The Caverns of Carnage

July 19, 1943

The carnage that would not end for another eighty years, began as far as I know, with a group of friends venturing into a cave.

Summer for Pietro Hernandez and his friends Ezra Henderson, and Alicia Hickman conventionally only meant one thing: Endless hiking trips in the hilly terrain around Los Angeles. As peregrinating far away was a luxury they couldn’t afford, they frequently spent the weekend camping out. There were a plethora of places to discover in their vicinity; lakes, forests, and caves.

During the fateful summer of 1943, the trio traveled through an astoundingly green valley. After a rainy spring, plant and animal life thrived among the landscape.

They traversed the huge fields near a farm, only contrasted by the forest and mountains in the distance. Once they reached the first plateau, they got a brilliant view of the valley beneath. The sun was just about to set, and they decided to make camp for the night.

During that night, in the cliff wall, Pietro noticed a cave entrance. It wasn’t particularly large, but wide enough for any adult to crouch down and get through inside. They’d taken that very same path twice before, but neither of them had ever seen it.

Ezra went first, holding the more vigorous flashlight, while Pietro followed behind. Once they got past the first narrow section, they reached a chamber where they could stand up. It was a massive boneyard, profuse of partially eroded limestone. Above them humongous stalagmites hung along the cave roof. “We should split up,” suggested Ezra.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Pietro asked.

“It’s fine, what’s the worst that can happen?” he replied.

Ezra and Alicia walked towards a separate gap in the wall, leaving Pietro standing in front of the inky abyss.

With the tools he had brought, Pietro hammered cleats into the stone floor and fastened the rope to them. He began to descend.

He held the flashlight in one hand and gripped the strong cord with the other. For about five minutes he steadily lowered himself down into the darkness. He listened for any noise from below, but there was nothing.

When the bottom of his hiking boot touched the ground, Pietro let out a sigh of relief. The flashlight was still lit and the rope was still tethered to the surface. He looked around a good bit and walked forward.

It was as though he was walking through an empty field at night. The air around him felt almost open and there seemed to be a faint breeze. However, the ground was barren as a tile floor and the silence was rather ominous.

And that was when he fell. He fell into a wide pit, his torch blinking as it fell into the water, or what seemed to him like water. Surrounding him was a lake, but it wasn’t water. Pietro screamed as the flashlight illuminated the pool of blood around him.

Immediately, the blood started boiling, as if someone underneath the cave had turned on a stove. He screamed with agony and started to breathe heavily. As the blood boiled around him, it did so too in his body.

The hot steam passed through his eyes, and as he started to lose consciousness, his hands flailed about, and he felt his hands on something that felt like exposed flesh which was once covered by skin. The last thing he glimpsed was a radiant red light emerging from the depths of the pool.

When Pietro woke up, his skin had completely disintegrated. Exposed flesh and sinews surrounded his body. As he gradually regained his senses, he crawled up the edge of the pool and with his diminishing strength, pulled himself up to the ground.

He was alive. Inside his head, he saw only two words; Memento Mori.

Remember you must die.

And Ezra Henderson certainly would.