When Joey Mitchell was seven years old, his friends talked him into exploring the local cave - something of a local rite of passage for neighborhood boys. Their parents told them to stay away because it was dangerous, which just made it tempting. So did the fact that no less than ten children had gone missing, there, over the years, and their bodies had never been found...

Joey was scared, but didn't want to be called a chicken, so he agreed. Being a Cub Scout, he came prepared; He took his heavy jacket, some rope, mud boots, a whistle (if they got lost) and his dad's trusty, long flashlight. It felt good in his hands, and made him feel safe, as though his father were standing beside him.

That Saturday, at Noon, there were four other kids waiting by the cave. None of them had thought to bring a flashlight, so Joey got to lead. When he first looked down into that steep, muddy expanse, he gulped so loud it sounded like a car backfiring. But in he went, anyway.

He quickly learned how to walk, in there; He looked with his flashlight, steped to the next stable area - free hand out to grab something - stopped, and then took stock of his position. The other kids followed in his footsteps, and though there were some close calls, no one fell.

They'd decided that they would go in as far as it took them to lose all daylight, and have only the flashlight to see with. But the cave was such that, even after going in for an hour - and at an increasingly steep and muddy angle - the daylight still shone on their backs.

So they went deeper, and deeper, and deeper still. And all the while - as he clambered from outcropping to outcropping - Joey was getting a terrible feeling. The other boys had told horrible stories about the kids who'd gone missing in this cave. What if those kids were still down here? What if they were all crazy, or had turned into ape-men, like the people from that one story?

What if they were all dead...?

He thought of finding a corpse in the cave. He thought of how it might look after being eaten by rats and sewn up by spiders. He thought of sunken eyes, pale and wet flesh, skeletal hands, and brown, grimy teeth with their gums and lips pulled back...

He shuddered, and this interrupted his pattern. One foot went where it shouldn't, and then he was on his ass, screaming and tumbling forward and down.

He balled up to protect his head - losing hold of the flashlight as he did - and rolled down what seemed a sheer drop. He thought he heard the other kids screaming, but soon he could only hear the sound of his own screams. And then all he could hear was the rush of his body, going down into the darkness...

How long did he fall? He was never sure, but when he finally hit bottom {and hit he did - hard} he was sore, bruised and bloody. His left arm felt broken, and the fingers on his right hand were badly scraped. He tried to sit up, but saw stars and almost puked, so he laid still and cried, instead.

Eventually the pain subsided, somewhat, and the dizziness went away. He sat up, as much as he could - were his hips broken? - and looked around. But he couldn't see anything - not even a prick of light from above.

And he couldn't hear anything, either, which was probably good news. The only other people that should have been down there were his friends. If they weren't there, then they must not have fallen, and they probably went for help.

So he sat tight, to wait for rescue. He tried to find his whistle with his good hand, so he could blow on it when someone came. But the whistle was in his right pocket, and reaching over to get it made him feel sick, again, so he stopped.

It was cold, down here - cold and damp. A light breeze would brush across his skin, every so often, leaving him shivering and moist. Off in the distance, he thought he could hear water dripping, and maybe something splashing through a puddle, or a lake...

But then he heard something more solid. It sounded like a footstep, and close by.

Joey froze - holding his breath. What was that noise? Was it a rock falling to the earthen floor, or...?

It was some time in silence before he dared breathe, again. He let in a sharp, ragged breath, and held it, listening intently. And when he heard nothing, this time, he exhaled.

Then he heard yet another footstep - this one even closer.

He didn't dare say 'hello.' He remained silent, breathing shallow and quiet as he could, and listened, praying he heard nothing else.

But there was another footstep. Then another, closer still. And another...

Then there were many footsteps, along with other sounds. The sounds of shuffling, or something being dragged. The sounds of hands feeling their way along walls. Something like wet paper being torn.

Joey couldn't see anything, but he knew what they were - he'd seen them in his mind's eye, before he'd fallen. They were the missing children of the cave - all the people who'd never been found.

And they were coming for him, here and now. Coming to take him away...

He'd thought he hurt too much to move, but in the moment of total, life-threatening fear he overcame the pain. He forced himself back - pushing and sliding on his bruised, scraped ass, trying to get back up the way he'd come.

But still the sounds came closer - even faster, now that their prey was escaping. Joey could smell them, now: long-rotten meat, sodden clothing, spiderwebs. He could feel the air shifting as they swiped and pawed, trying to catch hold of him.

Then one of the things reached him, and there was a terrifying moment as it clambered over him - dead hands and feet thudding on the rocks on both sides on him, so it could bring its face to his and... and...

"...play with us..." the thing's voice hissed, there in the cold and the dark. Drips of foul-smelling goo fell onto Joey's face. Small, wiggly things dropped down and squirmed on his skin.

And then something dry and knobby rasped across Joey's face - a dead boy's tongue. Joey closed his eyes and screamed, knowing that he was dead.

Just then his good hand fell on something. It was cold and metal, and he instantly knew it for what it was.

Joey whipped the flashlight up and over his head, and the second he did it came back on - its beam shining bright as the Sun, there in the dark.

He saw nothing, for his eyes were still shut. But there was a sound like a howling wind around him, followed by a whispered, angry scream.

There was silence, then, and he slowly opened his eyes. He was all alone in a narrow, low tunnel - barely big enough for him to sit up in. His clothes were ripped, and stained with mud, blood and wet.

Below his feet - past the scuffmarks he'd made to get back this far - was an opening. Past that opening was a large chamber of some kind - one floored with damp, packed earth and pebbles. Mist lurked about the rocks on the floor, wafting in the breeze.

And as his shaking hand moved the flashlight from side to side, he saw that where the light was blocked, the shadows seethed and roiled with dark, frantic motion. Whatever had come after him was still down there, waiting for the light to die...

Just then, it did.

Caught in the darkness, he yelped and shook the flashlight - beating it with the heel of his bad hand, screaming for it to turn back on. And all the while, he could hear the footsteps coming back - running towards him, this time.

The light sputtered and glowed, then - barely illuminating the area around him. But it was enough to stop the sounds from coming closer, and keep their owners confined to the sudden drop-off from light to night.

And there they were - the dead of the cave. Joey could only see the suggestions of their forms, just outside the light, but it was enough. They writhed and clawed, sliding forward as the light's glow dimmed and rushing away as it grew brighter.

"...playyyyy with us..." they hissed from the huge, rictus grins that were all he could see of their faces: "...play with usssss..."

Joey didn't feel any pain, then - not anymore. He pushed himself back the way he'd came, one quick knee-length at a time. He kept both hands on the flashlight, never taking his eyes from the dark.

And the further back he went, the dimmer the light grew, and the closer the darkness came...

This Item May...

• ... act as a moderate source of either Safety Pathos or Fear Angst (depending on whether the holder is a Wraith or a Spectre).
• ... aid in Housecleaning (Castigate ****) rolls, so long as the wraith holds the flashlight in both hands.
• ... alert its owner that an attack is imminent when the owner is in the Labyrinth, or anywhere underground that spectres tend to frequent.

But they say that...

...Stripling-Caste spectres have an instinctual hatred for this Relic, and will pool their efforts to destroy its owner, so they may toss it into Oblivion.