I dare not say that They are of this world, for such a statement must mean that we were gravely mistaken the day we let the smoke of science choke the wonder from the minds of men, we have unknowingly stopped fearing the shadows in the deepest darkest recesses of the earth, no longer informed by poets or songs of bards, and while we have forgotten, I alone have been reminded of the monstrous stories that only children should fear and the stories they tell are written in flesh.
My name is Guillaume Kriel and the last known date that I can remember is January 27th 1998. And my last known location is South Africa, Cape Town, Botanical Gardens.
I have been wandering these ancient halls in absolute disbelief at the notes I found written by the mad arab Abdul Alhazred.
I will cover what the notes state, and what I have found in a moment confirming their validity. But for now, I will leave this note as the last piece of evidence of my existence to those less fortunate who wander upon such a cursed place as this before I too venture down into the abysmal darkness that shrouds the main flight of stairs.
May God be with you.
May light find you.
I did not happen upon this labyrinth by chance nor did I seek it. I was dragged here. I was a police investigator working on a missing child’s report. Children were going missing by the dozens in the Kirstenbosch botanical garden area.
A gentle ocean breeze whispered through the tall trees that rose wildly above the neat and trimmed hedges of the garden entrance. My shirt gripped tightly around my neck, reminding me how hot the summer day was.
Temperatures fluctuate here in the garden area that stretches up the mountain slopes high into the rock formations and finally into Table Mountain where clouds always hang loose.
My grandfather used to tell me the tale of the boy who wagered his soul that he could smoke more than the devil, and the two of them are up there to this day.
My senses were filled with the fragrance of the many blossoms that bloomed as I entered the garden, though I sensed a faint smell of something sickly sweet and sour.
At that moment I hoped it was a rat caught by some feline or perhaps some unfortunate pet did not make it across the road safely.
The garden grass was filled with the laughter of children playing the same games that have been passed down from generation to generation.
Some would hide and others would seek, much like the missing children were hiding from me.
The sun was hot and my patience suffocated in this hot humid afternoon.
My uniform told the story of a boy who discovered mud for the first time and my hands were covered in blood due to my recklessness, it must have been why citizens were reluctant to answer any of my questions.
We searched for as long as the sun allowed us.
The cold air came down from the mountains like a wet blanket or an invisible wave from the ocean.
The forest was cooling down and the sun was melting on the red horizon.
The stage was set.
Night’s celestial veil was drawn like curtains.
And the choir filled my ears with their inaugural hymn for the first time.
Similar sounds to that of amphibian kin but without pause and ongoing for a moment too long. The sound echoed and filled the dark thick barrier of the forest that embraced the garden. It was strange enough to investigate and as I searched for the source I found myself in front of an ancient forest that no blade had ever dared to intrude.
Here the hills rose untamed and the air tasted sickly sweet. These forests bore witness to ancient tales of the San, the Khoikhoi, and the Grique peoples. Untouched by human hands, the moss-draped trees sprung up high into the verdant heavens above.
Canopies grew thicker as I ventured deeper into the forest.
The fragrant air of the garden was a distant memory, replaced by an ever heavier dampness and humid aroma tinged with freshly turned earth.
Between the unceasing croaking noises there sounded a roar of water that crashed against a rocky ravine.
Not a single bird or insect dared to dwell in this desolate realm, I pondered, as the only sounds that met my ears were the chorus of amphibians and the steady crunch of my boots upon the moist, clinging soil, ensnared by the monstrous roots of towering trees.
My path led me to a tableau of babbling brooks weaving through a landscape strewn with withered grass, decaying leaves, and brittle vines, cast down from the arboreal canopy long ago.
Lost in this eerie wilderness, I found myself enveloped in a place ill-suited for the wandering mind.
The search for the children proved arduous, my ears tormented by the ceaseless cacophony of nightmarish croaks emanating from multiple directions, each joining the chorus until they melded into a disorienting symphony.
Like elusive phantoms, the choir of frogs eluded my sight, compelling me to uncover the source of their haunting melody.
Following the faint trickle of water, my investigation honed in on a tangle of thorns and brambles.
With cautious determination, I parted the prickly tendrils, revealing a stir of movement resembling the sinuous glide of serpents, their scales glinting in the diminishing light that filtered through the canopy.
The night has brought its darkness and with it, the cold mountain air filled the forests and the gardens fully.
The croaking abruptly ceased.
Fearing the loss of my only opportunity to uncover the source of the terrible noise, I hasted my exploration through the brambled bushes.
The haunting spectre of remembering a crime scene takes its toll on a man.
I would have never ended up here if those thorns warded me off or perhaps if the darkness led me astray. But they did not, and I found my first victim.
At first glance, her bloated abdomen caught my attention, a grim reminder of the countless victims left concealed in the unforgiving embrace of nature by a merciless assailant.
My gaze traced the soft rumbling noise upward, toward her distended neck adorned with telltale blue-purple marks—a silent testament to the suffocation that had robbed her of breath.
Her skin bore a ghastly brittleness, its dry, fragmented texture reminiscent of weathered limestone, while her lips, cracked and parched, mirrored the desolation of her final moments.
Behind mist-covered eyes, once filled with life, now lay the haunting emptiness of death—a plastic doll discarded by an indifferent hand.
A deep gash marred her left shoulder, where her missing arm once belonged.
As I attempted to clear the bush, grappling with the cluttered undergrowth, I bit down on my torch to free both hands, only to find myself confronted by the sinuous forms of serpents, their tails the only visible sign of their presence. I knew then that I had trespassed upon their domain, and I stood upright, gathered my wits and decided to report my findings and gather assistance.
The following day weighed heavily upon us, the entire department mobilized at the break of dawn, our mission clear: to scour every inch of the garden, clearing civilians and combing through every nook and cranny before venturing into the forbidding depths of the surrounding forest.
With each discovery, our hearts grew heavier.
Some victims lay concealed beneath layers of small rocks and gravel, while others were buried beneath shallow mounds of soil, their twisted fingers and noses eerily protruding from their not-so-hidden graves.
Amid this grim task, my mind grappled with the elusive motive behind the killer’s heinous deeds.
Was it for profit, driven by a desperate need for medicine or the macabre trade of body parts?
Or perhaps a more primal hunger, drove them to commit unspeakable acts of cannibalism?
The killer’s modus operandi revealed a chilling pattern—each victim bound and buried, a ritual that hinted at the possibility of their return to retrieve pieces of their fallen prey.
Twenty-two bodies were discovered during the initial search before midday, the captain stated that the ‘corpse wagons’ were filled to the brim.
I was ordered to recall my men and depart for the coroner’s office moments before the sun started touching the horizon.
The poor condition of the road exacerbated the chaos, causing the wagons to lurch to each side with every jolt and bump.
As we approached the gates of the garden, the true horror unfolded before us—a sea of mothers and fathers, their voices raised in a desperate chorus, calling out the names of their missing children. Some cried out in rage, their anguish palpable in the air.
In their desperation for answers, the crowd surged forward, swarming the wagon in a frantic attempt to learn the fate of their loved ones.
But as the wagon struck a deep pothole, its contents spilt forth, a dreadful cascade of body parts tumbling onto the already raging crowd.
The scene descended into chaos as horrified screams pierced the air, mingling with the anguished wails of those who had just discovered the unthinkable fate of their children.
At that moment, the true horror of the situation revealed itself in all its gruesome detail, leaving an indelible scar upon the souls of all who bore witness.
As darkness descended upon the chaos, enveloping the verdant canopies like curtains drawn upon a stage. The garden transformed into a haunting theatre of horrors. The grass beneath our feet became the stage upon which the grim spectacle unfolded, while we, the silent audience, bore witness to the ominous song that echoed through the shadows.
The commotion between the officers and the citizens faded into silence as all turned their gaze toward the garden’s ever-growing shadow, its foreboding presence gradually spread with a heavy, dreadful noise that filled the air.
Everyone stood silent with their ears attuned to the eerie melody that surrounded us. I strode past my men and into the garden, torch in hand, fully aware that our work was far from over.
As we delved deeper into the mountains that night, we traced the belching noises to their source, we uncovered more mangled and twisted bodies, each one a testament to the unspeakable horror that had unfolded in this remote wilderness.
Some bore bite marks, others were missing limbs, and still others were mere fragments of what once was—a hand that no longer belonged to its owner, a puzzle of death.
In total, we accounted for sixty-four individuals, a staggering toll that overwhelmed our resources.
With no space left to spare, we resorted to piling bodies and pieces atop one another, a grisly tableau of death and decay that filled us with a profound sense of despair.
Local farmers arrived with open-top wagons to assist, their faces grim as they bore witness to the enormity of the tragedy that had befallen our community.
Together, we created a mass grave on wheels, a sombre procession carrying with it a stench that clung to everything it touched. As I sit here in these cursed halls, the vision of the grim scene remains vivid in my mind’s eye, I can smell the memory…
As the waning crescent cast its eerie glow over the nightly blue, I found myself displaced from my seat by a heavy-duty bag filled with the fragmented remains of numerous individuals.
With grim determination, I escorted the body wagons on foot towards the coroner’s station, the burden of their grisly cargo weighing heavily upon me.
Along the bumpy road, some of the aged corpses burst forth from their confines, leaving behind trails of viscera and pools of bile that marred the city streets.
Though the eastern wind occasionally carried the putrid scent away, the humid, stifling air of the forest ensured its return, a relentless reminder of the horrors I was tasked with confronting.
Arriving at the coroner’s chamber beneath our headquarters, I was met with a sickly sweet odour mingled with the sharp scent of cleaning chemicals.
Descending the clean-swept steps into the dimly lit hallway barred from public access, I steeled myself for the grim task ahead.
Inside, the bodies were treated with initial respect and procedure, placed gently upon the tables.
But as the night wore on and space dwindled, they were piled upon each other impiously, mirroring the mountain of paperwork that awaited me upstairs.
It was unprecedented for Cape Town to witness such a surge in cadavers, a chilling reminder of the evil that lurked in the shadow of Table Mountain.
My men displayed a horrific scene of architecture, a wall of bodies.
Each of them reached out to me with their stiff limbs for help.
I felt the weight of their silent accusations, their faces etched with a unique story of fear—a story known only to me, for the dead do not speak.
As I stood before the wall of bodies, I knew that justice demanded I breach this barrier, uncovering the truth hidden behind the facade of death.
I can still see their faces—so many faces, each one a testament to the horror that had befallen them, their silent cries for justice echoing in the depths of my soul.
The report detailed the grim fate of the victims in stark terms.
All victims died from suffocation and loss of blood.
Post-mortem bruises indicated they were dragged, swung, and beaten against hard surfaces.
Limbs and organs were removed with precision.
Internal gasses were trapped due to obstruction in the throat which slowly released the pressure as temperatures dropped.
I found myself ensnared in a maze of clues and uncertainties, each piece of the puzzle leading me further into the abyss of the unknown.
Desperate to uncover the monster, I prepared my pistol, a compass, and a torch and set out to venture where the trail led me, back to the forest that spread up the mountainside of Table Mountain.
The events at the coroner’s office had left me shaken and sensitive to the presence of the dead.
Never before had I encountered such a haunting tableau of death, not even amidst the horrors of war.
The faces of the victims haunted me, filling me with a primal fear and an irrational paranoia that gripped my mind.
Undeterred, I pressed on into the unkempt beauty of the woodland, layers of leaves and debris blanketing the forest floor in a silent shroud.
My search led me higher into the mountains, up the treacherous path of Skeleton’s Gorge. The climb was a blur, save for the eerie sight of a human skull sculpted from stones, a grim reminder of the ravine’s namesake.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the rugged landscape, I reached the summit of the ancient stone ravine.
Finally free from the suffocating embrace of the forest, I ventured forth into the clearing beyond.
Amidst the sparse vegetation and awkward trees, a child’s silhouette perched upon a thick branch caught my eye.
A sense of foreboding washed over me as if I had stumbled upon the heart of darkness itself, beckoning me into its depths with whispered promises of unspeakable horrors.
The sight of the child’s silhouette, swaying gently back and forth like a pendulum, sent a chill down my spine. The steady incline of the ravine had left me breathless and fatigued, yet my sense of duty drove me ever forward.
Thick, neglected grass stretched out between the bushes along the path, a vibrant yellow hue standing out against the lush greenery. Abruptly, the grass gave way to a barren expanse of greyish sand, where sturdy pine trees stood sentinel-like against the sky.
As I approached, weary and exhausted, I leaned against one of the towering pines, seeking respite from the climb. My eyes scanned the area for any sign of the child’s guardians, but the landscape appeared deserted, save for the vineyards to the east, the harbour to the south, and the distant outline of my office to the west.
A cool mist descended from the mountain, shrouding the surroundings in a veil of ethereal beauty.
Yet, amidst the tranquillity, a faint scent of burning tobacco lingered in the air, a subtle reminder that I was not alone in this remote wilderness.
Casting long shadows across the landscape as evening drew near.
A heavy thud reverberated through the ground behind me, jolting me from my reverie. My gaze fell upon the torn and bloodied remnants of the child’s clothing.
With trembling hands, I lifted the fabric to find the leg still intact, wedged between the shoe and ankle.
A faint choking noise echoed from above, sending a shiver down my spine.
Closing my eyes, I steeled myself for what lay ahead.
With measured steps, I distanced myself from the tree, my heart pounding with anxious anticipation. Summoning every ounce of resolve, I took a deep breath and turned to face the source of the sound.
The boy’s gaze met mine, a silent plea etched upon his features.
It was no mere coincidence that his eyes lingered upon me;
I narrowed my eyes as one would at a painting with a ubiquitous gaze, moving left, and right to confirm my suspicion. He was alive, clinging to existence by a fragile thread.
With a surge of determination, I raced to the tree and attempted to climb its brittle bark.
Each attempt failed, the bark crumbling beneath my grasp as I tumbled back to the ground time and again. Desperate cries for help echoed into the distance, swallowed by the vast expanse of wilderness that surrounded us.
A voice that echoes back, goes unheard…
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting its final rays over the crimson-stained landscape piercing the veil that surrounds us, I sought to comfort the child with whispered lies, the tears streaming down his face illuminated by the fading light.
With darkness descending upon us, I scoured the area for materials to build a fire, the crackling flames offering the only solace in the oppressive gloom.
As the choking noises subsided and a profound stillness settled over the forest, I sat by the fire, weeping at the vague silhouette that is the tree upon which the child now rests eternally.
I could not see him without using my torch, but I was aware that he was there as I fell asleep.
The eerie sound of a taut rope swaying in the wind shattered the silence of the morning, dragging me from the depths of unconsciousness.
My parched mouth and cracked lips bore witness to the harsh rays of the sun scorching my skin.
For a fleeting moment, I entertained the illusion of waking from a night of revelry, only to be cruelly reminded of the grim reality that awaited me.
I turned towards the source of the sound of a tight rope swaying, that is when my eyes met a chilling sight: the boy, no longer seated but suspended upside down.
A vine, tightly wound around his waist, snaked its way down from the tree, disappearing beneath his jeans.
With a heavy heart, I approached and knelt beside him, my senses assaulted by the ghastly sight before me.
His skin, like that of the others, bore the same signs of death—brittle, ashen, and fragmented.
Traces of bile and blood stained his lifeless form, seeping from every orifice to pool into a dark, sodden crater beneath his head.
My gaze drifted to the ground where his leg had once lain, only to find it vanished without a trace.
Panic seized me as I searched frantically for any sign of the perpetrator, but the desolate landscape offered no answers.
Dehydrated and exhausted, I trudged in aimless circles around the scene, my futile efforts yielding nothing but despair.
No footprints, no sign of disturbance left by the monster.
I searched for hours and investigated spots already depleted of evidence before.
As the sun began its descent once more, the gnawing ache in my stomach roused me from my reverie. With heavy footsteps, I returned to the boy, who was at the moment collapsed on the ground.
The vine, still tethered to him, hung ominously from the towering tree above.
With trembling hands, I turned him over, only to be confronted by a grotesque sight: his face hollowed out from ear to ear, laid bare the macabre intricacies of his anatomy.
The vine was tightly wrapped around his neck, knots and weaves crossed over one another making it impossible to tell where to grasp to attempt undoing the restraint.
In a desperate bid to free him from the vine’s suffocating grasp, I screamed into the silent void, my voice echoing off the surrounding mountains. But my efforts were futile, the vine offering no purchase for my trembling fingers.
Exhausted and defeated, I collapsed beside him, the chill of the mountain air seeping into my bones.
A soft belch escaped the boy’s throat, and a chorus from the forest below followed, echoing cries reverberated, sending shivers down my spine.
Fear gripped me, its icy tendrils coiling around my heart as I gazed upon the vast expanse of hidden corpses surrounding us.
A sinister hiss filled the air, and I recoiled in terror, my mind reeling with the realization that madness had taken hold.
In a frenzied panic, I fled, but something—perhaps the vine itself—coiled around my ankle, sending me tumbling down the hill.
Time seemed to stand still as darkness enveloped me, and the world faded into oblivion.
The memory of that haunting sound—the taut rope swaying in the wind—still echoes in the recesses of my mind.
It pulled me from the murky depths of unconsciousness, thrusting me into a waking nightmare.
I found myself suspended upside down, my senses were assaulted by the metallic tang of blood, the acrid stench of fear, and the searing pain radiating from my impaled stomach.
With each agonizing moment, the vine wormed its way deeper into my flesh, snaking through my innards. I cried out in desperation, my screams echoing into the darkness, but they fell upon deaf ears. Then, as suddenly as it had pierced me, the vine withdrew, leaving me crumpled on the floor, my body racked with agony.
In the absence of moonlight and stars, the darkness enveloped me like a shroud, obscuring my surroundings in an impenetrable veil.
Unable to discern friend from foe, I moved cautiously, my hands stretched out, searching for any sign of escape.
My senses heightened in the absence of sight, every rustle of leaves, every whisper of the wind, a harbinger of impending danger.
I crawled forward, my heart pounding in my chest, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
The precipice of the cliff loomed before me, a yawning chasm of uncertainty and a steep rising rock face guarded my scape from behind.
I was stuck…
Suddenly the creature struck, its grip closed around my neck, cutting off my air supply.
With a surge of adrenaline, I launched myself forward, heedless of the consequences.
My body collided with the unforgiving stone of the mountain wall, the impact reverberating through my bones. And then, blessed oblivion claimed me, dragging me into the realm of unconsciousness once more.
When I awoke, the darkness still reigned supreme, but the creature’s grip had loosened.
With trembling hands, I seized a nearby rock, wielding it like a weapon against my unseen assailant.
Blow after blow rained down upon the snake-like vine, until at last, a final strike silenced its hissing.
Alone in the suffocating embrace of darkness, my resolve wavered with each ominous sound that echoed from the impenetrable void. Uncertainty gnawed at the edges of my consciousness, threatening to consume me whole. Was the creature truly dead, or merely biding its time, waiting to strike once more? And what of its kin—lurking in the shadows, poised to descend upon me like vultures to carrion?
With trembling hands, I pressed against the wound in my stomach, the warm trickle of blood reminded me of my mortality.
Fear coiled like a serpent within me, its venom poisoning my thoughts with visions of carnage and despair. The wall of bodies, and the boy in the tree, all danced before my mind’s eye, taunting me with their grotesque reality.
A desperate urge gripped me, compelling me to reach for my pistol, only to find it absent from its usual holster. Panic threatened to overwhelm me, but I forced myself to remain calm and to focus on the task at hand. Time was slipping through my fingers like grains of sand in an hourglass, and I knew I had to act swiftly if I were to escape this nightmare alive.
With each laboured breath, I bound a makeshift bandage tighter around the gaping wound in my stomach, grimacing at the searing pain that accompanied the motion.
Blindly, I navigated the treacherous terrain, my hands groping for purchase against the unforgiving stone. The precipice loomed before me, a sheer drop into the abyss below.
With every step, I tested the limits of my surroundings, probing for any sign of stability or salvation.
And then, my fingers brushed against something cold and lifeless—the creature, still suspended from its unseen perch.
With a surge of determination, I tugged at its lifeless form, testing the strength of its hold.
With a firm grasp, I seized the creature and began my ascent, my muscles protesting with every strained movement.
The scaly texture of its skin provided an unexpected boon, offering purchase where there seemed to be none.
My hands gripped its sinewy form, slick with fragmented blood, as I dragged myself ever higher.
In the oppressive darkness, my senses strained to grasp at any hint of my surroundings, but all was shrouded in obscurity.
Felt like I was climbing for an eternity, each agonising moment stretching on indefinitely as exhaustion threatened to overwhelm me. But still, I pressed on, driven by a primal instinct to survive.
Then, just as my strength waned to its breaking point, the creature stirred to life once more, its hissing breath a chilling echo in the void below.
As the creature recoiled into the depths of its lair, it dragged me along into a tightly spaced hole in the mountain wall.
In a moment of sheer terror, I released my grip as the creature slithered past me, oblivious to my presence. Fear rendered me immobile, tears tracing silent paths down my dirt-streaked cheeks as I grappled with the overwhelming sense of dread that threatened to consume me.
Summoning what little resolve remained within me, I rose to my feet, steeling myself for the treacherous journey ahead. Each step was a test of nerve, a delicate dance between life and death as I navigated the labyrinthine passages of the underground abyss.
The air whispered of secrets long forgotten, a chilling prelude to the unknown horrors that lay in wait.
Yet still, I pressed forward, I must live.
Traces of dust coated the rocky floor and walls, while roots protruded from the ceiling, casting eerie shadows in the dim light. The scent of earth hung heavy in the air, mingling with the stench of fear that permeated the cavern.
Confusion clouded my mind as I struggled to discern which direction would lead me further into the depths and which would send me plummeting to my demise.
A rush of air swept past me, followed by a gust that threatened to knock me off balance.
With cautious steps, I advanced into the darkness, relying on the sensation of rough-hewn stone beneath my fingertips to guide me.
The once uneven floor gave way to a smooth, brick-like texture, confirming my suspicion that this passageway was man-made.
As I pressed onward, the faint glow of red light illuminated the passage, casting an ominous hue over my surroundings.
With each step, the oppressive weight of the ceiling seemed to recede into the distance above, granting me a momentary reprieve from the claustrophobic confines of the cavern.
And high above, a distant red light flashed like lightning, drawing me ever deeper into the heart of darkness.
I squinted my eyes and paused for a moment, taking in the scene of a giant ziggurat looming amorphously in the sudden expanse of the cave’s interior.
Part 1
End