> A disgraced archeologist discovers a ruin dating to the inter-glacial period. However, the searcher finds evidence of life, despite the place being buried for 14,000 years, and that life may be more serpentine than human in nature… -- Anon Guest
[AN: Fun fact - The pyramids were being built at the same time that Europeans were hunting mammoths. So "ruins dating back to the inter-glacial period" is like... active for Ancient Egypt. I'm going to assume northern hemisphere and inside the permafrost. Which makes for some very interesting reptiles]
TOP SECRET. To the Board of Directors, Alberta. Re: Operations base, Melville Island. (Dated 15th September,1928)
Sirs, I must stress in the utmost urgency the immediate cancellation of plans to establish a base for drilling operations on, near, or within two days' travel of Melville Island. For the love of all that is Holy, I beg you. DO NOT ESTABLISH ANY KIND OF HUMAN HABITATION HERE! Included in my report is a precise journal of my experiences and findings.
In summary:
During my expedition and excavations, I uncovered structures not of human make. The natives to the area had already warned us of staying there after dark and in "the days of long sun" (sic). I had dismissed this as primitive superstition, initially, assuming that it was a mere caution against the risks of hypothermia or wandering polar bears.
I was wrong.
The structure initially appeared natural, made of hexagonal columnar basalt, much like one may expect of a log cabin. However, the appearance of struts, props, and braces piqued my curiosity. I made the mistake of investigating with the survey team.
What lay below was, simply put, a nightmare.
The labyrinth descended far below sea level. Deep into the ranges of subterranean levels where the temperature remains at a constant. There, the architecture grew more advanced. More detailed. At that depth, it had to date back from before the ice age. Yet no civilisation had built anything complicated north of the arctic circle.
As scientists, we were compelled to investigate.
I recall our geologist, Barclay, wondering if this was evidence of the lost ten tribes, or of an antedeluvian civilisation long lost to history. I reminded the team that we were miles from Greece and thus, this could not be the remnants of Atlantis.
There was, I presume, writing on the walls. It was like no other alphabet I have witnessed in my life. Sinuous figures were etched into the basalt with no indication of tool marks [rubbings included in journal]. The edges of that strange script were sharp enough to cut into my skin, but not deeply, resembling a papercut.
We made the mistake of splitting up, as the basaltic corridors split again and again, and our curiosity got the better of us.
Curiosity did for most of the team what it does for cats.
I stumbled across one of the residents of that foul pit before I heard the screams. I guess I got lucky, as it had found a polar bear before I found it. I had the doubtable privilege of seeing the beast's hind paws disappear into a serpentine maw while I was attempting to divine just _what_ I was looking at.
At first, it appeared like unto a gigantic snake from the exaggerated tales from Africa or the Amazon. Then I noted long, thin, alien arms as one swept an errant toe into those horrific jaws. As delicately as a society maiden might chase an errant crumb on her lip.
As the last of the bear vanished, I witnessed _clothing_ on the torso of the beast, sitting loosely over a grossly distended gullet. There was a certain gleam in its eye. Like a man at a banquet, contemplating dessert.
_I_ was dessert.
The screaming began as a forked tongue the length of my arm flickered out to lick the air. Were it not for those screams, I might have remained transfixed.
I fled, not daring to look back. Dreading the soft slithering sounds of not merely _one_ of those beasts following me. The higher I climbed, the slower they moved as the air grew colder. I dared not throw my lantern behind me to delay them. I needed the light to see my way.
Perhaps that was what saved me in the end.
They slowed, the closer I got to the surface. I could no longer hear the slithering behind me.
I was the only one that made it out, that day. The only one to survive.
For the love of God, _never_ send anyone to Melville Island again.
[Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/@title_fps?utm_content=creditCopyText&utm_medium=referral&utm_source=unsplash">Pornnaphat Suttiapiruk</a> on <a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/a-black-and-white-photo-of-a-snake-skin-QEJsX27_-lE?utm_content=creditCopyText&utm_medium=referral&utm_source=unsplash">Unsplash</a>]
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