Narrator

i found old articles describing abandoned developments housing projects abruptly halted due to unspecified complications contractors had fled the site reports said mentioning underground issues hazards the county quietly buried no specifics only hints of problems beneath wildcat hollow The dread in me deepened. Was this connected to what we'd found?

One evening, unable to shake my obsessive thoughts, I unpacked my gear to clean it properly, determined to erase every last trace of that place. As I scrubbed my knee pads under warm water, something caught my eye. Dark strands tangled in the velcro straps. I carefully plucked them free, holding them up to the light. The strands were thick, coarse, and strangely translucent, like insect hairs.

One evening, unable to shake my obsessive thoughts, I unpacked my gear to clean it properly, determined to erase every last trace of that place. As I scrubbed my knee pads under warm water, something caught my eye. Dark strands tangled in the velcro straps. I carefully plucked them free, holding them up to the light. The strands were thick, coarse, and strangely translucent, like insect hairs.

Nausea churned again in my gut. They didn't belong to any animal I knew. Disturbed, I sealed the strands in a plastic bag, then immediately threw it in the trash, washing my hands until they were raw. A few days later, Zeke texted, "'Out of the hospital. Rash cleared, but doctors have no idea what caused it. Never going underground again.'"

Nausea churned again in my gut. They didn't belong to any animal I knew. Disturbed, I sealed the strands in a plastic bag, then immediately threw it in the trash, washing my hands until they were raw. A few days later, Zeke texted, "'Out of the hospital. Rash cleared, but doctors have no idea what caused it. Never going underground again.'"

Trevor agreed, exhausted by sleepless nights and a lingering dread that neither of us could shake. Yet despite our vows, I felt drawn back to Wildcat Hollow, one last look to reassure myself that nothing had followed us out." I returned alone, anxiety spiking with every step closer to the pipe.

Trevor agreed, exhausted by sleepless nights and a lingering dread that neither of us could shake. Yet despite our vows, I felt drawn back to Wildcat Hollow, one last look to reassure myself that nothing had followed us out." I returned alone, anxiety spiking with every step closer to the pipe.

As I approached, I saw that nature was reclaiming the hillside, vines and roots had partially hidden the entrance. The pipe itself looked like it had partially collapsed inward, twisted by some unseen force. I stood there, heart pounding, scanning the surroundings. Near the entrance, beneath thick moss, something caught my eye, a rusted metal sign partially obscured by vegetation.

As I approached, I saw that nature was reclaiming the hillside, vines and roots had partially hidden the entrance. The pipe itself looked like it had partially collapsed inward, twisted by some unseen force. I stood there, heart pounding, scanning the surroundings. Near the entrance, beneath thick moss, something caught my eye, a rusted metal sign partially obscured by vegetation.

Hesitantly, I brushed away the moss and stared at the faded words stamped into the metal. Subdrain 4B, biological isolation zone, do not disturb. My blood froze. Biological isolation. Isolation from what? From whom? My mind flashed back to the warm, twitching mass we'd crawled over. Whatever it was, someone had known about it.

Hesitantly, I brushed away the moss and stared at the faded words stamped into the metal. Subdrain 4B, biological isolation zone, do not disturb. My blood froze. Biological isolation. Isolation from what? From whom? My mind flashed back to the warm, twitching mass we'd crawled over. Whatever it was, someone had known about it.

Someone who'd buried the secret deep underground decades ago, hoping it would never surface. I stepped back, feeling a deep chill sink into my bones. As I turned to leave, something stirred behind the pipe opening, a faint, wet rustle. I didn't dare look back. Panic surged through me, and I hurried away, faster and faster, driven by a primal instinct to flee from whatever still lingered there.

Someone who'd buried the secret deep underground decades ago, hoping it would never surface. I stepped back, feeling a deep chill sink into my bones. As I turned to leave, something stirred behind the pipe opening, a faint, wet rustle. I didn't dare look back. Panic surged through me, and I hurried away, faster and faster, driven by a primal instinct to flee from whatever still lingered there.

When I reached my car, breath ragged, I knew with absolute certainty I'd never return. Some things were never meant to be disturbed, never meant to see daylight. Wildcat Hollow had shown me the cost of curiosity, the horrifying truth that some secrets were buried for a reason. As a glaciologist, my fieldwork often took me to the most isolated and harsh landscapes Iceland had to offer.

When I reached my car, breath ragged, I knew with absolute certainty I'd never return. Some things were never meant to be disturbed, never meant to see daylight. Wildcat Hollow had shown me the cost of curiosity, the horrifying truth that some secrets were buried for a reason. As a glaciologist, my fieldwork often took me to the most isolated and harsh landscapes Iceland had to offer.

That September, my assignment brought me to Langanise, a remote, windswept peninsula stretching into the Arctic Ocean like a weathered finger pointing to nowhere. The nearest paved road was 10 kilometers away, civilization even farther. My home for weeks had been a modified Land Rover Defender, crammed with field equipment, dried meals, and topographical maps.

That September, my assignment brought me to Langanise, a remote, windswept peninsula stretching into the Arctic Ocean like a weathered finger pointing to nowhere. The nearest paved road was 10 kilometers away, civilization even farther. My home for weeks had been a modified Land Rover Defender, crammed with field equipment, dried meals, and topographical maps.

Most of my days were consumed with trudging through cold, sodden terrain, taking measurements, and documenting erosion patterns along the coastline. One particularly gray afternoon, while referencing an outdated survey map, I spotted something unusual, a tiny rectangular marker labeled simply Farm. Curious and mildly bored, I decided to investigate.

Most of my days were consumed with trudging through cold, sodden terrain, taking measurements, and documenting erosion patterns along the coastline. One particularly gray afternoon, while referencing an outdated survey map, I spotted something unusual, a tiny rectangular marker labeled simply Farm. Curious and mildly bored, I decided to investigate.

After nearly an hour's hike through misty bogland and brittle moss, the farmhouse appeared, small and stark, perched atop a bluff overlooking the lead-colored sea. The wooden exterior had weathered to a dull gray, paint long since peeled away by relentless northern winds.