Each rung felt solid enough, but the darkness pressed in on him, the quiet too profound. About halfway down, that eerie hum started again, vibrating through the ladder’s metal. Richard paused heart in his throat. He tightened his grip on Joy as the barn below flared to life with the same unsettling lights he’d seen before—ghostly blues and greens dancing through the cracks, painting warped shadows on the walls above.

  A sharp, metallic bang reverberated through the space like something massive had slammed against a beam or metal plate below. The ladder vibrated beneath Richard’s boots. He couldn’t see what caused it; the flashlight beam danced erratically as he struggled to hold on. Joy squirmed, startled, and Richard’s footing slipped. In that fleeting instant, he lost his balance. Fear clawed at him as he tried vainly to regain a rung with his boot or free a hand to steady himself, but he was carrying Joy and couldn’t let her fall.

  Another violent flash of light—impossible in the darkness, yet there it was—stabbed at his eyes. His grip faltered, and he tumbled backward into the gloom. The last thing he registered was the sickening jolt of pain as he hit something hard, his flashlight spinning out of his grasp. Then nothing. The world winked in a swirl of blackness and confusion, leaving only the distant hum and the faint echo of Joy’s panicked bark as his consciousness slipped away.

  A gentle, wet tickle against Richard’s cheek stirred him. At first, he only sensed warmth and pressure—a rhythmic lapping against his skin. Dim awareness disappeared, and he realized he was sprawled on something hard and cold. His body ached all over, and he heard a distant, muffled hum somewhere in the darkness. The world was fuzzy, his vision swimming as he tried to piece together where he was.

  “Richard,” a voice whispered. It was soft and high, with a curious tilt to it. He groaned, struggling to focus. The voice came again, more precise this time. “Richard, get up.”

  He opened his eyes, blinking at what seemed like a small shape hovering near his face. Light from above—just a sliver trickling down the ladder shaft—revealed Joy. But the dog wasn’t just licking him; she was watching him intently, almost humanly.

  “Joy?” His tongue felt thick, his head heavy. He could have sworn her mouth moved in sync with the voice he’d heard. “Come on, Richard,” she said calmly, the tone gentle yet urgent. “We need you awake. Something’s not right down here.”

  He swallowed hard, the ache behind his eyes throbbing. “You… you’re talking,” he mumbled, marveling at how ridiculous it sounded. And yet, there she was, ears perked, eyes reflecting concern, her small muzzle shaping impossible words.

  “Don’t be silly,” Joy’s voice replied lightly, “I’ve always been talking. You just needed a good knock on the head to understand me.” She offered a quick wink—impossible though that seemed—and continued softly, “I’m here with you. Just get on your feet, okay?”

  Richard struggled to push himself up. The world spun, darkness pressing at the edges of his vision. Joy leaned closer, her nose brushing his cheek once more. Only this time, he no longer heard words—just anxious whines and soft, urgent barks. A phantom echo of her voice teased the back of his mind, but it was gone now, left somewhere between unconsciousness and reality.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  “Alright, girl,” he managed, voice rasping. He raised a trembling hand to scratch behind her ear. The ache in his head still pulsed, but now he knew what was confirmed: the barn’s hidden depths, the damp chill of the concrete floor, and Joy’s very real, if wordless, concern.

  Her words faded into short barks of concern.

  Still woozy from the fall, Richard pushed himself onto his knees, one hand groping the cold concrete floor until his fingers grazed the familiar metal of the Maglite. He sighed with relief and flicked it on. The beam cut a narrow path through the darkness, revealing damp walls and a rough, unfinished floor. Above, about twenty feet overhead, he could see the open hatch: a distant square of faint light and the only reminder that a world existed beyond this silent void.

  “Good, it’s still open,” he murmured, half to Joy and half himself. A small comfort, knowing he wasn’t sealed in.

  Turning away from the ladder, he aimed the flashlight down a narrow hallway. At the far end, he made out a doorway and some kind of chamber beyond it. The air smelled stale, tinged with old metal and damp stone. Joy stayed close, her small frame pressed reassuringly against his leg as they moved forward.

  They emerged into a room roughly thirty feet by thirty, its ceiling nearly fifteen feet high. Richard’s light revealed mostly bare concrete—raw and utilitarian. One wall section seemed slightly smoother and out of place, as though patched or constructed with a different material. Yet aside from that anomaly, there was nothing else. No tools, no machinery. Just a hollow space swallowed by silence.

  As he stepped carefully across the barren floor, the faintest tremor ran through the ground beneath his boots. He froze, pulse quickening. The vibration swelled into a soft rumble that grew steadily louder. Across the room, opposite the doorway, a glow began to kindle. At first, it was just a greenish haze, but soon it blazed brighter, illuminating an emerging shape.

  Richard’s heart hammered. He swallowed and raised the Maglite, but his trembling hand fumbled, and the flashlight clattered onto the concrete, its beam spinning wildly before settling. Bathed in the strange light, a towering figure took form. Tall—eight feet at least—its silhouette backlit in a sickly green hue. It hunched slightly, but he guessed it would be nearly ten feet tall if it stood fully upright. Its arms were impossibly long and thin, its body suggesting neither human nor animal. Yet it was there, solid enough to block out the glow behind it.

  Terror weighed him down like chains. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think clearly. Joy whimpered, pressing against his legs, her tail tucked tight. The rumble deepened, resonating through his bones. At first, the vibrations were chaotic, random pulses that rattled his teeth. But as he listened, really listened, he noticed a pattern.

  “...el…e…uck...” The sounds grated, meaningless. He caught fragments that danced on the edge of comprehension.

  “Hell…stu…” The word “hell” knifed through his stomach. Fear ignited, fueling an urge to bolt. He took one trembling step backward, prepared to flee back down the hall when the pattern overlapped and the vibrations formed something coherent.

  “Help me… stuck!” The words rang out clearly in his mind as if the rumbling became a strange, subterranean voice. The creature’s silhouette flared brighter, and curiosity stabbed through his fear. He realized he was clutching Joy against his chest—when had he picked her up?

  Forcing himself forward, Richard took another step toward the figure, his breath catching in his throat. He gently lowered Joy to the floor, expecting her to scurry away in terror. Instead, the small dog growled, barked, and charged straight at the towering shape.

  The moment Joy crossed the threshold, she passed clean through it as though it were no more substantial than smoke. The wall behind the figure rippled like disturbed water, and the phantom cried: “HELP ME…I AM STUCK!”

  Then—silence. The rumbling ceased, the green glow winked, and the figure vanished. Richard’s world plunged into total darkness once more, Joy’s soft panting the only proof he hadn’t gone completely mad.