Out of the village, the truck started to move. Past small homes and tiny shops this man had loved all his life. He was heading towards the mountains. He could see the now snow-covered peaks, white in the distance, bathed in the light of the full moon, as the truck drew closer to them.
The truck moved onto a small, two-lane highway.
The road was smooth.
The ride was easy.
After many miles of traveling, the truck turned off onto a dirt road. It roared down this road, past leaves colored with autumn’s dying glory, past fields being harvested, past small farms with cows and PIGS.
The dirt road came to an end. The truck moved on into tall grass that swooshed and smacked the vehicle–like it was trying to consume it. The truck moved forward, climbing ever so gently until the driver saw their destination.
Headlights splashed off an enormous cave entrance.
The truck drove into this cave and came to a stop.
The man looked around, as he was led off the truck.
The cave was twenty, maybe thirty, feet high with white granite stalactites looking like a thousand sharp fangs hanging above him. They were all kinds of shapes and sizes with the longest being about five feet long.
The cave itself stretched out from this giant entrance to many dark tunnels. Some of these tunnels climbed upwards, some down, some just stayed as even and straight as the floor he was standing on, which was covered in brown dirt and bat dung – creatures long since departed once their darkened space was invaded . . . to be continued next Sunday at 6 A.M. Did you miss a post? Check out the Category “Tales from the Blog” in order to catch up. Have a great Sunday.