Only In Darkness - Brenda Stanley

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Only In Darkness - book excerpt

Chapter 1

Massacre Rocks, Idaho, 1972

Volcanic eruptions and lava flow from millions of years ago formed the vast caves, tunnels, and jagged cliffs that line the Snake River as well as the narrow corridor that early pioneers named Massacre Rocks. Legend has it the area was the site of a clash between Mormon settlers and Shoshone Indians in the late 1800s, but there is little in the way of verifiable records of any event to constitute a massacre. Other names were given to the many cliffs and channels, including Devil's Gate and Death's Alley. In 1967, the area became a state park and a popular place for rock climbers.

Spelunkers came from all over the world to explore miles of caves and lava tubes hidden in the porous black terrain spread out for miles without anything else in sight. Most of these outdoor enthusiasts stayed near the scenic and well-traveled areas written about in the day's small number of outdoor magazines. Very few explorers ventured past the well-known cliffs with names such as Nailbiter and Sphincter.

Charlie Just and Martin Miller were looking for more than adventure. There were already incredible finds around southern Idaho, like the Minnetonka Cave and the Shoshone Ice Caves, which had brought fame and, in some cases, fortune to their discoverers. But the two scientists weren't searching for stalagmites and crystals like those found in the other caverns. What Charlie and Martin were searching for was something so odd and rare, the find would rival some of the most incredible treasures ever discovered. It wasn't just something that would bring them accolades in their field, but possibly change the course of history.

They had been out several times in search of the elusive cave. Still, after numerous discussions with past searchers and research into the accounts of what others claimed to have found, they felt confident they were at least within several miles of their life-changing find.

They searched for fossils found on a cliff's outcropping—a type of creature described as prehistoric. A steep descent from atop the volcanic rock cliffs above was the only access to where they had found the fossils.

The terrain was so brutal that even a small stumble resulted in bloody gashes if the rocks found their way around their leather gloves and thick canvas pants. The sweltering sun magnified the immense blackness surrounding them, making it impossible to be protected entirely without succumbing to the heat.

Martin threaded his rope into the descender of his harness, and then took up slack in the rope as he backed to the edge of the cliff. He clicked on the two-way radio attached to a strap on his shoulder, and Charlie did the same.

Charlie had secured the rope to a large boulder and had the safety line fed out and around to control Martin's descent speed. They gave each other a nod. Martin felt his stomach clench with excitement and wondered if it wasn't a sign that this one might be it. He could tell Charlie was thinking it, too. The research pointed to this spot, and now the time, climate, and preparation were all in their favor.

"On rappel," Martin said.

Charlie smiled. "Belay on," he said, giving the rope a tug for luck.

Martin took a deep breath and began the descent down the jagged face to the targeted outcropping below. It was there they hoped to find the rare and peculiar remains they sought.

It was almost one hundred and fifty years before pioneers crossing the Idaho desert plains came across the odd skeletal remains as they searched for passage across the mighty Snake River. A scout, scaling the rocky outcropping to see a narrower bend in the water, found the odd and mystifying skeleton. The bones were bleached white from the blistering heat of the sun and were lying as they had the moment they’d crashed to the solid rock surface—a skull, arms, hands, legs, feet, pelvis, ribs, spine—and something that protruded from its back in long, thin, web-like bands.

"Wings." It's what Orin Paul Jones, the scout who found the bones that day, had written in his journal.

His diary entry and rough sketch—along with similar writings of his brother Donald, whom he took to see it the following day—were the only recorded accounts of physical findings of the Winged Ones in North America. Martin was impressed with their detailed directions, descriptions of the landmarks and topography, and the geography's exact locations on their pragmatic maps.

Legends and folklore of the gorge's flying people had been that of ghost stories around campfires for decades in the small farming community of eastern Idaho. Tales of men leaping from the cliffs with large black wings exploding from their backs and demon-like eyes as they soared and swooped along the narrow canyons of the river at nightfall. Carvings of ancient native peoples in the many caves in the area known as Devil's Gate showed what some claimed to be the source of these folktales. The pictographs were crude and simple, brushed off as eagles and herons that filled the skies in the area. However, the writings of this young Mormon man were a recent discovery.

Lost in the attic of a relative, in a box marked Family History, the journals and three bone-like remains wrapped in cloth tucked away for decades were the first real evidence of something tangible. The remains were taken to the FBI forensic lab in New Mexico and tested. Two of the bones were human, a T-4 thoracic vertebra and a partial rib. The body of the bones was time-dated to have died around 1600 B.C. However, the third piece was indiscernible. It was bone-like with a leathery covering that was thick and hardened.

The report was inconclusive, not just in the type of bone or animal it came from, but its composition. The boney part of the structure was hollow like that of a bird, but found amongst the bones was an element unlike anything discovered before. It was a fine powder, but under the microscope, had a similar molecular structure to Cuben Fiber, one of the strongest materials on earth. What also made it unique is its thin and lightweight structure. While having long molecular chains and extra-strong intermolecular bonds like Cuben Fiber, this other material's discovery also had an additional element, making it unstable. When exposed to sunlight, the powder lost all its properties and simply turned to dust.

The scout's journal referenced the skeleton being sheltered from the wind and elements by an overhang and natural alcove that guarded it, and that he had left it with plans to return, but felt it shouldn't be disturbed. It was a sacred site. But then the journal took an awful and strange turn. It described his brother, Donald's fascination with the discovery as competing with that of the Mormon prophet's unearthing of the golden plates.

His faith is faltering, and his countenance is turning toward that of one who rarely speaks and only grumbles when I discuss this with him. The other members are concerned, and the brethren feel he needs a blessing to bring him back, but I feel whatever is growing within him has already taken over his soul and can't be brought back. His eyes have darkened in a way that makes my own soul shudder when he looks at me.

Orin's entries continue to describe Donald's disenchantment with the church, and it isn't long when Donald's revolt turns from sour grumblings to violence.

One of the last entries in the journal describes Orin discovering Donald trying to steal the remains from the locked wooden chest he had placed there. The chest held some of the family's other prized possessions. In the first wagon closest to where the scouts rode was where Orin had put it for safekeeping.

When Orin caught him with the cloth-covered bones, Donald accused him of keeping the path of salvation from him and insisted on returning himself to retrieve the rest of the remains. When Orin threatened to expose his attempted theft, Donald furiously pummeled his younger brother so severely that Orin wrote his final journal entry months after the attack. Only then did he regain his sight. It told of the beating and the long recovery he had made and of Donald leaving before he could be caught and brought to justice.

I will close now and end this chapter of my life by putting away these bones and this tale and pray that no one else becomes so entranced by a prize that they lose sight of the path to our Lord Jesus Christ.

Genealogical records show that Orin Paul Jones, his wife, and four children reached the Oregon town his wagon train had set out for. Outside of Orin's journals, there are no mentions of Donald at all.

The journal and bones were found in the attic of his great-great-grandson's home, who died and then gave the house to a niece, who moved in and never cleaned out the attic until a family of raccoons made a nest and forced her to have the area cleared out.

Even then, it took a zealous neighbor to notice the box marked Family History and ask if she could read through the papers and journals. It was she who had discovered the bones and the connection to the writings.

Laura Holcomb never lived to see the result of her find. After the bones were sent away for testing, she demanded them back. When the family of Orin Paul Jones maintained their ownership of them, she threatened to find the skeleton's remaining pieces from what she had studied in the journals and maps. When a drift boat trolling the Snake River found her body in the brush near the cliffs’ base the following year, everyone figured that was what she had set out to do.

It was a strange and forbidding pull the remains had on those who touched them.

The descent was smooth, but the sun was blinding as Martin pushed off the cliff walls about every few feet of the drop. There were few signs of life, except a bird spooked from its perch or a clinging bit of sage, but the view from the height of the gorge was breathtaking.

Martin figured he was three hundred feet down when the cliff tucked in and burrowed out into a small opening. It was just large enough to crawl into, and as he paused and looked into the shadowed hole, a chill blew and made him gasp.

He grabbed at the radio on his shoulder and pressed the call button. "I've found an opening. The air—it's bone-chilling," he said.

Atop the cliff, Charlie called out, “The colder the air, the deeper the cave. Is it the one?"

Martin looked below for the outcropping described in the journal. "I don't think so," he reported back. "It's too small. There's no ledge. I'm going to keep going, but it may be connected." He felt confident this wasn't it, but felt a bit disheartened, seeing how far he had dropped so far.

The valley floor wasn't far off, but the route the pioneers had taken to reach the ledge had been washed away by several years of heavy spring runoffs that pushed the river's flow into the base of the cliff, making it impossible to climb up.

Martin pushed against the jagged wall and continued his descent. His heart raced with the anticipation of it feeling real. His eyes scanned the face of the cliff, looking for signs of the telltale ledge. Then something small but solid hit his helmet and ricocheted into the canyon below. Martin looked up, and for a moment where the small cave had been, he saw a dark face looking down at him and then quickly pull back. At first glance, he thought it was Charlie, but then realized that was impossible. Even in the glare of the sun, the face wasn't the tanned-skinned and youthful bearded one of his friend and colleague. This one had the deathly glower of something Martin couldn't identify as human.

He grabbed his two-way and squeezed the button. "A face," he called into it. He blinked to try and clear his sight, but the thing was gone.

"Say again?" Charlie called back.

Martin began to squeeze the two-way again, but then wondered what he would say. Even he didn't know how to explain what he'd seen. He kept watching to see if it would reappear.

"Martin?" Charlie asked. "You there?"

"It's nothing," Martin assured him, but it was something. And he wondered if the heat was making him weak.