Hans checked his sister’s harness, LED headlamp, and helmet. He gave her orange helmet a pat and then turned. Following the safety guidelines, Gretzi’s fingers inspected his gear. He felt her sharp tug on his strap that meant A-OK. Like always, Gretzi was burbling with excitement.

She had been researching this cave for months. Witch’s Eye had been found by a farmer searching for a lost goat back in 1967. His horse’s leg punched through the cave’s ceiling. The farmer shone a flashlight into 120 feet of darkness and ran home.

Later the town sheriff and a high school science teacher expanded the entrance with pickaxes and dropped a weighted line. They unearthed a world of stalagtites and stalagmites. Crystals sparkled in the murky gloom. The frightened farmer and his hole made the front page of the Sunday paper.

The cave was popular, luring tourists and locals. That first summer, the hole claimed its first victims. A group of middle schoolers, five boys, taunted each other into exploring the cave late that night. The morning found a long coil of rope ladder and two shivering twelve-year-olds. It took two weeks to recover the bodies.

All the survivors could say was they got lost in the dark, in the water. Some whispered that once inside the cave the walls moved and a woman’s voice called you to dead ends. No one knows where the rumors of a witch and her curse came from. A vengeful trickster or a siren hungry for flesh, the stories carried at slumber parties and around campfires sprang up like mushrooms. The cave was dubbed Witch’s Eye and sealed for the protection of the public.

Hans had heard the story from Gretzi a dozen times. The only thing spelunkers love more than an uncharted cave was a good story. Gretzi had explored caves up and down the Eastern coast and Hans followed along. Gretzi had flitted from one thing to another when they were kids, horses, mountain biking, rock climbing. Once she explored her first cave Gretzi was hooked. Next summer they planned to visit Scotland for the whisky and the caves. But today they were here. With bolt cutters, Gretzi was working on the entrance’spadlock.

Other cave explorers had breached the Witch’s Eyes and lived to blog about it. Gretzi had even made her brother watch a grainy documentary on the secrets of this cave. Still every few years there would be an accident or a tragedy and the cave’s notoriety grew. Gretzi gave him a fist bump after together they lifted the trap door.

Hans looks down into the cave’s opening. The crystals winked back at him. Together they tamped down the lines and set up the hoist. Hans looked up at the sky hoping for rain or anything to put off this dive. Eyes closed, he listened to Gretzi clamp in.

“Last one in is a rotten egg,” she yelled up at him as she descended.

Hans swallowed and quickly followed her into the darkness.