The threshold

It was a night as bleak as the November wind that howled through the barren trees, casting long, skeletal shadows upon the countryside. Beneath the looming clouds, Ben and Emma, seasoned adventurers of the subterranean world, made their way through the craggy moors towards their chilling destination—an ancient, forsaken cave whose entrance was hidden deep within the earth. This was no ordinary cave, for legend whispered of a threshold buried within, a portal to the netherworld itself. And though the centuries-old sigil etched upon the ground had held the horrors at bay, curiosity, as it so often does, proved a potent lure.

The two thrill-seekers had heard the tales, of course—everyone who had dared venture near spoke of the lingering scent of sulfur, the oppressive heat that seemed to radiate from nowhere, and the uncanny silence that would descend without warning. But those were tales for the faint of heart. Ben and Emma had set their minds on seeing the fabled gateway with their own eyes, perhaps even to summon whatever dwelt beyond. To them, this was no mere cave but a challenge to be conquered, a riddle to be solved by those daring enough to face the unknown.

The journey through the narrow, dripping passageways was arduous, as the air grew thick with the stench of brimstone. Every creak of rock and drip of water seemed to carry a sinister note. The deeper they ventured, the more stifling the atmosphere became, as though the very cave itself were warning them to turn back. Yet, driven by the thrill of discovery, they pressed onward.

At last, they came upon the threshold. In the dim light of their oil lamps, it appeared grotesquely out of place—a grand, seven-foot archway, ornate with ancient runes and symbols that pulsed faintly in the murk. Its smooth stone frame was a stark contrast to the jagged walls of the cavern, as though it had been carved by hands that had long since turned to dust. But it was not the beauty of the archway that unnerved them; it was the impenetrable blackness within. It seemed alive, as if something lurked just beyond, waiting.

They sat in the eerie silence of the cave, their hands trembling slightly as they unpacked their provisions. The oppressive heat and foul odor had intensified since their arrival, and a sense of dread hung heavy between them. Ben, his face pale and drawn, broke the uneasy quiet. “Are you sure about this, Emma?”

Her response was sharp, though there was a hint of uncertainty beneath her bravado. “You don’t believe any of this, do you? It’s all in your head,” she muttered, though her eyes betrayed her. She had suggested this expedition, desperate to prove to herself that the legends were mere superstition. But now, standing at the threshold of what might be the very gates of hell, doubt had begun to gnaw at her resolve.

“I’ll go first,” she said, her voice faltering only slightly. Ben, always the cautious one, looked towards the symbol etched into the floor—the sigil that had protected the world from whatever lay beyond for centuries. “Just watch the symbol, Ben,” she commanded, her tone more forceful than she felt. “Make sure nothing crosses that line.”

Ben nodded, his throat tight with fear. “We can still leave,” he suggested weakly, but Emma silenced him with a curt response. “Don’t be a coward. We came this far. We’re not turning back now.”

Emma positioned herself before the black void, her breath shallow, her body rigid. Ben, still at the edge of the threshold, kept his gaze fixed on the sigil, his pulse racing. “Ready?” she asked, though it sounded more like a question to herself than to him.

“Ready,” Ben replied, though his voice was barely a whisper.

Emma began to chant, her voice low and steady, the words strange and unnerving. “We seek an audience, oh dark one. We are here to serve.” The echo of her voice seemed to be swallowed by the oppressive stillness. “We seek an audience, oh dark one. We are here to serve.”

Suddenly, the steady drip of water from the cave’s ceiling ceased, and an eerie growl rumbled from the blackness. Emma faltered, her eyes wide, but she continued. Ben’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the lantern, forcing himself to keep his eyes on the sigil. But something was wrong. The air grew hotter, the smell of sulfur thickened, and a shadow began to stir within the void.

“Emma?” Ben’s voice was barely audible over the rising tension, but she did not answer. Her eyes were fixed on the growing shape within the portal. A figure—dark, monstrous—began to emerge. The very cave seemed to tremble at its presence, as if the earth itself recoiled in horror.

“Emma, stop!” Ben shouted, panic seizing him. But Emma’s voice, trembling now, continued to call the creature forth. “Come to me, master,” she whispered, her breath catching in her throat. The figure loomed larger, a grotesque mass of shadows and malevolence, and then—suddenly—it was there, fully formed, standing before her.

A scream tore from Emma’s throat, a sound so raw, so filled with terror, that it sent a shock through Ben’s spine. In that moment, his gaze lifted from the sigil to the scene unfolding before him. Emma’s eyes were wide with fear, her body rigid, and then—in the blink of an eye—she was gone. A streak of blood smeared the ground where she had stood, leading into the threshold.

“Emma!” Ben’s voice cracked as he collapsed to his knees, horror and disbelief gripping him. For a moment, he could do nothing but sob, his mind racing, unable to comprehend what had just happened. But soon, a cold resolve took hold. He had no choice. He had to follow her, even if it meant stepping into the abyss itself.

With shaking hands, Ben grabbed the oil lamp and slung the backpack over his shoulder. Steeling himself, he took a deep breath and, without another thought, plunged into the chasm beyond the threshold.

The darkness closed around him, and the nightmare truly began.