Tales From The Dark Forest
1 Hour Of Underground Horror Stories | Black Screen For Sleep | True Horror Stories With Rain Sounds
What's going on everybody? Tonight's video I am bringing you a couple different types of stories. These all have to do with being underground, whether they're dealing with bunkers, caverns, catacombs, simply being underground and what "horburs" may lie there. Now sit back, relax, dim those lights, and let's get spooky. Shoot. The two faces sitting opposite me in the booth looked up at my curse, staring with quizzical amusement. The first, an extremely attractive woman who was about 19, smirked as she saw me gazing at my watch. "What's the matter Billy?" she asked. Her voice carrying a thick British accent with which I had become used to the last few weeks. "You gonna turn back into a pumpkin at midnight?" Her companion, a guy about the same age, choked slightly at the pint of beer he had been downing. Dropping it in the wooden table with the clunk, he wiped in his mouth with the sleeve of his jumper, still sputtering. "For my part, I simply continued to stare at my watch, as if willing the two hands to begin running backward. Finally, I lowered it and stared at the two. I didn't realize how frickin' late it got," I said, my mind beginning the race. The woman, Courtney, gave a small shrug. "So, what's the big deal? This place won't close for another hour or so." I shook my head. "You don't get it. I promised my folks I'd get my ass back no later than 1230. This is the first time they've ever let me stay out so late. If I don't get back there, I'm toast." Both of them let out barks a laughter. "What is with the American parents being such bloody killjoys?" Eric said. I had no answer to give. I simply shook my head as I pulled my wallet out and withdrew a ten-pound note from it. Tossing it down, I slid to my feet, the world tilting slightly from the alcohol in my system. I honestly don't know, man, but I do know I got a vamos before I end up screwed, especially if the three of us still want to hit the movies this weekend. At my words, Courtney jerked her head up to look at me. A sly smile slowly slid across her face, and she leaned over slightly, sliding her hand on top of mine as her blue eyes twinkled. "Then you better get yourself home, haven't you?" she said, her voice taken on a slightly husky tone. "Because your cute ass is going to the pictures with me to see Godzilla one way or another." I felt my cheeks burn slightly at the flirt, then found my voice. "Yeah, I should. You have the phone number and address I gave you." She nodded, pulling a folded sheet of paper from her pocket. Satisfied, and with a final exchange of later, I slung my backpack over my shoulder and headed for the exits. As soon as I stepped outside, I was hit with a torrent of rain. "Great. Still downpouring." Sign. I flipped the collar of my leather jacket up and began jogging. It was the summer of 1998, and my parents had decided to take my two younger siblings and I to see my aunt and uncle in London. It was our first time visiting another country, and to me at least, it felt like visiting a parallel dimension. One where the same language was spoken, but everything else was different. At first, I loved the tours of places like the Tower of London and St. Paul's Cathedral. But I quickly tired of it, wanting to get out on my own and experience it as only an 18-year-old on the loose could. And after much pleading and promising to behave, I finally been given the go-ahead. I was given 50 pounds to spend, along with fair for the trains and buses and told to have fun. But my mother had begun, her tone deadly serious. "My father and I expect you back here no later than 1230. You break curfew and you could forget being let out on your own again, am I clear?" I agreed enthusiastically, promising I would. And in truth, I had fully intended to keep my word. I just hadn't intended on meeting Courtney and Eric at Trafologer Square. But when I locked eyes with the blonde bombshell across the square, sitting on the edge of the fountain in a tight skirt, I couldn't resist. The three of us spent the rest of the day just walking about the city, hitting up stores and eventually ending up in a pub, where they were delighted and buying me my first ever legal alcohol I've had. And now, here I am running about like a chicken with its head cut off, trying to find my way back to Chelsea before I end up dead meat. I shook my head, trying to clear my slightly fuzziness in my vision, as I raced towards the bright lights and blaring car horns a Piccadilly circus. A moment later, I was awash in the neon signs advertising Foster's Beer, Sanio Electronics and Coca-Cola. This late at night, the square had emptied out considerably, though a number of people still streamed around. Their faces hidden under umbrellas as they pushed past me. My eyes flickered first to the red double-decker bus as it passed by, then a black cab which was letting out the most goth couple I had ever seen. I felt a slight anxiety, even though I knew full well I was legally able to drink. Years of being raised in the States and constantly reminded of what would happen if I was to be caught drinking before turning 21 nodded me. I don't exactly feel comfortable taking a cab tipsy and don't even know how to get one of the buses to stop. Feeling the anxiety began to fill me as I glanced at my watch, I spared a final look around. That's when my eyes fell upon the sign for the underground across from me. As soon as I spied the large red circle with white lettering showing the way, I remembered the ticket in my pocket. Of course, I took it to get here and since it's an all-day ticket, I could use it until midnight. My mind made up, I stopped to let the jeep pass through the intersection, then jogged across to the stairs. As I reached the top, I stopped to spare one final glance around. Despite the time crunch, I smiled. Almost feeling truly like an adult for the first time in my life. See you tomorrow. I whispered to nobody in particular, then hurried down the steps. The sounds of the world above dulled as I entered the hallway, my footsteps echoing off the tile walls. Passing by posters for plays and movies, I followed the winding path until it opened into a large welcome area. As I entered, I was hit by the small wave of surprise. Where the hell is everyone? Even this late at night, and with the amount of activity above, I expected there would at least be a few other people rushing for a train home. But as I stared around the large circular room, I saw no sign alive. The only sound was the soft hum of the fluorescent lights on the walls and columns. I glanced around for a moment longer, then began walking, my footfalls again echoing loudly back at me. Fumbling into the pocket of my jeans, I retrieved the crumpled ticket, smoothing it out as best as I could as I approached the gates to the platforms. Oi! The call from behind me made me freeze for a moment, all semblance of thought fleeing. Oh shit, man. Memories of my mother talking about taking the New York subway as a teenager flooded my mind. Stories about having the watch for armed robbers who had corner helpless passengers and steal everything from them at knife point. I began the speed walk towards the gates. Stop! I forced myself to turn towards the voice and began to softly laugh, filling with relief at the side of what had to be a metro cop striding towards me. He appeared to be in his mid-forties, strands of brown hair peeking from under his cap. I shot a look at the name stamped into his vest. D. Giddens. As he approached, he caught sight of the look on my face, and the hardened expression he wore softened as he raised his hands. "My apologies, I startled you," he chuckled. I nodded, swallowing before answering. "Honestly, yeah, you did, officer. I didn't see anyone else down here when I entered." I gave a strained smile. Kind of scared the hell out of me. He let out a chuckle of his own as he finished making his way over to me and flashed a smile. "You're an American tourist, aren't you?" I nodded again. "Yes, sir." Turning, he pointed at the clock hanging from the ceiling. "Well, you might not know it, lad, but the station closes in about twenty minutes. The underground doesn't run after midnight or so." A small spike of worry rose at his words. "Crap, it doesn't?" I asked. He shook his head, rubbing his beard as he looked at me. "Where are you needing to go?" "I need to get back to Chelsea." I took a train from Sloan Square. But that was a different line than this, I think. At my words, a pleased look across the officer's face. "You might actually be in luck," he said, pointing at the signs over the escalators heading farther down. The Piccadilly line doesn't stop at Sloan, but it does stop at South Kensington, roughly a ten-minute walk to Chelsea. The last train for Baker Low Line is already gone, but there's one final westbound train for Piccadilly doing ten minutes. If you hurry down, you should make it. Just follow the signs. I gave a sigh of relief and nodded, this time giving the cop a genuine smile. "Thank you. Thank you so much, sir." He nodded, then motioned for me to hurry. Giving him one final look, I turned and stepped up to the gate, sliding my ticket into the slot. It spat it back out, and I quickly slid through and jogged the escalator. Stepping onto it, I leaned against the railing and closed my eyes. A rhythmic metallic clang filled my ears as I descended. Opening them as I felt it level out, I stepped off and hurried down the corridor. There were three hallways that branched off the main one. The one to the right was already barred off by a gate, and the same with the left branch of the fork straight ahead. Which left only one choice. "Welp, guess I'm going this way." Taking the hallway to the right, I turned left and descended a set of steps. A moment later, I stepped out onto an empty train platform. I felt another wave of confusion. The sign at the top of the stairs said this was for bake-low platforms, but the cop said to follow the signs for a Piccadilly lane. Where the hell am I supposed to go? The answer came as I turned to the left, spied the sign which pointed into yet another hallway. "Ah," I muttered, feeling a bit sheepish. I started towards it, feeling a bit sureward that I would make it back in time to my aunt and uncle's house on Bernsall Street. "Scrape." I stopped, almost mid-step as the sound came. It echoed off the towed walls of the station for a moment, then died away. For a moment, I simply stared ahead, waiting to see if anyone would emerge. Nothing moved in the stillness. "Come on, dude. You got to get to the other platform before the train arrives." I began the move forward again, my boots clapping on the floor. "Scrape." This time I froze like a statue. The first time the sound had come, I couldn't figure out exactly where it came from. The echo had been distorted. But this time, it had been much clearer. It had come from ahead, seemingly where the empty platform disappeared around a bend. I felt my pulse quickened slightly and swallowed. For a moment, I contemplated saying nothing, then I spoke. "Hello?" My voice echoed off the walls, bouncing back as it died away. "Why the hell did you just do that? Haven't you seen enough horror movies?" But I shook my head, pushing the thought away. "This is real life, not a horror movie." For a moment, I continued to stand there, waiting. Nobody answered my call. A mental image of the cop flashed through my mind. Maybe he had come down to set a stairs for employees, making sure I'm not going to spray paint the walls or anything. The thought made me call out again. "Officer, is that you?" Again, my voice echoed away into the emptiness, dying away unanswered by no one. As I stared, a feeling suddenly fell over me. That one alone on the platform was not pleasant in the least. The feeling of being watched. I felt my pulse began the quicken as it grew, shooting a look over my shoulder to make sure I wasn't being snuck up on. But nobody emerged from the hall behind me. I swung my gaze back, feeling a mixture of weariness and trepidation. And then suddenly a loud noise caused me to jump. My heart almost stopped as a booming man's voice shattered the silence. Attention! The final westbound Piccadilly lane train will arrive at the station in three minutes. I repeat, the final westbound Piccadilly train will arrive in three minutes. The sound of the inner calm flicked off, and I let out a low, soft laugh as the realization hit me, bending over and putting my hands on my knees. Freaking hell, man. After a moment, I stood back up straight and headed for the hall. As I reached it, I spared one final look down the hall. That noise had to be a frickin' rat or something. You are getting way too jumpy, Billy. Shaking my head, I entered the hallway, quickly descending a final set of stairs. Quickly scanning the two maps, I found South Kensington on the right and stepped onto the platform. Glancing at my watch, I saw it was now a quarter to midnight. The map said that my stop would only be a few stations ahead. That meant a train ride of only about five or ten minutes. After that, it would be a quick climb topside, and according to the cop, another five minutes to walk the Chelsea. I'll be home well before curfew. Smiling, I walked over to a bench and sat down, placing my backpack on my lap and waiting. Inside the pack, I had a Sony discman, for which I purchased two CDs while out with my new friends. But I'd made the decision to wait until I was on the train before breaking it out. As sure as I felt the noise had been something harmless, I didn't want to deafen myself. Not yet. Glancing at my watch, I saw a minute had passed. Feels like hours instead of seconds. Sign. I leaned back and closed my eyes. Scrape. My eyes flew open again at the sound, now distant and echoing from the upper platform, filtering down to me. I slowly turned my head, looking towards the out-of-sight alcove about 50 feet to my right. A moment later, it came again. I snorted, shaking my head. See? It's either a rat or just some sounds of the underground late at night. But as much as I repeated the thought over and over, I couldn't quite make myself believe it. I couldn't say why, it just sounded off. As the noise came a third time, something occurred to me. Is it just me or is that thing getting louder? I glanced at my watch again. Another minute had passed. If the announcer had been correct, the train should be pulling into the station in about 60 seconds. Thank God, I began the stand, but froze as a new sound came. Thunk. Every muscle in my body tensed and I flashed up lightning quick. What the? For a moment, the air remained still. Then, Thunk. I suddenly felt my blood run cold as it came a third time. My mind replaying the last few minutes of my journey down. The scraping sound had been one I couldn't place. A sound I had never heard before, in which I could shrug off. But this noise? A very human one, was one I'd heard not even three minutes ago as I descended to the platform. It was the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Shit. At six foot and well built from years on the swim team, not to mention three years of self-defense classes, I felt confident I could hold my own against someone. But the fact I was tipsy and in an unfamiliar space, combined with how brazen whoever it was to not even try to be quiet, was sending off all kinds of alarm bells in my head. A fourth thunk came and I made a split decision, deciding to try to intimidate whoever it might be. I opened my mouth. Alright, whoever's on the freaking stairs, if it's some kind of joke, I can assure you it's not the least bit amusing. Instantly the sound stopped, the platform going silent once more. But this time, it wasn't any normal kind of silence. This one was that held a palpably tense atmosphere, one so thick you could easily cut it with the knife. For what felt like an eternity, but in reality was likely no more than 10 seconds, it hung over my head like a noose, then I forced myself to speak again, my voice sounding as tough as I could and try not to slur my words. You keep this up and I'll report this, that is if I don't kick your freaking ass first. For a few more moments, there was silence. I couldn't tell if they were attempting the quietly make their way up the stairs, or simply staying still and making their mind up. I shot another glance at my watch. Come on man, where's the freaking train? As I lifted my head again, the sound suddenly sprang up again. Only this time, they weren't coming slowly one after another. They were coming rapidly. Thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk. My eyes widened as I suddenly realized how big a mistake I had made. You freaking moron, you just pissed them off. I began the back pedal down the platform as the sounds drew closer. Oh shit, oh shit. I kept repeating the two words, fear suddenly coursing through my veins. As I reached the halfway point, they reached the bottom and stopped. I stopped as well, freezing and straining my ears to hear anything. No new sounds disturbed the eerie silence that had descended onto the platform, but all that meant was that the person was standing just at a sight, waiting. For what? The mental question made the fear and anxiety well up like a hot spring, as images of being rushed filled my mind. I swallowed hard and took another step back. That was when I felt a large puff of air hit me, causing me to sway slightly on my feet. It was followed by a loud echoing sound which rapidly intensified. For a moment, I didn't understand what was happening. Then relief like I had never felt before came as the train bursted out of the tunnel, the platform filling with the sound of its breaks. Even so, I kept shooting looks towards the stairs. I gave a silent thanks as I saw nobody appear. The train finally came to a complete stop. The doors opened with a whoosh. A speaker inside let out a small ding, followed by a soothing woman's voice. This train terminates at Heathrow Terminal 4. I shot another glance down at the other end of the platform. Then I began to move towards the open doors. As I was about to enter, something came flying out of nowhere, smacking itself square into my chest. For a moment, panic consumed me before I looked down, and let out a shaky chuckle as I realized it was some sort of paper, likely blown about by the train. Pulling it from my chest and holding it with one clenched hand. I spared a final look towards the alcove. Then I quickly stepped inside. The doors slid shut a moment later. The loud humming sound of the train powering back up filling my ears. Feeling the floor below me jerks slightly. I slid the paper into my pocket and quickly sat down on one of the benches. The platform began sliding by outside, and was replaced a few seconds later by the blackness of the underground tunnels. For a moment, confident that I hadn't been followed, I allowed my shoulders to slump as all the fear and tension I had felt flowed out of my body like water. A huge sigh escaped my lips. "Holy shit, dude," I muttered softly, then let out a equally soft, strained laugh. Taking another few deep breaths, I finally allowed myself to look around. Aside from myself, the car was completely empty. Abandoned newspapers laid where people had discarded them, and what looked like a styrofoam coffee cup rolled lazily under one of the patterned seats. Leaning around, I saw through the glass doors to both the jointing cars that they too were empty. "You're safe, man," the thought further reassured me, and I sat my backpack aside and stood up, holding on to the metal bar running along the ceiling as I studied the map on the far wall. My eyes moved along the line. "Okay, three stops before Kensington," I said, making a mental note to them. "Green Park, Hyde Park Corner, and Knightsbridge." Sitting back down in my seat as I felt the adrenaline which had filled my body began the recede, replaced with a sudden tiredness. I reached over and unzipped my bag, pulling out my disc-man and the two new CDs I'd bought. Depeche Mode or Tears for Fears. I settled on Depeche Mode, popping the CD inside the disc-man. Placing the headphones onto my head, I hit play. A moment later, my ears were filled with the sound of Dave Gaughan's voice as he began the seeing world in my eyes. Leaning back in my seat, I closed my eyes. As I listened, feeling my body rock slightly with the train. I decided that I wouldn't tell my parents what had happened to me. The news that I had been accosted by an unseen presence would send them off the deep end. I'd absolutely be forbidden from going to the movies with Courtney this weekend. Like hell that's happening. I felt the train began the slow. Opening my eyes and lifting one headphone. I watched as the empty platform rolled into view. The train stopped and the doors opened. A woman's voice came from the train's speakers again. This is Green Park. Please mind the gap between the train and the platform. After about 10 seconds, the doors closed and the train began the move again. I slid the headphone back over my ear and relaxed again. The process repeated as the train rolled into Hyde Park station. As the doors closed, I slid my headphones back on and leaned back, closing my eyes as enjoyed the silence began blasting into my ears. One more stop. Thank you God for watching out for me tonight. Behind my eyelids, I could still faintly see the glow of the lights. As I began to bob my head back and forth to the music, I suddenly realized they had winked out. They came back on a moment later. I guess the London Underground is like the New York subway. Certain spots they hit and the light flickers. As the thought finished, they again flicked. In any other situation, and after a lifetime of riding the subway back home, it wouldn't have bothered me. But after my close call, it began to make me feel nervous again. My mind suddenly recalled the paper I had been hit with. And to try to take my mind off things, I pulled it from my pocket to look at it. It was a program for a play. Similar to the one my parents and I received a few nights ago when they had dragged me to a theater back in West End. The top of the program gave the name of the theater and dark red font. Her Majesty's Theater, Haymarket SWY. I swung my gaze down to the title, reading it out loud. Jack Hilton presents Diana Doar's and Dickel Henderson and remains to be seen. I shrugged my shoulders, never heard of it before, or either the actors, local talent likely. My eyes fell further down to the bottom, and I began to read the line which stated its opening date and froze. I blinked my eyes a few times, as if doing so would change what I saw. But it didn't. The small black lettering remained. First performance, Tuesday 16th December, 1952. My mind raced. What the? How in the hell is something as old as this still floating around down here? It doesn't even look 46 years old. It looks new. Feeling my head begin the spin. I leaned back in my seat and closed my eyes. As I attempted to make sense of it, the lights again flickered for a moment, plunging the car back into darkness before flashing on again. As soon as they did though, I felt my body tense. Something in the train car now felt... different. I snapped open my eyes as the feeling intensified. I looked to my left. There was still nobody in sight in the next car. I let out a sigh. It's your nerves from earlier, man. Nothing more. Forcing another sigh out my mouth, I swung my head to the right and had the clamp of my mouth tightly shut to keep from screaming. I wasn't alone anymore. Someone sat at the far end of the car. Their face was hidden by the hood of a sweatshirt. One of the zip up styles the kids in my school loved to wear. They appeared to pay me no attention, but the vines they were giving off was putting me extremely on edge. Not to mention. Where exactly the hell did they even come from? Nobody got on board at the last stop, and I would have sensed someone entering from one of the other cars. A thought suddenly warmed its way forward. As much as I attempted to force it away, it remained. It's the person from the platform. The idea suddenly caused every ounce of fear and weariness to return with a vengeance. The same threatening aura I had felt staring at the alcove was unmistakable, cementing the notion. But I forced myself to stay still, acting like I either hadn't noticed them yet, or simply didn't care. Just keep looking like you don't give a damn Billy. Show some of the apathy that the New Yorkers are famous for. I slowly shut off the music, pulling the headphones from my head and placing it back in my backpack. Reaching over, I picked up one of the discarded newspapers from the seat next to me, flipping it open and pretending to read. I kept it just far enough for my face to glance at the figure out of the corner of my eye. They continued to sit there, the only movements being the slight rocking of their body. As I continued to flick my gaze back and forth, I felt the train began to slow again. We were arriving at the next platform. The woman's voice came over the speakers again. This is Night Bridge. Please mind the gap between the train and the platform. Sure enough, the platform slid into view a moment later, the train rolling to a stop and the doors opening. As I stared at what felt like salvation, I mentally argued over what to do. I could just get out, dash to the stairs, and try to make it to the street before he catches me. But for all I know, doing so could make him rush me. Besides, turning your back on this guy, where he appeared like frickin' Houdini on the train doesn't just feel like a big mistake. It feels like it might be a fatal one. To this very day, I wish I hadn't fought with myself. I wish I had simply jumped up, grabbed my bag, and ran. The choice was made for me as I hesitated a moment too long. The doors slid shut, and the train began the hum and jerked forward. We slid back into the dark tunnels. The woman's voice came on the speaker again. The next stop is South Kensington Station. Far from making me feel better, the announcement caused the fear to further intensify. If anything was going to happen, it would be between now and the next station. I kept calm, turning the page in the newspaper. I spared a look over at the figure, and couldn't help but stare. They had pulled something out of their pocket, something dark red, rectangular, and about the size of their hand, with three circular rings in the top left corner. As I watched, I saw the person tap their thumbs against the other side of it for a moment, then stopped and gazed at it. I caught a split second glimpse of what looked to be some kind of logo stamped on the back. Then they replaced it back into their pocket. Confusions swept through me. What the hell was that thing? I forced my gaze away, turning to continue pretending to read. I'd already felt afraid to begin with at the figure's sudden appearance. After that bizarre spectacle, it had ramped up a few notches. And it was furthered as the lights flickered again, sending the train into darkness. My heart beat furiously against my chest, feeling as though it would burst out at any moment. The lights returned, and I casted my eyes to the side. The figure still sat where they were. The lights flickered again. I gave a fake, exasperated sigh as if annoyed my reading had been interrupted. The lights flickered on again, and I shot a glance to the right and froze. The seat where the figure had been, not even five seconds ago, was empty. My eyes darted around every possible area that they could have hidden between the few seconds they had. But I saw no feet poking out from the bottom of seats. Hello. A voice. A man's came from directly in front of me behind the newspaper. Shiver after shiver shot up my spine. Fear and terror filled every fiber of my bean, and I saw my hands begin to shake violently. Slowly, I lowered the paper, my breath coming in ragged gaps as I looked up. The hood still hid the upper half of his face, but I could clearly see the psychotic grin which adorned the lower. The horrifying realization hit me like a Mack truck. This isn't any ordinary nut job. This guy is giving off frickin' serial killer vibes. And then my gaze fell to the man's right hand, or should I be more specific, when he had held in his right hand. A knife. Its serrated blade curved wickedly upwards. My eyes widened as far as they could go. For a few moments, neither of us moved. Then I spoke, my voice coming out in a weak tone. Oh shit. I exploded into motion, using all the muscle in my legs to sprint forward and off to the side. From the corner of my eye, I saw the figure lunge towards where I had just been. The knives stabbing the seat, tearing it apart like it was paper. That was going to be me. The thought sent a new burst of adrenaline into my system, and I leapt to my feet as the figure pulled back, whirling the face me. All the knowledge from my self-defense class has flooded back to me, and I moved into positions centering my legs. The man's grand widened as he watched me, and he chuckled. Good. Been a while since I had a bit of challenge. Then he charged at me again. I spun on one heel, whirling around and allowing the man's momentum to carry him past me. As soon as he was, I lashed out with my other foot, the steel-toed boots slamming him into the back of the man's calf. He let out a grunt as he fell to one knee, almost dropping the knife. Then he sprang back to his feet, whirling around and slashing at me. I backpedaled hard, having the jerk my upper body back a few times to avoid the blade. As soon as I saw an opening, I pivoted, bringing up one foot and slamming it hard into his chest. Caught by surprise, he let out a bit of a yell as he almost went ass over tea kettle, only stopping as he grabbed the railing. Pulling himself up, I saw his grin widen further. I'm impressed. He chuckled again. My blood ran cold at his next words. I'm truly going to enjoy gutting you. I backed up again, ready for the man's next charge. What happened next? I still can't fully explain. One moment, the man was ready in his next charge. The next. It was as if he had simply appeared directly in front of me. Shock stunned me, and I hesitated just a moment too late. A searing pain filled my left shoulder, and I stumbled back, clapping my hand to it as I felt blood began to drip profusely from the slash. I snapped my head to look up at the man, who now held the knife out towards me, the blade dripping with blood. My blood. Playtime's over, kid. He said through insane giggles. As he began to move forward, a small hopeless voice entered my mind. I'm going to die. I'm not fast enough. I'm going to die here. As I felt despair began to overtake me, the sound of the announcer's voice filled the train car. This is South Kensington station. Please mind the gap between the train and the platform. The realization of how close I was to the platform suddenly banished away the voice telling me to give up, instead replaced with a furious determination I didn't realize I possessed. I saw the first lights of the platform appear, but I remained still. I have to time this perfectly, just one single misstep and I'm dead. The knife rose, ready to slice into my jugular, and I made my move. I exploded into motion, first pivoting and lashing out with my right foot. A moment later, a sickening crack filled the train car as his leg either snapped or popped out of its socket. At the same time, I snapped up with my left elbow aiming for his right wrist. Again, my aim proved true, and the knife flew out of his hand, embedding itself into the seat beside him. I heard him begin to let out a howl of pain and rage, but I wasn't through yet. I had one final move to keep him down long enough for me to escape. My left hand lashed out, grabbing the front of his hoodie and my right hand bald into a fist. I pulled back, putting every ounce of strength I had into it, and swung. The blow connected with the man's head, sending him flying backwards. There was a tearing sound, and I felt the hoodie split as I continued to hold it in a death grip. It tore from my grasp, and he fell to the floor in a heap. The hood sliding from his face as it fell apart. His eyes flew up the meat mine, insanity filling them as he continued to grin. My jaw dropped open. For a moment, I felt rooted to the spot as my eyes flicked back and forth, unable to look away. I only snapped out of it as I realized the man was beginning the attempt to stand up, and I heard the whoosh of the doors opening. I didn't hesitate any longer. I leapt over the man and grabbed my pack, sprinting for the doors as I heard the ding signifying they were about the clothes. I leapt through them, falling to the floor of the platform in a heap and spinning to see them close. From inside the car, just audible over the hum of the train powering up, I heard the man let out another scream a rage, rage at having lost his prey, and then the train pulled away. A few moments later, it disappeared into the blackness of the far tunnel. For a few moments, I stared. Then I slowly climbed to my feet, holding one hand tied to the still bleeding gash on my shoulder. That horrific night was 26 years ago. After I got up, I raced topside, where I found the nearest photo box and called the police. Quite a few of them showed up, more than I assumed, along with an ambulance. They took my story extremely seriously, sending some of the men down to the station as they ordered armed police to Heathrow. Then they took me to the hospital. It took almost 70 stitches to sew up my shoulder. They also called my parents. I still remember how mom cried as she clutched me like a shipwreck victim to a life ring. Neither have I ever seen either one of them that afraid. Courtney had a similar expression when she came to visit a few days later, after showing up unannounced to my aunt and uncle's house. The only good thing that came out of my stay in the hospital was it was where she and I had our first kiss. The first of many. The cops never found him. They were waiting to check every cop car topped the bottom when it arrived at the final stop. But they never found a trace of him, aside from the shredded seats. I knew they wouldn't, not after what I had seen. And when an officer came to take my statement again, it was confirmed as he admitted something. What I'm about to tell you, son, stays between you and me. We've had unsolved murders occur at this tube for at least the past 70 years, if not longer. They never made the paper, and they've always had the same MO. Person goes into the station late at night, is caught on cameras talking to someone, then goes down to a platform. The last place any of them have been seen alive is entering the train. I'm 44 years old now, as odd as it may seem, and despite what had happened, I ended up moving to London after graduating college. Courtney and I ended up marrying one another, our summertime fling leading to a love that lasted almost 30 years, along with three amazing kids. Every day I spend with them makes me thankful I never gave up that night. But I don't take the underground anymore. I never will. And I forbid Courtney or any of our kids to take it either. You see, the police ran a check after I told my story, and they found that there was no man with either the Metropolitan Police or the transit police named Dee Giddens. There never had been, but it makes sense. The best way to gain a person's trust is to look like an authority figure. That's why when the hoodie toward his face snapped up to glare at me, I couldn't help a gasp as I recognized him, the same green eyes and beard. I was never able to figure out what he had been doing though, what he had been tapping on before he came to me. No one I spoke to could either. I honestly ended up thinking I had just been seeing things, but I don't anymore. Because my wife brought home a birthday present from our oldest daughter today. When she was presented with the box, she let out a squeak of delight that caused me to smile. But it was wiped away as she opened it and pulled the smartphone out, one that had a very familiar shape with an equally similar logo adorning the back. Even though it was a brand new iPhone, I had seen it before, decades ago. They say in modern times, it's becoming harder for serial killers to operate without being caught. All the advancements and forensics, all the cameras everywhere, and the social media had created a world in which they can't get away with their crimes as easily. But what if they didn't have to? The thought makes me terrified, not for the future, but the past. Why? Because of the last thing I saw that night as I stared down at my attempted murderer, at the shirt he wore under the torn hoodie, one which advertised the grand opening of some business in July, 2025. History is full of great discoveries from cave paintings to ancient ruins, from unearthed skeletons to roads hidden for centuries. The archaeological world is simply full of history that turns the current understanding of ancient times on its ear. I've found just such a discovery. It will change the way mankind understands our history, how ancient people may have traveled to new lands, and even built structures in the most unlikely places. Like an ancient temple in a remote place called Sneedville, Tennessee, but I will never return there, ever. I will give you, whoever is reading this, clear and concise directions to get there if you feel inclined to check it out yourself. However, I would warn you to read this post in full before you pack up your things and head out. You need to know what you are walking into. Sneedville, Tennessee is a small, and I mean small farming community in the northeast corner of the state. Steep rolling hills and hard-cut valleys permeate the area, with almost every piece of flat dry land you see having been tilled for crops. In the most god-forsaken section of this rural area, there is a small, one-lane dirt and stoned road called Black Valley Road. This is not to be confused with Black Valley Road less than one mile from it. Sneed villains are not that creative in naming these roads it seems, if you could even call Black Valley Road a road. It's a twisting and turning death trap, with a steep mountain on one side of your car while a sheer drop is on the other. If you sneeze and twitch the wheel in any wrong direction, you could die. This is not an exaggeration, and if you head out the check if all of what I tell you is true, you will see that it is just by driving down this death-defined road. You said one lane, so what if a vehicle comes the other way, you might ask? Three choices. You die? You reverse until you find a spot to pull off, or the other car reverses. These are the only options. Remember, you are a hair's breath from a cliff that will lead you to certain death while you are backing up. Those familiar with the road do not seem defazed by it, as they take it at 50 miles an hour. I guess it just adds to a little spice to their lives. So if you head west on Black Valley Road, the way is not that bad. If you head east, make peace with your god. Either way, a few miles in, heading west, or a bit longer heading east, you will see on the north side of the road a pleasant looking cabin. Almost a house, snuggled on a hilltop with a winding driveway made of gravel that passes an old 1800s tobacco barn, now used to hold a water tank and old tools. A new barn is on the other side of the cabin, all metal and shining. A garish clash between the old and the new. It is behind this cabin, halfway up the mountain that I found it. The cabin is owned by a family friend, and I have been here dozens of times. I enjoy traversing the woods at little streams, climbing to the top of the mountain and scampering back down, trying not to twist an ankle. It's a rustic peaceful and almost beautiful place. You could feel it one with nature. Though I have visited many times, I had never visited in the fall or winter. Normally, the thick trees are so laden with leaves the entire mountainside looks more like a lush, green carpet than a forest. But in that late fall, last week to be precise, the trees were barren, and I could see so much more of the mountainside than I ever had been able to before. It was this and sheer dumb luck that let me find it. The Entrance I decided on Wednesday morning to hike up the mountain to the top. It is a rough, arduous hike, and the older I get, the harder it is to do, but my ego won't let me quit. As I walked up behind the cabin, following an old, rutted path that wound its way past a small pond filled with koi that had been put there by the owners of the property, I decided that instead of plowing straight up the mountain, I would follow the paths that had been cut out years before. These switchbacks started from the right side of the pond and meandered upwards, then switched sharply to the left, and so on almost all the way up the mountainside. It was on the third switchback where I dropped my phone. I pulled it out to turn on some music for the climb when it fell from my clumsy fingers, and started the bounce back down the mountain. Cursing, I jumped after it, and finally found it as it came to rest next to a large white rock. Now to be fair, the mountain is covered with large white rocks. They are everywhere you look, but this one when I got close was different. I noticed it pulled slightly away from the mountainside, revealing a small gap with darkness beyond. A cave. This cave was impossible to see from below, and impossible to see from above. It was only a few are right in front of it that you could see it, and if it was springtime, the bushes and leaves would have been so thick even that might have been very very difficult to notice. I turned on my phone's flashlight and shown it at the entrance. I saw a large cave big enough for me to walk in without hitting my head, go straight back into the heart of the mountain. I was thrilled. My day's plans changed on the spot. Knowing that these caves may have rattlesnakes in them, I decided to head back, get some protection and better light, and then explore. After arming myself with a large sturdy flashlight and a machete, I headed back up. I tried in vain to see the entrance as I stood by the pond, but it was impossible. I did notice, however, that the mountain was very angular. I always knew it was steep, but I was just noticing how steep it even was. It almost looked like a pyramid, a pyramid in the middle of the mountain range that just blended in with all the other peaks and valleys. Pushing these thoughts past my head, I went back to the cave entrance, and could not find it. Not right away. I was even standing less than 12 feet from it and didn't see it. If you go here to see for yourself, trust me, it is there, just not easy to see. Finally, I found it again and stood at the entrance. What was inside? My thoughts raced with possibilities. An underground lake, hidden Confederate gold, a skeleton of some poor lost soul, or just snakes and spiders. Laughing to myself, I headed inside, turning on the powerful light as I did so. Certain, I was only going to find snakes and spiders. Oh God, how wrong I was. The cave went directly into the side of the mountain, heading slightly downward. It made no turns, which I thought was odd for a cave, but it was spacious and wide enough not to feel constricting. I constantly shone the light around, but mostly downward looking for any rattlesnakes. I saw none. Soon, the cave floor became even, the walls and ceiling too. This was man-made. Smooth bricks lined the walls and floor, and the ceiling was stoned from the mountain, but ground or honed flat and level. Oh man, I wasn't thralled. Man-made. My thoughts of Confederate gold grew stronger by the second. Who else would put all this work into a cave in the middle of nowhere? Why else would it have been built? I hurried down the corridor, or path, or tunnel, or whatever it was for a long time. I had to be deep in the mountain before the tunnel ended. I shone the light on a large heavy square stone blocking the way. It was a different color than the stone of the walls and floor. It was made from one giant slab. On the left side of the slab about waist high, there was an alcove in the stone, just big enough to fit your hands in. My heart was pounding. I really found something here. My thoughts went back to how this entire mountain peak looked more like a pyramid than anything else, and my heartbeat even faster. I'd read that there was still findings of unknown pyramids in Mexico that have been overgrown and had been mistaken as hills or mountains, so why not here? If this was a pyramid, I made the greatest discovery in North America and ages. A part of me wanted to head back and make some calls, but I didn't want to look like an idiot. If this was just a Confederate catch, or some previous landowner's version of a nuclear bunker, I would look like a fool. I had to be sure. I shone the light around the stone door. It had symbols chastled in it. They were not hieroglyphics, but more like icons or Icelandic ruins. I could not make heads or tails of most of it, but I saw a few I could tell what they were. The first one I recognized threw me for a loop. Incas, Mayans, and even Egyptians did not use an icon of a sword hilt. They did not use icons of shields with more crosses and would look to be writing in Latin. They did not use icons which looked like a cup with rays of light shining off of it. They did not use ruins that looked like they came off of the appendix of the Lord of the Rings. Yet all these were etched into this giant stone door. My eyes kept going back to the alcove, which was certainly a handle of some type. I had seen enough Indiana Jones movies to know one thing for certain. I was not putting my hand in there blindly. I did, however, use my machete to pry in there and feel around. With a loud metallic clang sound, the door unlocked. I stood at the door for a while, excited to go in, and worried by doing so, I could be tainted what could be an epic find. Scientists and white Tvex suits and 300 different cameras should be exploring this cave, not some awkward buffoon with a flashlight and a machete. It was the thought that if it was a pyramid or if it was a catch, if there was any treasure in it, the government would claim it and that would get squat. That decided it for me. Screw that. I pushed gently on the stone door into my utter amazement. It pivoted open with just a slightest pressure. The stone had to be 12 tons, but it moved with just two fingers. I shone the light inward and it showed the tunnel continuing downward. I stepped through as the large door slowly started to close behind me. In a panic, I grabbed some small stones and rumbled to block the door open. Always leave an exit. When I was confident the door would not close on its own, I started to explore. The complex was massive. I walked miles upon miles up and down staircases, past tunnels and chambers. It still felt I only explored a tiny fraction of this structure, which I was more and more sure with each passing second that, in fact, was a pyramid. I always returned to that stone door just to make sure it was still open, and I could reset myself to explore in a new direction. It was here that I started to explore a tunnel that led downwards at a pretty decent angle. This corridor was different than the others in that the symbols and icons were prevalent on the walls. No other tunnel I explored had this. I traveled for what felt like a quarter of a mile. I started to hear noises coming from below, not loud, just sporadic sounds drifting up from below. By the time my lights shone on another massive stone door, I could tell the noises were coming from behind it. A rustling sound. The sound of metal clanking on stone, which sounded like moans. All of these came from behind the door. I stood at the door for a while. I convinced myself that this was another exit to the pyramid, and some animal had made this tunnel its den for the winter. I quietly used the machete again, prying at the alcove of the door, when with a loud metallic clank, the door unlocked. I listened carefully. The last thing I wanted to do was open this door to see a bear looking back at me. Silence. Not a rustle, not a sound. I slowly pressed on the door, and as soon as it slid open, two things happened. Silence. I saw the glitter of gold and firelight, piled in heaps across the floor, and off to my right, where I could not yet see, something screamed and thrashed. I heard the unmistakable sound of chains being tossed around, the screech of some beast echoing in the chamber. My heart froze at the sound, and all the thoughts of gold, treasure, and a life of luxury disappeared. This screech was unlike anything I had ever heard. It filled me with a terror I had never known. I was unable to move as the door continued to open inwards. I saw more and more treasure being revealed, and on a pedestal with swords leaning against it was a small cup. The creature, whenever it was, was thrashing with untold fury. And then I heard the sound of a chain snapping. The creature roared with triumph, and here I turned and ran. As I ran, I heard another chain snap and hit the floor, then another. I ran as hard as I could back up the tunnel to the exit, and then I heard it coming from me. It, whatever it was, was free. It was racing up the tunnel towards me, screeching the entire time. It ran on two legs, but God helped me. I heard hoofs hitting the stone. What in the hell ran on two legs that had hoofs? My heart was pounding with both fear and exertion as I reached the door. The creature was close behind me. Whatever it was cast a flickering light off the walls, as if it carried a torch or it was on fire. I ran through the opening, kicking the rumble and stones I had placed a block and opened as I did, and slammed all my weight against it. It pivoted and clicked. I heard, as if from a distance, the creature hit the stone door. I swear I saw some of the ruins flash with the blue light, then fade the darkness. The creature threw itself again and again at the stone slab, but it did not budge. It did not even twitch. The last thing I heard was the creature screech as I ran up the tunnel, and I swear, in that long drawn out scream, I thought I almost could make out words. This was six days ago. I am now safe in my home state, 12 hours from that creature. I was in the car and flying down Black Valley Road less than a half an hour from when the door closed and saved my life. I am going to tell you what I know and tell you what I believe. I know this cave is to the entrance to an ancient pyramid. It has to be ancient for the force to grow on it like it has, and hit it from prying eyes all these years. I know how to get to it. Behind the cabin, turn right on the pond, go up the third switchback and halfway down the path, head downwards and look down until you find the entrance. It is not easy, but it is there. I know there is treasure in there. It is also an archeologist wet dream. I know there is something else in there, something that lives for thousands of years, not human, not animal, something else entirely. I believe that the pyramid was built by someone other than the Mayans, the Incas or the Egyptians, someone with Christian icons as part of their religion. I believe that what was inside, well, it was a demon. Two legs, hoofs, flames, screeching in an unknown language and a desire to kill, because let me tell you, if that thing caught me, I would be dead. I want this pyramid to be found and left alone at the same time. I want the treasure I saw, but no amount of money will ever get me back there. I fear for humanity if that thing is ever set free. But someone captured it, chained it up. It might be able to be killed. But if you want to try it, be my guest. You know where it is, how to get to it and what rewards await you. But something else waits as well. Good luck.