Before we get too far along, I need to draw attention to something I hadn’t noticed. Thanks to u/barvhog for catching this. I have no idea how it got past me. When I was excavating the entrance to the room, there was a warning. It was dated 1872.
The stack of letters in the hidden drawer is dated between 1876 through 1904. Something is going on here. How did they get in there if the door was actually sealed in 1872? There’s got to be something more to this. Maybe there’s a separate entrance buried in another wall? I’ll see what I can find and update you on it.
The journal entries that were blurred and scribbled out ended with the image of what I can only describe as an angry wolf/porcupine/emo kid.
There are more posts afterward that are legible, though the content is not what I’d call a happy place. The captain and his entourage were clearly dealing with something at the end of the scribbled section, but reference to it seems…distant.
I did manage to post an image of the sketch from the journal. Thoughts?
Without further ado,
From the journal of Captain Grady White
June 3, 1856
This morning started on a sour note. My wonderful companion for the last several years, whom I’ve named Jasper, has come up lame. I’m hoping it’s a simple sore hoof, but he doesn’t want to put any weight down on the limb. Time will tell. I refuse to put him down until I’ve exhausted all options.
Gregor has gone in search of a native remedy, though he didn’t sound very confident in his assessment of the animal. I expect him to return soon, and in the meantime, Foster and I have prepared breakfast and coffee.
Awaiting his return is tedious. The sun is getting high, and it’s clear today will be much warmer than the last few have been. No more pleasant strolls through the mountains. Today will be nothing less than taxing.
The route we picked last night will be far from the simple approach we initially planned. Where we had thought a forge through the meadows, then up to the peaks, has now turned into an extended slog through underbrush and scree. The mountain pass we had aimed for is still two days trek, though, with recent events, we may push through until much later tonight before setting up camp.
The creature we found yesterday shows us these mountains are not devoid of surprises. Upon our return, there must be an inquiry to categorize and name this beast. What more could lie ahead is beyond any of our imaginations.
June 3, 1856
Gregor returned with what he hoped would mend Jasper. We left Jasper to heal. Upon our return, we shall decide his fate. That leaves me entirely on foot from here on out. The going was slow.
By mid-afternoon, we found ourselves standing at the foot of a cliff. The path we mapped out didn’t exist. Or at least not in any manner we could find to use. Foster offered to scout ahead and find a trail over the mountain. If we are unsuccessful, we’ll be forced to retrace our steps and return to the slide area. I hope he finds a passable route quickly.
I’ve been dwelling on the creature we found. I’ve not felt that level of discomfort around a dead animal in my life. I had a sense of loss and foreboding like nothing I’ve experienced before. I sketched an approximation of the beast.
I hope to have news of our progress on the morrow.
Until tomorrow,
Cpt Grady White
June 4, 1856
Our camp was ransacked as we slept in the night. Whatever it was that sifted through our belongings was silent. Gregor was on watch for several hours as he had a nagging feeling something was “out there, watching us.”
He has confided in me that he believes we are still being followed. Though now, his concern is more about what, rather than who, it could be. I assume we are being tracked by a bear, and that’s what happened to our camp. Gregor thinks differently.
We salvaged what we could of our stocks, though our food rationing is going to become much tighter unless we manage to find any game. These hills seem bereft of deer and elk. I would never have thought that possible.
Our friend Foster has yet to return. I am concerned that he may have had an accident and am ready to go in search of him. Gregor is prepared as well, though we need to finish packing our camp.
There is a significant buildup of clouds to the west. It appears we are in for a change in weather.
I will update again this evening when we’ve reached our next camp.
Until this evening,
Cpt Grady White
June 4, 1856
Foster was caught out on an overhang approximately thirty feet above the scree. It took us some time to help him down. While he was climbing, his horse bolted. The tracks ended in an area of snowmelt. They just stopped. Gregor rode through the site, and it was clear his horse left prints. Foster’s should have done the same.
After helping him down, we set up camp again. Here we have created a small shelter to deal with the inclement weather that will soon be upon us. The best-laid plans have genuinely fallen apart on this journey. We’ve built a six-by-eight shelter in the scree of the very cliff Foster was stranded upon and hope it will hold through the night. Our pack animal is tied in a stand of trees just down the slope from where our camp is located.
We’ve wasted an entire day and only found that we must now retreat back to the primary route and find a way through the debris field of the avalanche.
Gregor has gone in search of game, which should be abundant farther down the mountain.
I feel this trek has become untenable. I hope Gregor finds game. I hope we get back to the original path and find the going much more manageable.
Until tomorrow,
Cpt Grady White
June 4, 1856
Gregor returned with some grouse. That is excellent news. The hour is late, and we shall feast upon the birds in the morning.
He also came across a cave that he feels is a safer place to stay the night than what we’ve created at the bottom of the cliffside.
After a short, though challenging, walk in the dark, we came upon a small cave entrance. It would be nearly impossible to find without stepping directly in front of it.
We entered the cave and set up camp 100 feet from the entrance. By the time we finished loading our gear into the cave, the storm had increased in ferocity. What started as a rain storm had turned into a blizzard. I fear we may have to dig out in the morning.
Until tomorrow,
Cpt Grady White
June 5, 1856
Where there was once a cave entrance is now a solid wall of snow. We dug for several minutes and were met with more snow, which then caved in and thwarted our progress. We had no idea spring snow could drop this amount. There must be over ten feet of freshly fallen snow above us. Its weight has made digging a challenge in itself.
Foster offered the option of heading deeper into the cave to explore its depths and possibly find another exit. Gregor was hesitant, though in the end, acquiesced, and we made our way to where I now sit and write this. I have lost sense of time in the darkness of these tunnels. The cave system is a labyrinthine maze that seems without end.
Gregor has started speaking in Arapaho, whispering what I believe to be prayers in his native tongue. He refuses to translate for me.
Foster is confident we are on the right path. He says he can sense our direction and believes we will come out on the far side of the mountain by tomorrow. I question how he knows what day it is, with this infernal darkness playing to our worst fears.
My light flickers as if in a breeze, though the air here is still. There is a sound of dripping water, though we’ve been unable to find the source. Most of the water we brought in has been used. Rationing is going to be necessary.
We’ve eaten two of the grouse Gregor provided, leaving one for the remainder of our caving adventure.
Before I stopped for this note, I could have sworn I heard a faint whisper from behind us. It sounded as if my name were being called out, but only as a breath.
Until tomorrow,
Cpt Grady White
June 5/6, 1856
I’m unsure of the date. We found a larger cavern while searching for an exit. Light filters down from the top, though it must be at least 60 feet above, with little chance of climbing to it. It’s hard to determine if the light is that of day or night. It’s only light enough to illuminate the snow covering the hole.
Foster went ahead and said he shall return upon finding an exit. We argued. Gregor attempted to reason with him, but in his guilt for leading us down this path, he stole off while we contemplated the opening above.
No sound from him can be heard. Strange, though, that he left his sling bag behind. It contains his personal belongings and some rations, along with his water.
I want to search for him, though Gregor fears we shall become lost in the tunnels ahead.
We set up camp and are planning on waiting for Foster’s return.
Until tomorrow,
Cpt Grady White
June 1856
Dates seem trivial.
Until tomorrow,
Cpt Grady White
June 1856
Foster is dead. His body arrived in camp at some point during our sleep. We were awakened by the sound of his screaming. Gregor and I ran through tunnel after tunnel in hopes of finding him. Once we got close, his creams stopped short. I rounded the next corner, holding my torch ahead of me as if it were a sword. What we found was a pine box. We pulled the lid off and started digging through the dirt within, which was mostly mud.
His body was under the dirt. The mud was caused by his blood. My hands were covered in it. His throat had been shredded by unseen claws. Whatever did this to him was still nearby. Gregor held a finger to his lips and pointed at a tunnel several feet above us. I watched the entrance and witnessed what I thought was a beast crawling along the wall of the cavern we were in. Then it went into the tunnel and crawled into the darkness beyond.
The beast was crawling on the ceiling of the tunnel.
Cpt Grady White
June 1856
Gregor and I returned to our makeshift camp. I have no clue as to our next move. Gregor wishes to return to the entrance, though I fear we will never find it.
The sound of dripping water has become much louder.
Our remaining grouse has been stolen.
I wish to apologize to the family of WS Foster. He was a faithful companion if ever I’ve had one. Reliable, quick to help, and fast with a smile. I shall mourn him properly once we find our way out of this abyss.
As I write this, I hear what sounds to be rushing water.
June 1856
The snow has melted away. This cave system is clearly a conduit for runoff water to find its way into lower aquifers. I was overwhelmed by rushing waters that filled the tunnels completely.
With my journal in hand, I managed to grab hold of some debris that kept me afloat while the cavern our camp was located in filled with water. Gregor is gone. I watched as he scratched for purchase on the tunnel walls before being taken by the onslaught of water.
I hope he survived, though I have little faith in that hope.
I write this as I sit on a ledge overlooking the cavern we had been settled into just hours ago. The water is still rising and, as of now, must be at least 30 feet deep. The tunnel I saw the creature in earlier is several feet below the surface. Everything below is black as the darkest night, though I can see thanks to the now fully exposed hole in the ceiling. It is daylight outside, and I manage to write by its light.
I am still at least 15 feet below the crevasse in the ceiling. I hope to use a chisel and hammer from my pack to climb to freedom. I must dive into the frigid waters below to retrieve the necessary items.
When did everything go so wrong?
I see the reflection of eyes in the darkness, watching me.
Until I return,
Cpt Grady White