PART 4: A Mine Rescue Team’s Helmet Cams Recorded Something Standing in a Sealed Shaft in West Virginia
Part 4: The Lower Door
For eleven years, Dale Mercer tried to forget Mine 14-B.
He failed.
He stopped talking about the telephone.
He stopped mentioning the footprints.
He stopped telling people about the figure standing inside the portal.
But he never stopped thinking about the number twelve.
Twelve miners went underground.
Eleven returned.
Then the twelfth appeared three days later.
And according to Harold Vance, that man had said there were still eleven people beneath the mountain.
Dale had spent years convincing himself that there had been an explanation.
A hidden passage.
An old telephone line.
A survivor suffering from trauma.
A mistake in the records.
Anything was better than believing what the evidence seemed to suggest.
Then, in October 2017, Harold Vance died.
Three weeks after the funeral, Dale received a package.
There was no return address.
Inside was a folded piece of paper and a small brass key.
Dale recognized the handwriting immediately.
Vance.
The note contained only one sentence.
You were right to be afraid.
Underneath it was a set of coordinates.
Dale stared at them for several minutes.
They weren’t inside Mine 14-B.
They were nearly half a mile farther up the mountain.
The second line made his blood run cold.
The lower door is still there.
Dale almost threw the note away.
Instead, he put it in a drawer.
Then he locked the drawer.
For three days, he tried not to think about it.
On the fourth night, someone knocked on his front door.
Dale opened it and found Ray Collins standing on the porch.
Ray looked older.
His hair had gone gray.
He carried a backpack and a metal case.
Dale stared at him.
“You got one too?”
Ray nodded.
He held up an identical piece of paper.
“I think Vance sent them to all of us.”
Dale stepped aside.
“Come in.”
They sat at the kitchen table.
Neither man spoke for several minutes.
Finally Ray opened the metal case.
Inside was a small cassette recorder.
Dale recognized it immediately.
“That’s from the mine.”
Ray nodded.
“The original recording.”
Dale’s stomach tightened.
“I thought the government confiscated it.”
“They did.”
Ray removed the recorder.
“This is a copy.”
He pressed play.
Static filled the room.
Then came the sound of footsteps.
Their footsteps.
Four sets.
Dale could hear his own breathing.
Then Ray’s voice.
“Back to the portal.”
A pause.
Another set of footsteps appeared.
Dale leaned closer.
“Stop.”
Ray stopped the tape.
“You heard it?”
Dale nodded.
“There.”
Ray rewound it.
Played it again.
The four men walked through the tunnel.
Then, behind them, another set of footsteps began.
Slow.
Heavy.
Deliberate.
Five steps.
Then six.
Then seven.
The sound stopped.
Dale stared at Ray.
“That’s the fifth person.”
Ray nodded.
“Listen.”
He pressed play again.
The footsteps resumed.
But this time they were closer.
Much closer.
Then came the telephone.
Three rings.
Dale heard his own voice.
“Who is this?”
Static.
Then the mysterious voice.
“How many came inside?”
Dale whispered the answer before the recording did.
“Four.”
On the tape, his voice said:
“Four.”
Static.
Then:
“No.”
A pause.
“Five.”
The tape ended.
Dale looked at Ray.
“There’s something else.”
Ray opened the case again.
He removed a second cassette.
“This one wasn’t recorded by us.”
He pressed play.
A man’s voice emerged.
Old.
Weak.
Terrified.
“I don’t know how long we’ve been here.”
Dale’s face went cold.
The voice continued.
“They told us the tunnel collapsed.”
A long pause.
“We can hear them moving behind the wall.”
Dale looked at Ray.
“Who is that?”
Ray didn’t answer.
The voice continued.
“There are eleven of us now.”
Dale stood.
The recording crackled.
Then came a sentence that made him sit back down.
“If anyone finds this, don’t open the lower door.”
The recording ended.
Dale stared at the cassette.
“When was this recorded?”
Ray looked at him.
“According to Vance’s notes?”
He paused.
“1968.”
Dale shook his head.
“That’s impossible.”
“I know.”
“No.”
Dale stood again.
“It isn’t possible.”
Ray looked toward the window.
“That’s why we’re going back.”
Dale didn’t answer.
He already knew he would.
Two days later, the two men returned to Boone County.
They didn’t tell the authorities.
They didn’t tell the mine company.
They didn’t tell anyone.
They followed Vance’s coordinates through thick forest until they reached a steep hillside covered with fallen leaves.
There was nothing there.
No road.
No building.
No entrance.
Just trees.
Ray checked the coordinates again.
“We’re standing on it.”
Dale looked around.
“On what?”
Ray pointed downward.
They cleared away leaves and loose soil.
A metal ring appeared beneath the dirt.
Together they pulled.
A section of earth lifted.
Beneath it was a concrete shaft.
A ladder descended into darkness.
Dale looked at Ray.
“Vance knew.”
Ray nodded.
“He knew for fifty years.”
They descended.
The shaft was narrow.
The air became colder with every step.
At the bottom was a tunnel.
Unlike Mine 14-B, this passage was almost perfectly preserved.
The walls were reinforced with steel.
The floor was dry.
There was no water.
No broken timber.
No signs of collapse.
Dale shined his flashlight ahead.
“Someone maintained this.”
Ray nodded.
They walked for nearly twenty minutes.
Then they saw the first door.
It was enormous.
Steel.
At least ten feet high.
Across the center was a faded warning.
AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY
Below it, someone had painted another message.
DO NOT KNOCK.
Dale stared at it.
“That’s not funny.”
Ray didn’t answer.
They approached.
The door had no handle.
Only a small circular opening at eye level.
Dale looked through it.
Nothing.
He moved his flashlight.
Nothing.
Then something moved.
Dale stepped backward.
“What?”
Ray looked at him.
“Someone’s inside.”
They listened.
At first there was nothing.
Then—
Three knocks.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Dale froze.
Ray stepped away from the door.
The knocking came again.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Dale whispered:
“It’s the same.”
Ray nodded.
“From 2006.”
The brass key suddenly felt heavy in Dale’s hand.
He looked down.
There was a keyhole beneath the warning sign.
It was almost invisible.
The key fit perfectly.
Ray grabbed his wrist.
“Don’t.”
Dale looked at him.
“Vance sent us here.”
“That doesn’t mean we open it.”
Another knock.
Then a fourth.
Dale stopped.
The pattern had changed.
Four knocks.
Silence.
Then one.
Dale’s face tightened.
Ray whispered:
“Four and one.”
Dale nodded.
“Four of us went inside.”
“Five came out.”
They stood silently.
Then a voice came through the door.
“Dale.”
Dale nearly dropped the key.
Ray looked at him.
The voice came again.
“Dale Mercer.”
It was unmistakable.
Dale knew that voice.
He had heard it eleven years earlier through the telephone.
But there was something different now.
The voice sounded closer.
“How many came with you?”
Dale didn’t answer.
Ray grabbed his shoulder.
“Don’t speak.”
The voice laughed softly.
Then:
“You brought only two.”
Dale looked at Ray.
Ray’s expression changed.
“Two?”
The voice continued.
“You should have brought all four.”
Dale felt his heart pound.
“We are two.”
The voice whispered:
“No.”
Then something hit the other side of the door.
Hard.
The steel shook.
Ray stumbled backward.
Dale grabbed his arm.
Another impact.
The door trembled.
Then another.
Whatever was behind it was trying to get out.
Ray shouted:
“Run!”
They turned.
The tunnel behind them was empty.
Then their flashlights went out.
Total darkness.
Dale heard Ray breathing.
“Don’t move.”
Something scraped across the floor.
Closer.
Dale reached for his emergency light.
His fingers shook.
He turned it on.
The weak beam illuminated the tunnel.
Ray was gone.
Dale stared.
“Ray?”
No answer.
“Ray!”
Nothing.
Then he saw the footprints.
Two sets had entered the tunnel.
One set belonged to Dale.
The other belonged to Ray.
But now a third set appeared.
They came from the direction of the door.
Bare feet.
Wet.
The footprints stopped directly in front of Dale.
He couldn’t breathe.
A shape moved at the edge of the light.
Dale raised the flashlight.
For one second, he saw a man’s face.
Pale.
Sunken.
Covered in dirt.
The eyes were open.
Too wide.
The mouth moved.
“Dale.”
Dale stepped backward.
The figure whispered:
“We’ve been waiting.”
The flashlight died.
Dale ran.
He didn’t know where he was going.
He simply ran toward the shaft.
Behind him came footsteps.
Not one person.
Many.
Dozens.
Running.
Dale heard voices.
Men shouting.
Some were screaming.
Some were calling his name.
Then Ray’s voice came from somewhere behind him.
“Dale!”
He stopped.
Ray shouted again.
“Don’t leave me!”
Dale turned.
The tunnel was empty.
“Ray?”
“Dale!”
The voice came from the darkness.
“Help me!”
Dale started toward it.
Then another voice whispered from directly beside his ear:
“That’s not Ray.”
Dale spun around.
Nobody was there.
He ran again.
The shaft appeared ahead.
He climbed.
One rung.
Two.
Three.
Then something grabbed his boot.
Dale screamed.
He kicked violently.
The hand released him.
He climbed faster.
When he reached the surface, he collapsed into the leaves.
For several minutes he couldn’t move.
Then he heard footsteps climbing out behind him.
Dale turned.
Ray emerged from the opening.
Blood covered the side of his face.
Dale stared.
“Where were you?”
Ray looked confused.
“You left me.”
“I thought you disappeared.”
Ray shook his head.
“I was right behind you.”
Dale stared at him.
Neither man spoke.
Then Ray looked toward the hole.
“We need to leave.”
Dale nodded.
They began walking.
After several steps, Dale stopped.
“Ray.”
Ray turned.
Dale pointed at the ground.
There were footprints leading away from the shaft.
Dale’s.
Ray’s.
And eleven others.
All barefoot.
All fresh.
All heading toward the forest.
Ray stared at them.
“How long were we down there?”
Dale checked his watch.
“Twenty-three minutes.”
Ray looked at his own watch.
“Mine says six hours.”
Dale’s stomach dropped.
They looked toward the mountain.
Far below the trees, the old Mine 14-B portal was visible.
Then they heard something.
A telephone ringing.
Not underground.
Not far away.
From somewhere in the forest.
Ring.
They turned.
Ring.
The sound was coming from the direction of the footprints.
Dale looked at Ray.
“We didn’t bring a phone.”
Ray shook his head.
The ringing stopped.
Then came three knocks.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Dale’s phone suddenly vibrated in his pocket.
He pulled it out.
There was no signal.
Yet the screen showed an incoming call.
No number.
No name.
Just:
MINE 14-B
Dale stared.
Ray whispered:
“Don’t answer.”
The phone continued ringing.
Dale’s thumb hovered over the screen.
Then a message appeared.
WE FOUND THE OTHER THREE.
Dale looked at Ray.
“What other three?”
Another message appeared.
THEY’RE STILL INSIDE.
Dale’s phone began ringing again.
This time the caller ID showed a name.
HAROLD VANCE.
Ray stepped backward.
“Vance is dead.”
Dale knew.
But the phone kept ringing.
Finally, Dale answered.
He said nothing.
Static filled the speaker.
Then a familiar voice whispered:
“Dale.”
Dale closed his eyes.
It was Vance.
Older.
Terrified.
And speaking from somewhere deep beneath the mountain.
“You opened the door.”
Dale swallowed.
“No.”
Vance’s voice trembled.
“You don’t understand.”
“What?”
A long silence.
Then Vance whispered:
“The door was never meant to keep them in.”
Dale felt the cold spread through his body.
“What was it for?”
The answer came almost too quietly to hear.
“To keep them from finding the surface.”
The call ended.
Dale stared at the phone.
Ray looked toward the forest.
The eleven sets of footprints had stopped.
All of them.
At the same place.
Dale raised his flashlight.
Between the trees stood an old wooden structure.
A door.
Nothing else.
No walls.
No building.
Just a door standing alone in the forest.
And beneath it, scratched into the wood, was a message:
12 WENT DOWN.
A second line appeared underneath.
11 CAME BACK.
Dale stepped closer.
A final line had been written in fresh mud.
THE TWELFTH IS STILL LOOKING FOR THEM.
Then the door opened by itself.
And from the darkness behind it came the sound of twelve men breathing.
Dale looked at Ray.
Ray looked at him.
Neither man moved.
Because somewhere beyond that impossible doorway, a voice had begun counting.
“One.”
A pause.
“Two.”
Another pause.
“Three.”
Dale’s heart hammered.
“Four.”
The voice continued.
“Five.”
“Six.”
“Seven.”
“Eight.”
“Nine.”
“Ten.”
“Eleven.”
Silence.
Then the voice whispered:
“Twelve.”
The forest went completely quiet.
And Dale finally understood the truth.
The mine had never been empty.
It had been waiting.
Waiting for someone to open the lower door.
And now that it was open, whatever had been trapped beneath Boone County for nearly half a century was no longer interested in staying underground.
The door began to close.
Dale saw something standing on the other side.
A miner.
Then another.
Then another.
Twelve figures.
All wearing the same old helmets.
All staring directly at him.
But the last figure was different.
He stepped forward.
Dale recognized the face.
It was the face from the telephone.
The face from the tunnel.
The face of the man whose name had been erased from the mine records.
Elias Rourke.
He smiled.
And before the door slammed shut, he whispered one final sentence.
“You were never the rescuers.”
The darkness swallowed him.
“You were the ones we were waiting for.”
The door closed.
Dale and Ray stood alone in the forest.
For several seconds, neither man spoke.
Then, behind them, someone knocked on a tree.
Three times.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Dale slowly turned.
There was no one there.
Only the mountain.
And somewhere beneath it, a telephone began to ring.
