Chapter 1

Fangoria presents the narrow caves, is brought to you by Shutter. Shutter is the Netflix for horror, where you can stream great thrillers, horror and suspense for 499 a month or just 4999 for the entire year. I watched a few Stephen King movies on Shutter this weekend, including Pet Cemetery, Kujo and Selom's Lot. I'm also pretty excited to watch some Alfred Hitchcock films that I haven't seen. They have all types of movies and series from the classics to modern favorites and even some originals too, like a discovery of witches that hit Shutter on January 17th. And they add new shows and films weekly. To try Shutter for free for 30 days, go to Shutter.com and use promo code caves. That's s-h-u-d-d-e-r.com. promo code c-a-v-e-s. That's shutter.com. promo code caves. The following contains explicit content. This near discretion is advised. 1923, Upstate New York. A slender, dark-haired boy of tin, who is named Gregory, lies in bed in a spacious child's room that has striped wallpaper, wooden moldings and heavy furniture. His gaze is fixed upon a window that admits a view of a small lake. Blue-green moonlight plays gently upon its serene surface. The temple of Gregory's respiration is quick and anxiety shines in his dark brown eyes. At present, he clinches his fists, stuffs down his fears and rises out of bed. Wearing pajamas, a belt and loafers, Gregory walks along a forest path. His flashlight stabs into the darkness that lies ahead. Nourled roots and fallen branches pass through the luminous beam. Unnaunted, the slender boy continues forward. A branch reaches toward his head and he ducks under this obstacle. Startled, Gregory stops and spins around. His light illuminates the recently traversed path where he sees nothing abnormal. He shines the beam upward, twisted tree branches lill over head. Nothing threatens him from above. It's nothing. Gregory points the light forward, finds his resolve and continues along the path. Was there? Eyes alert, the slender boy continues forward. A pale aggregation appears at the edge of the luminous beam. Swallowing dryly, Gregory takes a few more steps. The flashlight illuminates a pile of large stones, most of which are several feet in diameter. Gregory hesitates. His left hand slides into his pocket. The slender boy withdraws his hand and forces himself to walk toward the stones. On the right side of the pile lies a dark hole that is three feet in diameter. Footfalls crunch as the slender boy reaches this opening. Stopping, he aims his light into the aperture beyond which lies a narrow passageway that leads underground. Gregory pulls off his belt and wraps it around his chest. Underneath the slather strap and pointing up what he slides the flashlight. For a moment he is ghoulishly underlit. The slender boy gets on his hands and knees and the beam of light shines forward. He crawls over the stones and into the aperture. *coughing* It's me! Gregory Glygman! This proclamation echoes weirdly as Gregory crawls through the crackling vegetation and reaches an area where the passageway is much larger. From underneath the belt Gregory claims the flashlight. This he trains upon what looks like a dead end. The slender boy continues forward in a vertical shadow shows in the middle of this seemingly flat wall which is not one surface but two. Towards this hidden opening he cautiously proceeds. Gregory corners and enters a secret knuck. His flashlight shines ahead. Standing in the knuck is a crooked man. Gregory freezes his hand shakes the flashlight. Illuminated by this unsteady beam is a yellow-eyed, wildly bearded fellow who has a bent back, 50 years and torn clothing. His entire body is covered with dirt and sweat. Held in his right hand is a small oil lamp. Squinting the crooked man points a yellowish brown one-inch long fingernail at the flashlight. The huge shadow of his claw like hand covers the ceiling. Okay. Gregory thumps off his flashlight and places it upon the ground. His eyes gradually adjust to the dim glow of the oil lantern. The slender boy reaches into a pajama pocket and withdraws a small leather pouch. The crooked man's eyes do not leave Gregory's face. It's what you ask for. Gregory extends his arm as far as it will go but does not take a step forward. Pindulously the bag sways in the air. Take it. The crooked man places the lantern on the floor and grabs the profit pouch. Long fingernails loosen the tiny leather strings that hold the bag's shut. Upon the floor clatter earrings, gold corns, a string of pearls and three rings. Where's sport? In scruitably the crooked man appraises the perloined goods. Gregory clenches his fists and lifts his chin. Where's my dog? No response comes from the dirty adult. Frustrated, Gregory reaches into his pocket and withdraws a pocket knife. His hands tremble as he unfolds the three-inch blade which clicks into place. The crooked man glances at the weapon and then looks directly at Gregory. The adult's cooled yellow gaze is awful. Afraid the slender boy collapses the blade pockets the weapon and shakes his head. Where's my dog? The crooked man hands a sheet of paper to Gregory who then accepts and opens the mess if. The dim light of the lantern turns the page into a luminous rectangle and the slender boy reads. She hasn't got any more. This is it. The crooked man stares. It is unclear whether or not he comprehends what has just been said. Please, I do what you said and I didn't tell anyone or anything. I mean, how am I? I just want me to look back. I did. Gregory stares into the dark passage that lies beyond the lamp. Something scrapes upon the floor. At present, the crooked man drags a wooden crate by a rope into the lamp light. Inside of this box is a wind-thring dog. You promised you'd give it to the crooked man throws a rock into the crate. Stone smacks flesh and the canine screeches. Yelling, Gregory lunges forward to protect his dog. The crooked man swings a stick. He would smacks the skull of the slender boy who yells and stumbles backward into the cave wall. Sitting on the floor, the slender boy starts to sob. It does stop! The crooked man The man reclaims the dropped piece of paper and places it in Gregory's hands. With wet eyes, the slender boy re-reads the note. "Get all of your parents nice things and bring them here. If you tell anyone, I will cure your dog." The crooked man scoops up the jewels with a leathery hand and stuffs them into the front pocket of his filth and crusted pants. Carrying the lantern and pulling the crate that contains the whimpering dog, the extortionist disappears into the next passage. A family of three eats at a large table underneath an iridescent chandelier. A well-built man in his early 40s who is named Gunther sits opposite Sylvia, a slender woman with pronounced features. Sitting across from these two is Gregory. Nobody looks happy. "I refuse to believe that. She's worth fast for eleven years." "But who other than the maid could have taken them?" Gunther does not answer this inquiry, but instead cuts into his stake. Fork tines present to the meat as the big fellow shakes his head and looks at his son, whose gaze is lowered with guilt. "Could I agree?" The slender boy flinches. "Father?" "Are you absolutely certain that you did not take anything from your mother's vanity?" "I didn't. I told you before that I didn't." Gunther appraises Gregory and redirects his doubtful gaze to his wife Sylvia. The mother leans closer to her son and takes his free hand. "If there's something that you'd like to tell us honey?" "Don't badger me." "You will speak politely to your mother or you'll go to bed with an empty stomach." Shamed the slender boy glances at his mother. "Sorry." The parents exchange concerned glances to drop the subject. It is midnight. A hallway light shuts off and a door shuts. A waiting this moment and wide awake, Gregory sits up in his bed, removes the case from his pillow and unzips the fabric. His right hand reaches into the stuffing and withdraws a gold necklace and two sterling bracelets. Gregory walks the forest trail alone. His flashlight shines through the night upon gnarled oaks and the dark loam. He steps over a twisted branch that lies in his path. A dozen yards away sits the pile of stones in the passageway entrance. Flashlight fastened to his chest. The slender boy crawls along the cavern tall. His palms and knees press into the crackling and snapping collection of twigs, dead leaves and branches. Gregory coughs as he inhills some dirt and pushes onward. At present, the slender boy reaches the more open part of the passageway, stands upright and claims the flashlight with his right hand. Soon he comes to the false dead end wall that is made of two surfaces. Gregory turns the corner and enters the space where he previously met with the crooked man. This dark room appears to be empty. Surprised, the slender boy walks forward. His right foot catches upon an unseen obstacle. Gregory writes himself and aims his flashlight at the ground. Lying upon the stone is the crooked man whose mouth and wet eyes are wide open. The slender boy gaves in horror at the dead extortionist. Purple arteries and veins are dark upon his cold face. His hands and fingers have been crushed into unrecognizable shapes. And his esophagus is a white tube that has been torn out of his shredded neck. A cold wind whistles from the dark portal and chills Gregory's face. Against unseen stones, something clicks. He's frightened and unable to breathe. Gregory turns around and runs away from the crooked man. During his terrified flight, he captures some air and starts to yell. Fangoria presents The Narrow Caves Ridden by S. Craig Zawler Directed by Keith Reynolds Starring White Russell Lily Simmons Vincent Denofrio and Will Patton as the narrator. Chapter 1 1983 Central Florida More than a score of cars are strewn about the lawn and driveway of a beige house in the suburban Central Florida town. Party goers who are at the edge of their teenage years are just beyond roamed the front yard with cigarettes and dripping beer cans in their hands. Beneath their feet and the tires of automobiles, grass and weeds suffer. On the deck of the front porch between two enormous speakers and behind a record player stands a long hair disjockey who is 21 thin and contemptuous. At present, no music comes from his system. A young woman who has a bright smile, notable pig tails, and denim overalls walks up to the DJ. Why aren't you playing anything? Every time a record is played, the needle scripts away a small but perceptible amount of vinyl. The long hair'd fellow removes a record from a sleeve and inspects the grooves. A needle and a record make music together, but they are enemies. Is that a metaphor? For every heterosexual on planet Earth. The DJ blows dust from the record, replaces it in the sleeve, and slots the shielded vinyl into the cover. Are you going to play something? The long hair'd fellow eyes, the party goers, and frowns. This crowd doesn't contain a sufficient number of music connoisseurs or foxes for me to hazard erosion. But it's midnight and you're the DJ. It's supposed to be a party. Have that atmosphere? They're serving not shows with bean dip inside. Pretty soon, that whole place will be filled with atmosphere. Seeing little progress, pig tails puts on a sultry grin and leans toward the DJ. Would you play something if I requested it personally? Do you remember my comment about the lack of foxes? You're kind of an asshole. I've been called far worse by slightly better. Pig tails walks away as a yellow station wagon pulls on to the lawn. Both front doors and one rear door of this vehicle swing open. From the driver's seat emerges Walter, a lanky young white man of 21 who has a mop of sandy hair, a crooked nose, and an amiable air. Climbing out of shotgun is Jason, a wiery and high strung Asian fellow of the same age. From the back of the car steps Anthony, a beefy 22 year old who wears a yellow and green baseball uniform and cap. At present, the three young men shut their doors and stride towards the front porch. Oh, if I have a keg. Odds are high and a kegger. The trio reaches the porch where Walter sees the DJ and gives him a thumbs up. Nice to see you. Walter Borsky at a party. This is a surprise. Did you run out of books? These guys needed a lift. Thought I might go out and socialize. He needs a female. I could be classified as desires. We're going in. I had drove down to Miami last weekend, hunting for rarities. There's some sweet places down there. That's where I got my copy of the first grand chevardum. I'm still looking for that. I find any notable specimens. A couple. You can browse my crates if you like. Maybe later. And should I infer from the lack of music that there aren't any foxes inside? My silence is a statement. I'll come back later if nothing's done. Walter gives the DJ a thumbs up and enters the house. Tobacco and marijuana smoke have replaced oxygen. The Lanky fellow coughs as he walks into a living room that is crowded with puffing party goers. His eyes sting from vapor assiminations and he pushes awkwardly forward. Excuse me please. The Lanky fellow proceeds through the defensive line of a football team and sees something in a nearby corner. In this shadowed area, a long haired guy and short haired girl might be. Make out, the fellow's right hand slides under the shirt and up the abdomen of his partner, hidden fingers, cup of breast and squeeze. Metal Clank says Walter obliviously kicks over a beer. Fluid drains from the can onto the floor. Hastely, the Lanky fellow writes the beverage and departs from the room. Walter enters a hallway where five party goers stand in line before a white door. The Lanky fellow walks toward the far end of the passage and an angry guy throws an unhappy look. Hey, we made a line here. Congrats. It looks very linear. Walter continues past the anger guy, his line, and walks over to Jason and Anthony, who are standing at the far end of the hallway by a keg. The Asian fellow holds a half-filled cup in his hand, but his beefy pal is dry. Gentlemen? Walter? The Lanky fellow looks at the keg, the spigot of which lies upon the ground. Is there Jason got the last cup? Half. You want some? No. I'm driving. Plus the end of the keg is usually questionable. Guy's sucking on the spigot and so forth. No beer, no music. I might as well be having dinner. And that dinner might as well be with my parents. Stop things such a complainer. They said they're going to get more beer. I don't believe that when I'm drunk. Anthony withdraws an electronic hand-held game which a series of little red lines and dashes represent football players and the football itself. See any foxes? I saw a guy take one in there. Jason motions to a nearby room, and Walter eyes the closed door. A dim light shines at the bottom from within. Thumbs click buttons as Anthony plays his electronic football game and three rowdy dudes filter into the room. These guys are cackling too loudly, punching each other's arms and blowing smoke everywhere. Walter coughs, eyes the new arrivals with distaste and then replaces his gaze on the closed door. His thoughts turn to the romantic encounter that is allegedly occurring on the far side. There is a click and the light that shines within the bedroom ghost arc. Looks like somebody's-- Just down! Anthony holds the electronic game aloft upon the small black screen red dashes glow in theoretical celebration. Walter coughs out somebody else's smoke and returns his gaze to the closed bedroom door. From behind this panel comes a creaking noise and a male grunt. Take it slow. Swallowing dryly, the Lanky fellow pats his Asian roommate on the shoulder. I want to get some air. A sliding glass door scrapes along its rusted runner as Walter walks outside. His attempt to shut the door behind him is only partially successful. A few party goers smoke and drink on this patio while several rowdy boys and one giggling girl swim in the pool. Feeling like a misplaced item, the Lanky fellow passes by the revelers, opens the screen door and steps outside. Into the warm Florida night and onto a weedy backyard escapes Walter. There he fills his lungs with humidity and closes his eyes. For a moment he breathes this unadulterated air. A gentle wind whistles and he enhales a pleasant aroma. The Lanky fellow looks in the direction of this appealing scent. On the far side of the half-acre yard and stretched between two trees is a hammock. Toward this suspended bed, he walks. His foot falls crunch, weeds as he closes the distance. A candle sits on a tree branch and sheds light upon the person who inhabits the hammock. This pale individual is a 22-year-old woman named Ruby, who has long black hair, sharp features, and wrinkles of concentration upon the high forehead of her downturned face. Held in her long fingers is a leather-bound volume that has gilded leaves at its quarters. Walter recognizes Ruby as he draws nearer, but she does not seem to notice his arrival. At present, she turns a page and continues reading. Hey there. What are-- Leave me alone. What are you reading? I'm not interested in having a conversation. You don't even know me. Ruby throws Walter a naustere glance and then returns her attention to the leather-bound tone. I'm content with my ignorance. Walter debates whether a naughty should make any further efforts toward conversation with Ruby. Her eyes follow words upon a yellowing page and do not look up. You don't seem inclined toward libations. Why do you come here? The pale woman stops reading, but does not look up. I live here and don't have a choice. Your roommates are the hosts? Obviously. And you know, may place better to go? That's a surprise since you're so friendly. I am harmless. Blinds are harmless. And similarly drawn to things that are left in the backyard. Ruby glairs at Walter. Did you just compare me to excrement? Obliquely. Oh, you please leave me alone. If you tell me your name and the kind of perfume that you're wearing, I'll go. My name is Ruby, and I'm not wearing any perfume. Disbelief shows upon the likey-follows face. You naturally smell like vanilla and lavender. I'm not interested in calling attention to myself, and would you please-- My name's Walter. So then we've been introduced. The pale woman waves dismissively at the bay chow. Byway. Defeated Walter turns around and walks back to the party. Over his shoulder he tosses a final remark. Enjoy your buck. Preoccupied and on the front porch, Walter flips through a crate of records. The DJ stands nearby watching the party goers with mild contempt. Shit, I conclude from your current endeavor that you didn't find a fox. There's a desirable outback. Girl who lives here, but I was dismissed from her vicinity. A devious idea comes to Walter who then removes a record from the first crate. This album has an illustration of five giant guitars attacking some pyramids. Can I borrow this? For how long? 24 hours. Carrying the borrowed record, Walter walks into the crowd at Den. Hungry party goers picket nachos, which look like the remains of an exploded animal, while others contend for fried chicken, potato chips, and pretzels. Walter looks around the room and sees the television. Atop the unit is a lopsided pile of records. The Lanky fellow circumvents the eaters and walks toward the collection. Station wagon tires thud in a pothole as Walter drives along a dark road. Anthony reclines in the back seat with his beeping electronic football game, while in shotgun Jason plays with a cherry red brazier. Curious, the Lanky fellow motions to the undergarment. Had you required that? I found it on the floor and I kept it. The Lanky fellow awaits more information, flips his turn signal and then corners. There's more to the story. There isn't. Walter looks at the road. His thoughts return to his encounter with the pale woman who was in the backyard. What are you thinking about? Did you go into the backyard? I went to the patio when some kind Samaritan pushed that chick with the white shirt into the pool. Well, there was a girl in the back reading a book in a hammock. Could you see her? No. Fox? Yeah. She's pretty. I had a class of the recovery a couple of years ago. I always wanted to talk to her. Did you go to her? You made an attempt. Hey, it's Henshin. Oh, I'm sorry. Yeah, I just remember having a couple of dreams about her at the time. It's weird to extremely vivid dreams, though not exactly sexual. And there's this one. I can still picture where she and I are sitting on a tall green hill looking at some deep hole in the earth. When you're grass, it smells like spices, a pulparine, maybe. There's a cool breeze blowing. It sounds like woodwinds. It seems more sad than romantic. It's both. [Music] You've been listening to The Nero Caves Written by S. Craig Zoller Directed by Keith Reynolds Produced by Dallas-Sanier and Keith Reynolds Executive Producer Will Evans Featuring Wyatt Russell Lily Simmons Vincent Denofrio and Will Patton as the narrator co-starring Hunter Hardgrave Lindsay Graham Ann Byer Sarah Ragsdale Mike Schrader Ian Ferguson Rico Fahardo Jeannie Toronto Eric Vail Jeffrey Schmidt Alia Tavikolian John Michael Tatum Christopher Sabit and Brandon Potter Sound Design Foley and Sound Max by Lindsey Graham Original Score by binary reptile Sinistate wishes to thank Catherine Harper Lucas Buckles Jessica Safa Vermehr Aaron Ranbo Elana Darsky Brandon Brittany Boulpeau Steve Feldberg Beat Street Productions Echo Mountain Recording Shannon Sonnier Mary Weather Evans and Chris Norbert Visit Sinistate.com for more [Music] In the next chapter [Music] And recently investigating a number of fatal cases of food poisoning. What were you reading last night? A book. What's it about? Men who mind their own business. You were the exact opposite of friendly doing our first two encounters. Did you usually harass the woman whom you invite to dinner? Only when I'm nervous. What changed your mind? Why'd you track me down? I had a dream. [Music] Subscribe on Apple Podcast, Spotify, or wherever you find your favorite shows. Follow Fangoria on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram at Fangoria.