You know there is no light at the end of this tunnel. All you will touch is a cold dark damp wall, covered in otherworldly abominations. They titter and whisper in voices unfamiliar to human ears, the creaking of antennae or the tapping of teeth on stone, and maybe you can hear them chuckle.
The cave is dark enough that the world looks the same when your eyes are open as when they are closed, the same deep darkness that would cloak a monster from your vision even when it is about to swallow you. It is dark enough that you can see nothing, cannot trust your eyes and brain, yet the path feels oddly soft in a way that rock should not be, yet the path feels oddly smooth in a way that caves should not be, yet the path feels oddly warm in a way a lifeless object should not be.
There is wind. There is air rushing past you towards the exit, warm like your body, a soft breeze like a breath, and you rest, for a second. The air smells like rot as the ground shifts beneath you, and you stumble but do not fall, can not fall. You swallow, breathe, and move downward.
What horrors exist in this land not meant for humanity, in a place still raw and wild and free? This hostile place is full of terrifying wonders and grandiose nightmares, but let us pretend you are safe from them, that your meager bit of protection is enough against these hungry eldritch predators.
There are creatures skittering around, though less so than before—you have gone deeper, and further, than most dare, even those who never leave—and you feel them examining you out of curiosity, out of amusement. Nothing ever comes back here, you know, and our home is so boring, will you not stay a little longer? They tickle and wander around you, trying to understand this thing that came alone and defenseless, that wanders with a destination no one understands.
Where are you going? Why are you going there?
There is a tugging in your gut like a hook dug in deep, forever reeling you in, to end up in the monster’s maw. You do not resist it. It is dragging you forward as you keep stumbling and stumbling over nothing at all, your feet squishing into the soft ground which is getting softer, sinking in, slowing you down.
Now. The creatures are gone. All you can hear is the sound of branches cracking beneath your feet, never mind that there should be no branches so far in, never mind that you feel the heat of a recently-awaken creature. The ground shifts, and you hear things clattering, though somehow softened, landing without a sound.
It is both hard and easy to move forward, now, the slick slide down making everything easier even as you push yourself against your instincts. Move forward, something whispers, a voice behind your ear, and you listen. Move forward, always, and slide down path like you’ve done it a million times before. It will be easy. It is easy.
You step, and stop.
All of a sudden, the contentment you have been lured into lifts, the small feeling of something wrong growing into fear, the fear of being prey that your hindbrain still remembers oh-so-clearly, and it screams run, run but you cannot, your legs sunk into the fleshy ground, the world slow like you are walking through spiderwebs, and your brain races, everything becomes clear, and the world stills, for a second.
The ground rises beneath you as the monster closes its maw and you scrabble at the flesh beneath you, as your hand slips despite how hard you dig your nails in and you sprint the best you can as your feet slip and you claw at the monster, hoping something, anything will give and you can leave this accursed place, but you cannot leave, you walked into the mouth of the monster and why would the monster give up a free meal?
