I searched the bubbling grotto for any way to continue to get higher up the mountain; in my near-insane wandering, I fell into a crack in the rock. I hit the bottom with a thud and lay there, the rain hitting my face in the darkness. I pulled my flashlight from my pocket and flicked it on, shining light into the void I found myself in. The shattered rock passage led a short distance into a lava tube. I stood up in the passage, a small stream of clear water rushing down into the darkness below.


    “Higher, go higher,” I mumbled and staggered up the tunnel until the ground was warm and dry. I fell over and passed out.


    I woke with a start to small feet running over me. My flashlight was now dim from the battery running down. I looked back at the crevice I had entered from and saw there was no light spilling into the darkness. Night had fallen. I looked further up the lava tube and saw a maze of phosphorescent colors on the walls. A tangled mess of red, green, yellow, and blue with some swirls of mixed colors. As I watched, the colors slowly moved, twirling and swirling but always moving higher up the tube  Lighting the way. In my crazed state i felt they were calling to me.


    I followed them. It was a short, painful stumble; my forehead soaked with sweat, I came across a laid stone wall with a warped wooden door set into it. I pulled on it, and it did not move. I pushed, and it fell inward and lay on the floor.


    I walked into a circular chamber. The walls are black stone alive with the swirls of color. The moonlight shone through a 4-foot round hole in the ceiling, a natural feature of the lava tube; under the hole was a large fireplace made of the native rock, very unnatural, and around it. Benches made of dark wood. In an alcove in the rock, a large mound of firewood was stacked. I sat on the bench and then passed out.


    But when I woke, the fire was roaring. I was soaked with sweat. My mind was fixated on the question of who built the fire; it wasn''t me. I was grateful. The warmth thawed my failing body; I passed out again.


    I woke with the certainty that I had a fever. I knew it would happen. I couldn''t make myself look at my wound, but I could tell it was a third-degree burn. In this humid, wet environment with no way to sterilize the wound, an infection was inevitable. I was too weak to move. Too weak to lift my head. I lay hallucinating, looking at the fire. It was the sound of my mother''s voice, “You did the best you could.”


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    I tried to tell the voice I wasn''t done fighting, but my lips would not move. I struggled to get up but could not. I struggled to not give up but could not.


    A shadow figure appeared behind the fire. It moved like gravity, and bones were someone else''s problem. It made a slow circular movement around the fire. It made no indication that it knew I was there.


    I used every ounce of strength I had and made a long, deep groan. It stopped and turned and looked at me. It moved its face close to mine. His face was wrong; it had two yellow eyes floating in a body made of inky blackness. Like it was made of the absence of light. then It said words to me in a language that was unlike anything I had ever heard before.


    I was convinced it wasn''t there. A figment of my dying mind. This shadow person is made of the stuff that exists between the stars. Until I felt its touch, its skin was smooth and dry. He had to be real, didn''t he? It bent down and examined me. Looking me over. It spoke again in words I don''t understand. It touched my arm; I screamed in agony. For a moment the black figure looked human with pale white skin and an intricate pattern of yellow lines that looked cut an filled with molten sunlight . Like scars That glowed with a harsh light; green moss grew on patches of its skin. The long, soft moss swayed like it was under water. The shadow bent my elbow, and in a wave of pain, I passed out.


    I woke to the shadow again leaning over me; the thing was looking at my arm like it was thinking, but then it shook its head like a farmer who knows they have to put an animal down, a long, slow shake of the head with your head held low. It saw my eyes moving watching it, and it got up and flowed across the room and threw wood on the fire.


    Then silently it left. I was convinced it had decided I was beyond saving and it had washed its hands of me. I watched the fire burn and  At some point I once again passed out. When I woke again, there was no longer the sound of rain; it had been my constant companion through this whole ordeal, and now it too had abandoned me. The room was bathed in a pink light of dawn. The smell of my own filth was overwhelming. The fire crackled, but its warmth was no longer a comfort.


    The fever was worse; my lips were dry. I tried to sit up. I felt a cold hand on my chest, pushing me back down. The shadow person was there with a waterskin. I drank small sips as it sung in a quiet voice. I passed out again.