The following day was not much more successful than its predecessor. Though we searched the field up and down, nothing was found. By noon, both of us were beyond discouraged, and both nearly ready to give up despite having barely searched half the field. Our need for closure was slowly replaced by a resignation that we would never have answers.

This time, there was no brotherly banter over lunch. No talk of Happy Meals, no jokes, no smiles. This time Kyle drove alone to grab some cheap food for us while I continued looking. All the while, he grumbled and mumbled, lamenting that he'd given me his lighter, and occasionally cursing me for not allowing him to smoke. As he drove off, I half expected him to buy another lighter anyway.

While he was out, my head flooded with assorted thoughts and memories. I thought about the strange handprint, and the figure I thought I'd seen the night before. At the time, it was easy to convince myself of it being a dream, but after that morning, I was no longer fully convinced.

Perhaps someone was stalking us? But why? Any sensible person would simply wake us if they needed something. Meaning that whoever was out there probably wasn't terribly sensible.

I also thought about that dream. It's not as though it was particularly special, but it disturbed me nonetheless. That was a lesser part of why I was there. Part of me desperately hoped that getting proper answers would ease my mind. Perhaps then the dreams would stop, or at least lighten. That one had been far from the worst, and I knew that until I put an end to this, worse still had yet to come.

Please... just let this stop. I just want to be able to sleep peacefully again.

I was quickly jolted back into the present reality as my eyes fell upon a body lying in the grass. It was a dog--a pit bull to be exact. My stomach seemed to turn as I stared at its body, which was beaten with legs that twisted at unnatural angles.

There were parts where flesh was torn off and parts where it was simply broken and twisted. One of its legs had been completely removed, and was lying a few feet away.

As I staggered back, suddenly feeling dizzy, the dog's head moved ever so slightly, turning to stare at me with a pitiful gaze. My eyes widened in utter horror as I realized that this poor dog wasn't even dead. Whatever had done this hadn't bothered to end its suffering. Not only that, but it had chosen to leave the poor thing in the worst possible condition possible.

Making sense of the sight was nigh impossible. The torn chunks of flesh seemed to suggest vicious teeth or claws, but nothing with those was remotely capable of twisting and breaking the body to this degree. Especially given the natural strength of pit bulls that would run off anything short of a cougar in these parts. The only thing that made sense was a human, but why? Why a dog? Why here? My head spun as I tried and failed to put it all together in my mind.

My hand trembled as I reached into my pocket and retrieved my sturdy folding pocket knife. It was all I had. I knelt down beside the pathetic dog, noticing a name tag that hung from the collar around its neck. "Angie." Poor thing. I reached into my pocket, retrieving my folding knife and opening it.

As the blade locked into place, I carefully held out the knife and pressed it against the side of the dog's throat. To my surprise, the dog didn't put up much of a fight as I inserted the blade, slitting the throat carefully. Before long, the blood was draining out of the open throat. I watched the dog's breathing, and when it finally ceased altogether, I let out a sigh of relief.

How long was she out here like that? Wouldn't we have heard if something like that was taking place? Or had she been here since before we woke up?

The whole thing was simply too strange. My hands were still trembling as I wiped the blood off my knife and onto my ragged jeans before folding it and returning it to my pocket. I took a deep breath, attempting to calm myself

That was deliberate, it had to be. If it really had been there since this morning, then whatever had done that had to have taken care when twisting and mangling the dog like that. Otherwise, the internal organs would have been destroyed and the dog would have died much sooner. It was almost as though the offender had intended to leave it alive, though I couldn't fathom why.

When Kyle returned, I relayed to him what I saw. The details seemed to disturb him--not that I could blame him for that. He seemed to recognize just how much it had disturbed me as well, and therefore hardly doubted my words. I offered to show him the body, but he declined, stating that he didn't need or want to see anything of the sort.

The entire rest of the day, the image of the poor animal remained stuck in my head. With it came a feeling of foreboding, as though we were in a dangerous situation, but just didn't quite comprehend it yet. That feeling gnawed at me, like a tiny voice in my head and in my gut telling me that we had to leave this place as soon as possible.

As the sun began to set that day, my head was beginning to overflow. Thoughts of the dog, of my dream, and of my sister all raged through my mind, and began to cloud my perception and judgment. I continued to search the fields, but my mind was elsewhere. Even if I found what we were looking for, it was entirely possible that I would mindlessly skip over it.

But, right as I was about to slip deeper into the daze, a voice snapped me out of it. My brother's voice. He was yelling. Yelling in pain. The image of the dog came to the front of my mind, and I raced in the direction of his voice. As I did, I noticed a hole in the ground not far away. A hole large enough for a man to fall into. I rushed over to its edge, peering inside.

I saw nothing. The hole was about ten feet, and at the bottom was what looked like a flight of stairs crudely carved into the earth. The hole, once it reached those stairs, seemed to carve diagonally into the ground, far past where the fleeting rays of sunlight could possibly reach.

But despite being unable to see, I could hear the voice of my brother calling out from down below in a loud, pained voice. The only words he said were: "Evan! Help!"

I didn't hesitate. I let myself slide into the hole, using my arms to grip the dirt sides to keep from free-falling. I would sometimes have to duck down to avoid what I found to be old wooden frames that supported the tunnel's structure. Once I reached the bottom, I grabbed my phone and turned on its flashlight, shining it into the dark as I began down the stairs.

"Kyle!" I called back as loud as I could, "I'm coming, just hang in there!"

The stairs led down into the darkness, and the air seemed to cool as I stepped deeper down. As I got closer, I could hear more and more clearly just how pained Kyle's screams were. I hastened my descent, though still taking care not to trip on the uneven steps.

His shape came into view as I finally reached the bottom, and I could see that he was lying against the dirt wall, his right arm twisted and mangled. As I neared him, his face turned to me, eyes full of pain.

"Kyle!" I exclaimed. "What happened to you!?"

His breaths were jagged, but in between them he managed to say: "Fell. Ground gave way underneath me. Landed on my arm, and it broke. Fell down here. Don't think it's just my arm either."

"I'll call you an ambulance," I said, frantically opening my phone and moving to make the call. But so deep underground, there was no service. Of course there wasn't. "Can you walk?" I asked. "If we can just make it up the stairs, I can call for help."

I stared at my screen, praying that, by some miracle, I would get even just a bar of service. But I didn't, and Kyle didn't respond. I looked up from the screen, and my heart sank into the depths of my stomach. There hadn't been so much as a sound.

Kyle hadn't made a peep. Yet, as I shone the flashlight into the darkness, I realized he was gone.