The Cave

The rain had come fast, and it hadn’t let up. Sheets of water collapsed from the sky, drowning the narrow trail and swallowing every sound except the thunder’s low moan.

He wasn’t prepared for a storm. Just a backpack, some water, a tin of food, and a map already turning to pulp in his pocket. He needed shelter. And when he saw the opening in the hillside, just beyond a row of hunched trees, it looked like a blessing.

A cave.

He stepped inside carefully, flashlight beam skimming along stone. Damp air pressed against his skin. The space wasn’t deep at first, just wide enough to let him crouch beneath a natural overhang. Then it opened into something larger, something echoing and hollow, but calm.

Dry. Silent. Safe.

He laid out his mat, peeled off wet clothes, and let his breath slow. The storm howled beyond the entrance, but in here, he could think. He had food. Water. Batteries. He didn’t need to leave for a few days. He’d wait out the storm. Rest.

Sleep came easily.

The first day passed in a quiet routine. Eat. Read. Sleep. Listen to the storm fade. It did.

By the third day, he felt the cave’s stillness take on a rhythm of its own. He explored a little, never far from the mouth, marking his turns with chalk. Every wall felt familiar. Comforting. Like something once known. He stayed six nights.

On the seventh morning, he packed up. Time to move on.

He followed the marks.

Then he stopped.

The marks weren’t there.

He turned around. Nothing.

Every wall looked the same.

He retraced his steps. Turned left, then right. Called out, just to hear his own voice. Echoes answered. Too many. Too sharp.

The air felt heavier. Not stale, but alive. Listening.

He walked faster. The flashlight flickered.

There was no entrance.

Just stone.

Endless walls of stone...

                                                                                                                                                                                                     ~D.G