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The twin headlights of Chris Preston's off-the-lot Dodge pickup shone boldly through the large animal sized hole broken into the decades old termite eaten two-by-fours.

Clara squinted, leaning forward in the passenger seat to get a better look into the small entryway.

It was dark, that was obvious. But she could not make out any movement beyond the small passage.

Patsy mirrors her, looking back and forth between the dark hole and the woods surrounding the unkempt access road.

Nothing scurries, shuffles, or looks back from the abyss. There's no sign of any being, living or dead, anywhere in or outside of the mine--besides themselves that is.

The sharp chirp of cricket's that had pierced through the surrounding forest on the girl's way up was null and void. Whisked away by a thick gust of wind as the contemplate leaving the safetly of the truck.

Clara unbuckles her seatbelt.

It's peaceful, too peaceful, and despite how reassuring the calm should be, it's quite the opposite.

Crickets don't just stop singing for the wind--they stop for something big.

Something is wrong.

Clara turned slowly to the left, watching as Patsy shifts her focus from the mine to the trees, to the trees to the dash, to the dash back to the mine.

Patsy senses it too.

The hum of positive energy created by the Watauga, turned pessimistic by the lost souls that run rampant around the ridge is suffocating.

Patsy turned the key and pulls it out of the truck's ignition. "I heard there's bears in this mine."

"Which type of Bears? Bears or bares? Nudists or six-inch clawed trash pandas?"

Patsy grimaced at the thought. "Not nudists." Definitely not nudists, she thinks. Please, anything but nudists, she prays.

"I think you'd rather a nudist." Clara turned in her seat to face Patsy, who had begun to pale. She raised her brows with a nervous grin. "I know I-"

"Oh, hush up."

If she had the choice, Clara would much rather bares over bears six days to Sunday. If there is a bear in the mine, which is just as unlikely as her winning a lottery ticket, they'd have to be pretty thin and squishable to fit through the entrance.

Unless there's a back door--Clara knows that's not a possibility. It's a mine, not an event center.

Besides, bears are the last thing they need to be worrying about.

Clara lets out a light nervous chuckle as she reached down to grab her backpack from the floorboards. She unzipped the first compartment, fishing around for her father's Marine issued mag-light and plastic baggie filled with rock salt.

"I guess we'll settle what type of bears are in there soon enough." She kicked the backpack back under the dash with a grunt. "You ready?"

The passenger door pops open and Clara slid out of the pleather seat. Gravel crunching under her feet as she braved the outside of the truck.

She had half the mind to do a little nervous jig, but she knows that will only make the situation worse.

"Don't act so chipper about it will ya? It's concerning."

"Your lack of faith in yours truly-" Clara leans through the open passenger window and gestured to herself with her pointer finger. "Is concerning."

If not for the dimly lit buttery sliver nestled between the clouds above, Clara knows the light her father's mag-light produces would not be nearly enough to pierce through the dense thick-as-pea-soup fog.

It's not a full moon yet, it's still got a few days to mature. Nevertheless, the eerie glow in the sky made Clara shiver at the thought.

Full moons equal trouble and trouble seems to find the pair too easily for either of their liking.

Patsy exited the truck seconds later, letting out a low whistle to call Clara's white Swiss Shepherd, Kelpie, out of the back of the truck.

He clambered over the side, ears flipping around, trying to put a pin on every noise he receivesd that passed unheard by the girls' ears.

His nose brushed across the rough gravel, working on deciphering every smell along the small clearing on the side of the foothill as two young women trekked forward to the entrance of the mine, mag-light lighting their way.

The white Shepherd trotted ahead and disappeared through the hole. Minutes later he returned. Poking his beady brown eyes and black leathery nose back out with a grin as if to say, 'the coasts clear!'

Clara crouched down to her pup's level, reached through the hole, and grabbed his collar to encourage his full return through the opening.

The mag-light shone through the hole, bounching off the rock walls of the tunnel.

"Looks empty."

She knows better than to fully believe that to be true.

The floor is made up of silt and small hollow animal bones--most likely belonging to a native bird that got trapped and was never able to find a way out.

From there on, there was not anything else in sight, but, rocks and pitch-black halls for as far as the beam of light shone.

It's unsettling.

Clara leaned back on her knees and reached up to grab one of the boards above her head to use as leverage to pull herself back standing. The wood flies free with ease, rusted nails and all, missing her head by mere inches as she scoots backwards.

"Where's my 'that was easy' button when I need it?"

Patsy groaned and glanced down the gravel access road. "I really don't like you for this, and you're one hundred and fifteen percent never gonna hear the end of it." She said bouncing on the balls of her feet at Clara looks back, gave her a short sarcastic grin, and disappeared through the human sized hole she had created in the boards seconds before.

"Well, at least I know I won't be able to get rid of you." Clara jokes.

She half Half expected a whirlwind to start up as Patsy and Kelpie follow in behind her, like it does in the movies.

She stopped to listen, tilting her head towards the West, but nothing happens. Zip, zada, zilch.

The ridge remains void of wind, animal calls, and any voice not belonging to Patsy, Clara herself, or Kelpie's rhythmic panting.

For a moment, a brief snap of time, Clara wonders if there's anything here at all.

What if her father was wrong?

What if all of the deaths in Butler were not caused by a spirit at all? But by a psycho just passing through like Chris Preston and every other sane being in the waterside town suspects.

That wouldn't explain the recurring generational murders though.

Kelpie padded forward, followed by Patsy and then Clara who moved to stand.

"We should have just let the boys come with us." Patsy said. Kicking a pebble and watching as it vanished under a pocket of loose dirt.

Clara scrunched her nose up, letting out a hushed scoff. "You really want to hear Dean's God-awful rendition of Wheel in the Sky again? I think not." Truthfully, it wasn't that bad. Clara just needed someone to pick on, and Dean was the perfect candidate.

They really should have brought the boys.

The had already made it far enough without the boys, no sense in going back down to town to go persuade them to come along for the ride. Plus, both girls know they secretly work better one on one with themselves instead of others.

Nevertheless, neither girl voices the thought again as they continued on down the tunnel looking for any clues that may lead them in the next direction of the case.

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