Echo

An old short story written to illustrate the myriad ways in which caves are scary

Echo was first written for a fiction writing workshop I took in college. This is unchanged from that version, aside from certain edits to translate the formatting to fit the constraints of this website. I wrote this to challenge myself to resolve the inherent difficulties of a diaristic moment-to-moment horror story, which dovetailed nicely with this particular horrifying element.

This short story contains depictions of first-person subterranean peril and malevolent removal of personal agency.

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Echo
by Mitch Collins

August 6, 2019 – 11:38am

If anyone ever finds this, there were three of us: Edgar Miller, Dana Smith, and myself, Jesse Karst. If it helps identify us, I’m shortest, then Dana, then Edgar. The other two are researchers (Ed’s a geologist, Dana some kind of physicist) and I’m a speleologist. That’s the label that got them to hire me, anyway. Always preferred “caver.”

Ever since I was a kid, I’ve always loved spelunking – there was a small cave in the woods behind my parents’ house (a glorified pit, really) that I used to play in whenever I got the chance. Exploring around underground was the life for me. Nominative determinism gets every one out of three right, I guess. Oh, that’s another thing – found that hole at age eight by falling into it, hard. Left ulna, right in the middle, long-healed childhood break. That’d be me.

The other two would probably freak out even more if they caught wind of what I’m writing, but, morbid as it is, I’m finding it oddly calming. In a way, I think I’ve always sort of hoped I would die underground. That sounds weird, yeah, but I can’t imagine that many people actually get to die doing what they loved. I feel horrible for Dana and Ed, though – they might’ve signed the waivers, sure, but living out the fine print is another thing all together. I keep reminding them that panicking only uses more air, but I can’t really blame them.

Don’t know how much time we have left, so I’ll get to my point here: if this ever gets back to any of our loved ones, know that the lives we’ve lived were made all the brighter for you being in them, and that our last thoughts were of you.

August 6, 2019 – 12:01pm

Well, shit. Here we still are. Must be an opening somewhere deeper in the system or just a helluva lot more breathable air than we’d thought. We’ve all calmed down somewhat, and now we’re just sort of waiting for everything to finish settling. Long story short: We’re trapped, though thankfully none of us are hurt.

We didn’t even lose any equipment or supplies, and we have enough provisions to last a few days (if the oxygen does). The situation’s still pretty goddamn dire – our only known means of egress isn’t an option, and things will get bad if we can’t find a way out before running out of water.

All that said, it’s weird – without urgency, danger starts to feel a lot more like inconvenience. I know I have an under developed sense of risk, but I think Dana and Ed are feeling it too: the strange boredom of it all. Time is working against us, but it’s all we have. Hell, between our LEDs and the beefy batteries they brought, my pen’s more likely to run out before the light does.

At first, all this little journal was supposed to be was a quick “remember us” type-deal, but now I’m just writing this to pass the time. Hopefully it’ll just be something I glance at in the future and smile, but… I don’t know. Anyway, I eventually want to scope out the deeper cave to see if there’s any other way out of this mess, but Dana and Ed are warning against it. I’ve told them that the fact we can breathe likely means there’s a way out, but their scans say the cave is just too unstable right now.

Yep – they’re still doing their research. I’d thought it was just to keep their minds off our situation, but I heard Ed say something to the effect of “Nobody’s ever gotten this kind of data from inside a cave-in before!” I thought my radical acceptance was weird, but his academic enthusiasm for being in a life-or-death situation is downright unsettling. Different strokes, I guess.

In a fucked-up way, it almost feels right that all this happened – those two planned everything so meticulously that fate had to take the bait and tear it all apart. Although they only involved me in it a month or so ago, their expedition into St. Jude’s Cave was two years in the making and scheduled down to the minute, all to meet a tiny window of time in which to measure some incredibly rare natural phenomenon. All their permits checked (and their checks cashed out nicely), but, if I’m honest, I’m still not sure what the hell they’re actually researching.

At this point, I’ve accepted I’ll never understand it fully – despite everything I know about crystal formation and hydrostatic pressure, their unfiltered academic jargon is way beyond the scientific scope of just the speleological. Each of them have explained it to me in the simplest terms they can, and I still feel like I’m not seeing the whole picture. The way Dana tells it is almost too simple – basically just using ground-penetrating radar in the right place and listening back at the right time. Edgar, though, phew… I’m not sure if he’s just incapable of dumbing it down, but it almost feels like he doesn’t want me to know.

Either way, they brought me in for my expertise in navigating caves safely, not to directly contribute to their research. I sure as hell don’t mind – I’ve always preferred the practical side of caving to the theoretical.

Whatever it is they’re doing, all I know for sure is that the timing is everything – every day leading up to this one, we double-checked our provisions, triple-checked the forecast, quadruple-checked our caving equipment, and quintuple-checked their scientific instruments. All our preparations aside, we’d scarcely been in St. Jude’s Cave for an hour when everything went to shit.

For reference: St. Jude’s is a relatively small cave located an hour and a half’s hike from ████████. I can’t imagine that many passers-by actually notice it – the cave entrance isn’t much to look at compared to a stunning grotto on the other side of the trail. Once you enter, though, it’s beautiful. The rough and unassuming exterior gives way to smooth limestone walls unmarred by stalactites or stalagmites, and largely untouched by the eroding forces of the surface. The cave slopes gently down into the earth, before stretching back up and widening into a large, low-ceilinged chamber. That’s where most expeditions – including ours – usually stop, as there isn’t much to see deeper in the cavern, just a winding tunnel to nowhere.

I’d led Dana and Ed to the main chamber to make camp and set up their devices. While they calibrated their doohickeys and took their preliminary readings, I decided to go a little deeper. We’d only really trekked a few minutes from the entrance, and the early cave that still knew something of daylight hadn’t scratched my itch.

Oh, yeah – ever since I was eight, there’s been a faint sensation (almost, but not quite like any other itch) running into the bone of my left arm that I can’t scratch above ground. It’s become somewhat of a ritual; whenever I can, I carve out a moment alone, shut off my headlamp, and breathe in that absolute peace of the underground.

I don’t know, it centers me. And, although I have truly no idea how, it quells the itch I carry with me everywhere else. It’s nice.

Today, though, just before that great stillness could settle over me, the cave felt off. I sensed something, but couldn’t place it – like the point in a hearing test just out of your range. Then a slight tremor rattled the earth from deeper in the cavern. The next instant, I turned my lamp back on and raced back, ignoring the disappointed flare-up in my arm.

In normal circumstances, St. Jude’s is one of the easier caves I guide beginners through. Even still, when the whole world around you shakes (and that world’s just a few spare feet between you and quaking, cold limestone), nothing feels safe as you’d like it to be. St. Jude’s is – or, I guess, was – what you’d call a dead cave: one without any flowing water or the rock formations it would produce. That’s why I knew we were in for something very, very bad when I felt an ice-cold drop splat against my forehead. Current theory is that the tremor disturbed some previously-unknown aquifer, causing it drain into the once-dry St. Jude’s while we’re unlucky enough to be inside. What really spooked me about the cave-in wasn’t the water, though – although that’s since proven to be our main problem. No, it was that the whole time I was scrambling back to camp, I couldn’t shake a weird sense of déjà vu mixed up with all the dread. I’ve certainly never been in a situation like this before, but I distinctly remember feeling disappointed that it was that was happening was happening again.

I lost focus of that sensation when, instead of finding Dana and Ed screaming and panicking, they were instead excitedly discussing some of their recent findings. When I spoke up to let them know that we were in imminent danger of a cave-in, they jumped, startled. In that moment, I realized something that still sets me on edge: the tremors themselves had been completely silent. It’s mostly stayed quiet ever since. We talked, at first, to reassure each other and pass the time – even screamed a while each to vent our frustrations – but now we rarely venture beyond a whisper.

It just feels wrong, somehow, to speak any louder.

August 6, 2019 – 12:27pm

A few minutes ago we felt what seems to be the last of the rockslides. Sure enough, the bend between our camp in the main chamber (the only known exit to St. Jude’s) has flooded. Now we’re stuck without cave diving gear waiting for it to drain. Of course, the one piece of equipment we didn’t bring, and the world contorts to make it the most necessary. Dead cave, my ass. We prepared for every possibility except the miraculous resurrection of St. Jude. Anyway, if it doesn’t drain soon – and by “soon” I mean however long it takes us to die of thirst – and we don’t find another way out, we’ll have to chance a free dive. Between the researchers’ zero experience and none of the proper equipment, we might as well just die in relative comfort. We don’t even know if the cave entrance is still intact, anyway.

Aside from the distant grating of stone-on-stone from the collapses settling, there really isn’t much to hear: just water dripping onto limestone, the arrhythmic pinging of scientific devices, and the gentle breaths we occasionally forget to take. Well, all that and my pen. It’s almost silent. If thing weren’t so dire, it might almost be nice.

Still itchy, but that hardly feels important now.

August 6, 2019 – 12:40pm

They’ve found something!

They think so, anyway. Ed’s predicted that the freak seismic activity opened up some larger swath of the cavern, and Dana’s readings of the airflow seem to corroborate it. I’m a little skeptical. St. Jude’s isn’t near any other known caves, let alone any with openings to the outside world – but hey, if we have a chance, I’ll take it. The scientists have opted to stay behind and monitor their equipment while I investigate this alleged opening.

I don’t think it’s self-preservation – even now, they’re fixated on gathering their data. I guess I have to admire their determination not to miss the moment. Ed’s having me take his recorder to make a step-by-step guide to the descent. Bright idea, although he doesn’t seem too psyched about me fiddling around with it to figure out how it works. Anyway, even if I am a guinea pig, I welcome the chance to finally do something. I want to head out sooner rather than later, but they’re saying it’s still not advisable.

Those two might have their research to help pass the time, but I’m just stuck writing and waiting. We’ve all fallen into a pretty good habit of checking our watches waiting for the moment they need to gather their most significant data, which means I’m painfully aware of how slow time seems to be moving. An hour ago, I thought we were dead – the danger hasn’t really subsided, but I can’t help feeling more restless than scared.

I can’t wait to actually get back to what I’m here to do instead of sit quietly by the dorks researchers. Normally, I’d like nothing more than to hang out in a cave for hours on end, but with them here, it’s just not the same. They insist on having these lights on all the time. I can’t just leave them alone for no reason, so even if the exit doesn’t pan out, at least I might be able to scratch my itch.

The bright side of all this compulsive time-checking: I’m getting pretty good at guessing it accurately. Made a little game out of it.

Guess: 12:46pm / Watch: 12:43pm.

Ah, shit.

Recorded August 6, 2019 – 11:02am

Transcript: [Footsteps on stone, unzipping of bags. Slight reverb from cave]

E: This is Edgar Miller, Senior Research Scientist at Perdita University, recording.
D: Oh, uh, Dana Smith, Research Associate at Perdita University.
J: [Distant] What’re you guys doing?
E: [Sighs] Jesse Karst, on-site assistant and speleologist. Jesse, I’m just recording some field notes. If you wouldn’t mind -
J: Ope, sorry, my bad.
D: …Start over?
E: Mmm-hmm.

Recording ends.

(Note: The following eighteen tracks feature Miller and Smith’s complete field notes, and have been censored by the Bureau of Land Management as they violate the Federal Cave Resources Protection Act of 1988. Likewise offending materials in this document have been redacted.)

August 6, 2019 – 1:00pm

Aright, Heading down soon.

Recorded August 6, 2019 – 1:05pm

Transcript: [Clink of karabiners, drips of water on stone.]

J: O-okay – surface is a little slicker than it was on the way in, so watch out. Descent is a steeper than that before the anterior chamber, so try to anchor yourself with three limbs while you move the other.

[Footsteps on uneven rock.]

J: Scampering down another few feet. Gets much trickier from here – cave wall at about a 60-degree angle. I see a flat shelf about 10 or so feet down – I think that’s where we’re headed. Beginning the climb from here.

[Hammer striking a piton into rock. Slight grunts of exertion follow.]

J: Alright – much more obvious signs of disturbances to the cave walls around here. Trickles of water down the limestone, loose rock – find dry footholds and kick ‘em a little before you put your weight on ‘em.

[Light thud, cracking, then rock crumbling.]

J: Ah-ha, told ya! Anyway, uh… Oh! Okay, seeing new speleothems – er, rock formations – in deeper sections revealed by the cave-in. Definitely caused by water. Damn. That’s a gorgeous helictite – kinda looks like bleached coral. Uh, ok, dropping onto the shelf.

[Faint thud.]

J: Alright, drop’s not too bad, just make sure to bend your knees and –

Whoa

Whoa

Whoa

Whoa

Whoa

[Echoes spaced a minute apart. After a while, a click. Deep breath. Scratching.] Recording ends.

August 6, 2019 – 1:27pm

Found something – big. We’re moving camp closer to investigate.

August 6, 2019 – 1:54pm

At first, I couldn’t believe it – sure enough, a few turns deeper into St. Jude’s, right around where they predicted, there was a new fissure in the limestone. Big one, too – easily wide enough to walk through without twisting, and clearly the source of the airflow. When I approached it, I felt a gentle rush of cool air – and the other side burst into life from my headlamp.

I looked through, and a large, clear crystal caught and refracted the light across a glimmering sea of other crystalline formations. I chanced a deeper look, and saw the beam of my headlamp ripple across a huge chamber, easily three times the size of the one we’d made camp in. All throughout it, those crystals…

The first was narrowly bigger than my arm – already huge for a natural mineral deposition – but some are bigger than me. This cavern puts the rest of St. Jude’s to shame. It just keeps going, stretching on and on, gemlike growths stretching this way and that, sloping away at every angle and any end of it disappearing in a thicket of whitish, semi-translucent crystal. From what we can see, it reaches fantastically high – ceiling-clinging crystals glitter almost like stars far above us.

I let out a little involuntary “whoa” – understandable, I think, given the sight – and that’s when it revealed something else extraordinary. After what seemed like a full minute, I heard it echo in perfect clarity – then again, and again after that, seemingly bouncing off the massive pillars of crystal. I felt like a speck of dust yelling into a fist-sized geode.

I rushed back to Dana and Ed to share the finding with them. It almost goes without saying that they were psyched – we packed up our old camp in a hurry, and I led them deeper into St. Jude’s to reinstate their research base at the mouth of this crystal cavern. Apparently, it was an even better place to wait out their once-in-a-lifetime moment. I certainly didn’t object – either the old entrance would drain in due course, or we’d find some new exit through here.

Ed’s been marveling at every part of it. So have I! This is easily a bigger discovery than the crystal cavern in Naica mine – he said as much, and I thought the smile would get stuck on his face after he heard the cave echo that back at us over and over. Not only are the growths themselves larger, but here’s the thing: it’s dry, and cold. That’s just straight-up not how crystal formations work – crystallization of this scale typically requires an incredibly hot environment, flooded by mineral-rich water.

Not here – it’s barely even humid, and it’s actually a little chilly. We have the right gear to stay warm, the air is remarkably breathable, and yet the crystals don’t seem to be deteriorating in the slightest. That rules out gypsum or selenite, so we’re really not sure about the composition of the crystals. We can’t collect any samples before reporting all this to the right authorities, so it’s up to informed guesswork more than material analysis. Ed’s hypothesis is they’re █████ █████████. It does kind of smell like █████, so, maybe, I guess? I’ve never heard of it crystalizing, though, and certainly not like this. Anyway, we haven’t found any loose crystals, and we all agree the discovery is worth more than whatever price a chunk of whatever-they-are could fetch.

Dana’s been studying it with just as much enthusiasm, although my knowledge base doesn’t overlap nearly as much with her physics as it does Ed’s geology. I may not have the academic background she does, but even I can appreciate that this place sure has some cool acoustics. She tried to use them to estimate the size of the chamber – so far, though, she hasn’t reached a satisfying conclusion. Has to recalibrate her equipment to account for the weird echo. I’d just take a walk and a look to figure it out myself, but we don’t want to disturb the crystals, and they grow too thick to safely navigate around. Some look pretty sharp, too.

It’s definitely just some sonic illusion, but I feel like the echoes are coming ever so quicker than when I first heard them. They’re still way more delayed than any I’ve experienced before – it’s a really cool effect, if a bit unsettling. On that note: As breathtaking as this place is, something about it’s starting to bother me. It might be the dread of the cave-in finally sinking in, but… I still feel itchy.

August 6, 2019 – 2:24pm

I’m getting restless, again. It’s quiet, again, but not the same kind. The crystals keep throwing every noise back at us, every beep, whisper, and sniffle. Doesn’t seem to bother Dana and Ed, though. Not as much as when I yelled “MARCO!” In my defense, it was an experiment of my own (no “Polos,” yet). They’re deep in the zone, glued to their equipment and dialed in to data-collecting. Looks like they’re more preoccupied by this part of the cavern than their upcoming, scientifically-significant moment. My geology geeking-out with Ed got him to open up a little about their research. I had him walk me through it again, and he actually seemed to try this time. The way he spoke about it… It was like he was afraid someone was listening in. Here.

I mean, I get it – holy shit. Dana’s explanation wasn’t really wrong, she just conveniently omitted the biggest detail. They’re an ambitious goddamn pair. I haven’t heard of someone trying to █████ ███ of the ███ ██ ██████, let alone ██████ to this scale. Makes sense why they’re doing it in a cave. I still have no idea how they tracked it to ███ ███████, but choosing St. Jude’s makes a lot more sense to me now.

So far, they seem too elated by the discovery to really process the grim situation we’re in. I don’t want to be fatalistic – after all, we haven’t really checked to see how much the entryway’s drained since we came down here – but the odds of any of us being able to actually share any of these findings are slim. I don’t know why, but I feel like they’re slimming further every second we’re in here. I know I have more time to sit here, write, and reflect on things, but part of me wonders if Dana and Ed are putting off reckoning with the reality of our situation by pouring themselves into their work. The unhappy truth: The crystal cavern’s magnificent, but doesn’t seem to lead outside.

At least, not without breaking the law – though, if it comes down to it, I’ll absolutely violate FCRPA over free diving blind into murky, toxic floodwater that likely doesn’t lead to a viable exit. Either way, I’m heading back to the entrance to see if it’s drained as soon as the moment’s passed. I don’t feel comfortable leaving them alone down here, and I don’t really want to miss it, either.

Also: their estimations have it occurring somewhere around 3:19pm, which I could’ve sworn already happened. Feels like it’s been hours. Guess I’m not as good at my game as I thought.

The following is written in the margins of the previous pages:

- “Guess: 2:52pm / Watch: 2:31pm”
- “Guess: 2:46pm / Watch: 2:35pm”
- “G: 2:39pm / W: 2:36pm”
- “G: 3:01pm / W: 2:40pm”
- “G: 8,000,000,000:00pm / W: 2:43pm”
- “ugh”

August 6, 2019 – 2:45pm

Am I losing my goddamn mind? Feels it’s been hours and only fourteen minutes have passed. I checked with Dana and Ed – my watch isn’t slow. I think the echoing is getting to me. Them, too: they’ve been frowning at their machines more than not, and Dana snapped at Ed for pushing his buttons too loud. I didn’t notice it before, but even the tiniest sounds are getting picked up by the crystals and echoing back. I swear it’s coming back sooner and sooner. I’m going to ask Dana and Ed if it’s alright by them that I head back to the entrance to check the drainage. They’ll probably know I just want a break from these mocking crystals. The way they sing our breathing back to us makes my arm hot.

August 6, 2019 – 2:49pm

I didn’t leave. When I talked to them, Dana confirmed what I suspected: the echoes are coming too quick. Her current hypothesis is that the crystals have “unique resonant properties,” causing the interval between sound and reflection to decrease further still. Apparently, the minimum amount of time is 0.1 seconds. I asked her what might happen after we reach that – she shrugged, and said she assumes it’ll start to increase again, but there’s unease in her echoing voice instead of the usual enthusiasm.

Ed piped up – he’s taken a closer look at the formations of both the crystals and the larger cave structure. His analysis suggests that these crystals – the entire chamber we sit in – cannot exist. Dana and I laughed (and, in time, so did the cave), but he wasn’t joking. These crystals are, in fact, █████ █████████ - Ed ruled out every other theoretical possibility, so it seems we’re left with the impossible. He also figured out the dimensions of the part of the crystal chamber we can actually see – it’s too big. Not just too big to form at this depth, not too big to support itself during a cave-in, but the ceiling of the cavern goes past where we know the rest of St. Jude’s cave to be.

She and Ed shot ideas back and forth for a while as to how the hell it really works, most of which felt like hypotheticals in a physics problem. I kind of tuned out after Dana suggested the cavern could be expanding and contracting somehow, flexing the crystals to cause variable echoing. It’d also account for the airflow, but only if it the cavern stretched across an enormous distance. Somehow, I know that’s not it. The deep has no lungs.

When I finally told them I wanted to quickly check the entrance, they just nodded. I can tell they’re scared, but I’ll be quick. With luck, I might even be back in time for the █████. Even still – I see how they look at my arm. I will not hear the itch echo.

Recorded August 6, 2019 – 2:56pm

Transcript: [Click of the recorder turning on. Echoes of the click of the recorder turning on.]

E: (whispered) You might as well take this, Jesse. [Jesse Jesse Jesse…]
J: (whispered) Good idea. [Idea Idea Idea…]

[Gentle footsteps. Echoes of gentle footsteps.]

J: (deep breath, sigh) …God, it’s so… quiet.

[A click. 17 seconds of silence. Scratching.]

J: (sharp inhalation, pained) Ha-haaah-haah-hot-
[Faster scratching. Sizzling sound. Audio distorts.]
J: Wait, wha-
[Malfunction with recorder.] Recording ends.

Recorded August 6, 2019 – 3:16pm
Transcript: [Click of recorder. Audio is heavily corrupted. Most is distorted, some missing.]

J: -ell is wrong with this?
[Sounds of percussive maintenance.]
D: (distant) –SSE! Whe-
[Quick footsteps approaching.]
D: (closer) -ve you-
J: -ait, what? What do yo–
D: -aiting for twen-
J: -ust left a sec-
D: -penning now, Jes-
J: -hit! Go, go!
[Two pairs of quick footsteps.] Recording ends.

August 6, 2019 – 3:18pm

(Note: Karst’s handwriting becomes quicker and messier.)

Very confused. Barely left cavern. Itch got hot, recorder made weird noise. D, E, watch all say it’s 3:18. I don’t understand. Echoes much quicker. Trying to be silent: sounds bouncing back almost immediately. D says interval has dropped below 0.1 seconds. Pen too loud, stopping.

(Note: Karst’s handwriting becomes much slower and visibly shaky)

3:19pm. D & E’s machines shut down. Lights shut down, crystals now glowing. None of us have breathed yet. Silent, then, the echo of my pen. Before I started writing. Cave started to shake, so I started writing. It stopped. The sound has not stopped so I don’t know if I can

(Note: The pen smudges after the last letter, which extends off the page)

no no no no it’s ok I am writing listen listen oh my god we breathe we’ll get to breathe

(Note: The rest of this page and the next fifteen consist of zig-zagging lines and scribbling)

August 7, 2019 – 4:13am

(Note: Karst’s handwriting deteriorates significantly across the following pages)

This is hell. It must be. The echo beckons and we cannot help but answer: I write. I will write, and so I do. The cave has chosen me to write. I think it likes the sound. Edgar walks – or runs – in bursts, as his footsteps command. At first he dashed toward the crack to St. Jude’s silent cave, but the cavern shook and raged. The footfalls’ pitch and timbre tells him where to step, though he often runs in place. Poor Dana hummed, just once, and now she sits and waits to hear the next thin and droning tune she will have must have sung.

We cannot sleep for we must match the breaths that will have come into and from our lungs, and I will never hear my snore. The crystals drip their moisture but we will not hear a splat, and so to quench our thirst the cave falls upon our tongues. When our stomachs were first told to growl, we knew not what would come to pass until we heard the cracking, crystal bites. We know how they form, now: as needed.

The echo of my scratching pen sounds still but I hear my pen will click

(Note: Several pages have deep rips and indentations, but no discernable writing etched in)

August 13, 2019 – 11:37pm

(Note: Karst’s right-hand prints appear on the page in what tests confirm is their own blood)

the mind cannot survive this what has become of our world we can barely any longer be us as the cave gets there first the very guarantors of our existence have become their bane the beating of our hearts is whisper-drummed endless on our ears and the flowing blood within our veins crashes as a churning sea in their persistence we know that we may never die nor rest the drumming slows the tide lowers and yet we do not will not stop the cave tires of my scratching pen but never of my scratching but glows too bright and too loud for me to ever reach the bone on and on the echoes drone my pen will click and soon we must start screaming