Digging Deeper by Luke Van Amburg

The locals called it 'Dead End Mine,' but they may as well have called it 'No-Name Mine,' for all the good the title did. Hidden deep in Modoc county's highlands, the cavern was all but hidden amidst pine and gravel, without a soul to guide others to its gates, or a signpost to guard it. No one remembers who built it, whether it was a forgotten prospector amid the Gold Rush or a railroad baron at the turn of the century. As far as anyone knew, it had always been abandoned. Just another curiosity of an age gone by, hardly worth the dot of ink needed to mark it on a map. And yet, there it remained all the same. Waiting. Watching. Until it was sure that all who remained knew of it as a ruin alone, and nothing else before. Only then could its contents stir in earnest.

Everyone in Felicity had a theory for what lay within its confines, from a lost trove of gold, to a forgotten mining crew, and everything in-between. It was the type of place ideal for legends to gather around, or for young men to test their bravery. Every now and again a local might boast that they had plundered the mine's depths, but before long admit that the sight of the cavern's open maw was enough to convince them to turn back with their tail between their legs. Nonetheless, its mine served its purpose. Whenever an unlucky soul went missing, or a dog wandered off at night, the citizens of Felicity would just shrug, shake their heads, and attribute the loss to Dead End Mine and call it a day. For a few generations, it was as good an explanation as any.

Then the body appeared, and people started asking questions.

They were small questions at first. The outsider, for that is what he was to them, was dressed all in custom caving gear, and carried a sizable camera bag on his person– though, police claimed they found it devoid of all contents by the time they arrived. From the body's location in the soil, the police deduced that the outsider had been in the process of exiting the cave when he fell dead from blood loss. To corroborate this, the coroner identified a sizable gouge in the back of the cadaver's head as the lethal injury, likely from a falling stone, or a fall he took in the dark. Eventually, the sheriff's office was able to identify the outsider through his credit card, which had made several purchases at a Redding sporting goods store only a week prior. His name was Richard Allen, and little time was wasted in returning him to his family. In the same week his death was formally ruled a caving accident, his remains were transported to the Bay Area, and the case was deemed closed. It was fast. Discreet. A tragedy, to be sure, but not one that could cause any undue strain on the community, surely.

But then people began to ask more questions.

First there was Allen's camera, which the police firmly stated had been lost sometime during the young man's venture. Despite this, a bounty was put up for the device's return, to the tune of a few thousand dollars. What's more, rumors began to arise that there had been another pair of shoe prints present at the crime scene before the officers arrived; one that had been wiped away as quickly as the police arrived, and never mentioned again. Before long, rumors began to circulate that the camera had not been lost, but stolen, and that a coverup was underway right beneath the community's nose. However, despite the town's certainty the who and why of it were truly unknown.

Then there had been the nature of Allen's death. For, despite the police attributing the victim's head wound to a fallen rock, no one could recreate such an injury without the blow having come from behind the victim, not above. And even if the fatal injury had been just a freak accident, no blood tail had ever been found. It was as though the man had been bludgeoned and then carried out of the mine. Perhaps by another, unseen figure. Or perhaps he never died inside the mine, but had just been placed there for convenience. 

From that point questions began to crop up faster than anyone could follow. After all, why had Allen come to Felicity at all? For, though there were plenty of legends surrounding Dead End Mine, no one had ever known it to be a target for cavers, or even well-known outside Modoc county. As such, many in town became curious if the young man had perhaps been invited north by someone among their numbers. Before long, rumors began to spread amongst Felicity's population, accusations were whispered in private, and the mystery of Dead End Mine had returned to everyone's lips.

To cull the spread of misinformation, the sheriff's office released a full report to the public. It went as follows:

After a thorough investigation into the case of Richard Allen, the Shasta County police have concluded the following: On May 1, Richard Allen departed from his primary residence in San Francisco county and made his way north to the Shasta-Trinity Forest. On May 15, Allen purchased several hundred dollars’ worth of caving equipment and descended into Dead End Mine the following evening. He told no one of his plans, and had no known accomplice in this act. When his body was found on May 20, it is believed he was dead for only a few hours, with the cause of death being prolonged blood loss from a blow to the head. This case has therefore been deemed a caving accident, with no further probes being planned at this time. Thank you.

Despite the case being nothing more than a local oddity, the report was broadcast during prime time as far south as Yuba City, and even east into Nevada. The hope had been to halt all further discussion of the Allen case– to make its conclusion as official as the authorities could make it– but the result was the opposite. By the end of the week the Allen case was the talk of the town, with every survivalist and true crime junkie north of Sacramento discussing the accident, conspiracy, or probable murder with as much certainty as they could fathom. 

That was when the noises began.

They were small at first, and dismissed as hoaxes. They were low, muted groans, seemingly emanating from the mine's entrance whenever someone approached. To true believers the moans were the cries of spirits, trapped deep in the mine, and calling out for help to any who would hear. To others they were a natural anomaly; the product of localized wind events, which had been native to the area for centuries. Then they grew louder, and all logic quickly vanished. A week after their initial arrival the moans had grown in strength such that they could be heard miles away on Felicity's desolate main street. It was enough to make some older members of the community return to church, in fear of what could possible be the cause. As one Desmound Murphy wrote to his brother:

I can hear her inside the mine. Dead End Mine, as though it could be anywhere else. Do you remember when we were young, and we went camping by Lake Tahoe? Ruth had been playing in the water, and she skinned her knee running back to the campsite. She had whimpered all night. That same shrill, sobbing, moaning sound. It lasted all night. I had hated her then, and had stuck gum in her hair during the drive back home. We were just kids, and I didn't know that would be our last summer together. I know our folks said Ruth ran away from home, but you and I know better. You know where she is. Where she's always been. Please, come back to Felicity. She's in the mine. She has to be. I miss her so much, and I know you do too. Every night I hear her crying, and I don't know how long I can stand to endure it alone. Please, you have to help me. I'm too old to do this myself, but together? Yes, together. Together we might have a chance.

The local authorities were quick to counter this development, and released two videos to their social media accounts. The first featured deputies exiting Dead End Mine carrying what appears to be a pair of battery-powered speakers, which the authorities claimed had been mounted within the cave as a prank. Where the speakers could have gotten their power, however, was never addressed. The second featured a side-by-side comparison of similar caves around the country, whose openings produced softer, lower moans with the wind. Yet, if the intent was for these videos to quell public interest in the phenomena, they were consummate failures. Instead, the videos only further ignited interest in the area, with articles popping up across California shortly after, each with headlines reading: Local Police Desperate to Disprove the Supernatural or Another Development in the Modoc Cave Mystery. It seemed that no matter how hard they tried, the sheriff's office could not return the story of Dead End Mine to its confinement.

Then the accusations began to spread.

The first person to accuse the local officials of a coverup was one Marian Daytona. In the early hours of August 12, the old woman barged into the county sheriff's office and demanded that Sheriff Dewey Hutch resign, citing a conspiracy to cover up Richard Allen's murder. By the time the local news had arrived on the scene Marian had managed to chain herself to the building, and cried the following to the cameras:

Lock him away! He knows whose screams are coming from the mine! It's not a machine! That poor boy's soul is still in there! It's not wind! He has the camera! He has the evidence! There's something in there. Something has always been in there!

In the end, Sheriff Hutch never stepped down, and refused to comment on the accusations pushed upon him. For a year the town stood in limbo, with only the low, droning moans from the mine left to tell its tale. There it lingered, desperate for reprieve, until another two bodies emerged from the mine.

But by then no one was surprised.

Their names were Helen and Samuel Torres. They were a married couple from San Diego who had ventured to the wild north for their anniversary. According to their friends, Sam had never wanted to go anywhere near the mine. If not for Helen's insistence, he may never have gotten into spelunking at all, but the moment his wife first mentioned cave exploration, he knew he would be dragged into the lifestyle one way or another. His body was found with half his body still slouched in the cave entrance, with Helen's collapsed in the dirt in front of him. True to life, she had put her first, even in death.

By the time their bodies were found they had been desiccated to the point of resembling jerky. What's more, their belongings had been scattered about them as though they had been in the midst of packing away their tools when they perished. Against all odds, Sam's journal managed to survive, and against the wishes of his family and the sheriff's office, the following entry was eventually leaked by the media:

Jesus, this place is huge. Way bigger than a normal mine. At least I think so. Helen says the lower levels intersect with a lava tube, but I'm not entirely sure why a mine would even want to do that. Anyway, we were able to follow the lava tube to what appeared to be a central chamber, and there was this pool there. It was deep, and full of some kind of dark water. Or, I think it was water. When I went closer Helen held me back and got this look in her eyes like she had seen a ghost. She told me we should go back the way we came, and I didn't feel like arguing. This place, it messes with you, but maybe that’s just the way caves are. I have a hard time remembering which way is up or back or forward. Hell, sometimes it sounds like there's someone else in here with us, but then I'll turn around and find nothing. Helen seems to be loving it, or she was. I might ask her again about that pool. It definitely rattled her, but I kind of want to go back. It just seemed… I don't know. Considering how hot this place is, it looked so cold. Refreshing, even. What am I saying? I think I just need some sleep.

The Torres deaths were eventually attributed to noxious gasses, which the couple had released from stagnant pools deeper in the mine. Autospies done in Alturas's coroner's office confirmed this assessment, and as such, the case was deemed another unfortunate accident. Like with Richard Allen, the case was wrapped up as quickly as it arose, without so much as an article in the Sacramento Bee dedicated to the event.

It is hard to say whether that reluctance was meant to halt interest in the case, but with three bodies in as many years under its belt, talk of Dead End Mine had well and truly taken on a mind of its own, with forums across the internet growing around the mystery of the cavern, and the truth behind the local coverup. Before long, tourists flooded the community, and ate up every inch of the ghost town's infrastructure like locusts descending on a field. By that summer, the town's abandoned tavern was renovated, and reopened as the Wagonwheel Lodge, home to Modoc County's best and brightest armchair investigators. It was a strange time for the citizens of Felicity, as though the accidents in Dead End Mine had been tragic they had also ushered in an economic boom. Before long, everyone in town with half a brain was offering guided tours of the area, or rebranding their businesses around the Dead End Mine legend. It was, after all, a windfall. One that could run dry any moment. The only citizens who didn't feel the same way were the local law enforcement, who made sure to station their deputies outside the mine, ready to wave tourists away at even the slightest glance.

And perhaps that would have been the end of it, had Allen's footage never been leaked.

From the moment it arose, none could claim the footage to be illegitimate. The grainy, handheld footage was the kind of recording expected of an amateur reporter, and held no sign of aftereffects even when picked apart by skeptics. The footage, though occasionally erratic, clearly documented Allen's attempt to map the mine's interior, with the camera often panning down to reveal an elaborate, hand-drawn map detailing the cavern's varied side-tunnels, written on sheets of butcher paper, folded into the same camera bag seized by the sheriff's office. Even more curious was the video's audio, which seemed to pick up the same droning, crying, moaning noise that had emerged from the cave weeks later. The noise was so loud it multiple times eclipsed the young man's voice, such that even now much of what Allen wished to convey to his audience is still unknown.

It was the final shot, however, that puzzled onlookers the most. For, in its final moments, the video stalled on a wall of rough volcanic stone, with what looked to be handprints gouged into its surface. Dozens of them. All different sizes and shapes, as though some group of people had spent all their lives in the abyss, grasping at that one, lone wall. Whether it was a trick of the light or not, many believed that the video was proof that something more was at play– something beyond their understanding. As one news broadcast put it:

A northern California community is in shock this week as a video emerged claiming to depict the final moments before a caving accident that occurred more than three years ago in a mine located in Shasta County. The camera footage, which many believe was shot by the late Richard Allen, shows a caver desperately trying to navigate back to the surface while uncovering evidence of additional individuals lost underground. The final image has been the subject of scrutiny by the paranormal and scientific communities alike, but despite thorough video forensics no consensus has yet been reached regarding its authenticity. 

Our news team reached out to the Modoc County Sheriff's office for comment regarding the legitimacy of the footage, but received no reply. Best be sure, however, that we will update you the moment that changes. Until then, stay safe out there.

This, at long last, was the final straw. By the end of the month, online petitions erupted with signatures calling for a full survey of the mine, and for the sheriff's office to unseal all its sensitive evidence on the Allen and Torres cases. So widespread was this movement that even the governor of California commented, stating the following:

All I can say is that the circumstances in Shasta have been handled poorly. I would urge all those invested to not engage in rash behavior, and that includes law enforcement. It is my understanding that the mine is now private property, and if that is the case, then there is nothing more to say on the matter. 

Whether or not the state government knew the true dangers of the mine is difficult to say for certain, but what is known is that on the morning of May 20, on the fifth anniversary of Richard Allen's death, Felicity beheld an army of protestors from across California and beyond. Podcast hosts, amateur detectives, and activists alike took to the streets and demanded answers. At noon, they gathered at the front of the Wagonwheel Lodge to call out their demands. By three in the afternoon, they had marched to the sheriff's office, and by the evening, they had trudged through the desert in unison into the mouth of Dead End Mine, ready and willing to find answers themselves. Yet none among them had asked the right questions, or paid any mind to the way their footfalls laid waste to the supports beams along tunnel walls. Live feed of the protests showed camera crews scanning the crowd for inquisitive souls, but without a care to how the roof above them groaned in anticipation as they marched, eagerly into the cavern's throat. 

Then the earthquake hit, and the mine was closed forever.

The last footage the outside world ever received of Dead End Mine was from the live feed of one Marianne Phillips, whose camera crew managed to break into the mine before the greater march of tourists descended on the locale hours later. In her footage, Marianne retraced much of the Torres couple's steps, until eventually locating the same stagnant, brackish pool once mentioned by Samuel before his passing. Only this time, upon its surface, the camera crew found four bodies, each bobbing lazily on its surface, with even more hidden below the surface. Before any could raise their voices in alarm, the feed cut away as the sound of protestors above filled the space, followed by the crack of ancient wood and the rush of stones from above. Yet, to those who truly believe, the final frame managed to capture one last secret: a simple phrase, carved above the final chamber's back wall, written in deep, jagged letters.

Let us out.

The mine claimed one hundred and twenty-seven lives that day, including thirteen locals and two members of law enforcement. Following the collapse, all roads to and from Felicity were closed off, and the site deemed condemned by the state government. The legality of the intervention was not questioned, and neither was the issue of whether the site should be excavated, or any bodies recovered. For the remaining citizens of Felicity, they had delved too far and too deep, and had paid the price. 

In the end, only one arrest was ever made following the cave-in: that of Daisy Hutch, the Sheriff's daughter, who gave herself up to the police without a struggle. Before being brought in for processing, she uttered the following statement, which some later labeled as her final words:

My father tried to fight it, but he only made it stronger. Can't you see? Its allure is how it hunts, how it lures us. Now it is fed. It is fed, and the groans have ceased at last. Now it will be too fat to hunt. Too content to plot. Too engorged to notice its food scattered to the wind. All we must do now is forget.

Daisy was found the next morning dead in her cell in an apparent suicide. Though a few Felicity refugees decried her death as a murder by the state in the years that followed, none of them brought their suspicions before a judge. 

In the end, it seemed they had at last had their fill of questions.