the first thing he could think of. If Hunter was down there, if there was even the slightest chance, he couldn’t wait any longer.
The first swing of the axe was wild, fueled by desperation. The blade slammed into the floor, splintering the wood. And then—blood. It sprayed up from the ground, thick and warm, splattering his face and hands. Richard staggered back in shock, but the drive to know what lay beneath overpowered his horror. He kept hacking at the floor, wood and blood flying with every strike, until he made a hole large enough to peer into.
What he saw defied logic. There was no foundation, no crawl space, just a void. Black, endless, pulsing with heat. And that smell—it was sickening, like rotting flesh and sulfur. It wrapped around him, thick and oily, filling his lungs with something unnatural.
Without thinking, Richard ran to get a rope. It wasn’t strong, just an old piece of line he’d used for tying down the tarp on his boat. But it was all he had. He tied it to the closet rod, his hands trembling, and began lowering himself into the pit. As he descended, the darkness seemed to swallow him, growing thicker, more oppressive with every foot. The warmth was almost unbearable now, and the faint sounds he had heard earlier grew louder—muffled voices, whispers that gnawed at his sanity.
Thirty feet down, his body screamed in protest. He wasn’t a climber, and his muscles burned with exhaustion. He wrapped his legs around the end of the rope, hoping it would hold. “Hunter!” he shouted, his voice echoing into the abyss.
At first, there was nothing. Just silence. Then, a deep, guttural voice responded.
“Hunter is gone.”
Richard’s heart stopped. The voice was inhuman, reverberating through the walls of the pit like a groan from the earth itself. “Where is he?” Richard demanded, his voice cracking.
There was no answer.
Richard strained his eyes, trying to see through the darkness below. He thought he could make out a surface—solid ground. Maybe fifteen feet below him. It wasn’t far. He let go of the rope, dropping into the abyss. But instead of hitting solid ground, he plunged into warm, thick water. It enveloped him, almost too hot, and far too deep for him to touch the bottom. He swam frantically, trying to keep his head above the surface.
“Where is my son?” Richard screamed, his voice echoing in the cavernous void.
The deep voice responded, closer now. “He is not here.”
“You took him!” Richard shouted, panic creeping into his voice.
The voice laughed, a low, rumbling sound that shook Richard to his core. “No. We didn’t take him. He took us.”
Richard was too stunned to speak. His mind reeled. “What does that mean?”
“We never wanted him,” the voice said, almost regretful. “But he let us out. He freed us. Now he is with us, out there, not down here.”
“You’re lying!” Richard screamed, struggling against the water, feeling its weight pull him down.
“Your son is with us,” the voice said. “Because you couldn’t protect him. Because you didn’t listen. Now he belongs to those who will.”
Richard’s breath hitched. The voice continued, “There are things much worse than us, waiting to come out of the dark. And now, we have nothing to stop them.”
Suddenly, the hole above Richard sealed shut, plunging him into total darkness. A deep, primal groan rumbled from the depths below the water. The air seemed to pulse with the sound, thick with malevolent energy.
Then the voice, quieter now, whispered, “I’d start swimming if I were you.”
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