October 8, 1938

A deserted island in the Mediterranean

After months of pouring over ancient writings and books we finally found ourselves at the entrance to the mythical Labyrinth of the Minotaur. As we approached the crusty red gates, with fearful steps, our team of adventurers could sense the evil dripping from the stalagmites that covered the cave ceiling. The orange light danced gruesomely across the grotesque twisted walls of the cave causing ghoulish pictures to appear around the edges of out vision. Our hearts raced as a rabbits does with a fox on its tail.

Getting up enough courage, we proceeded to set sticks of dynamite to blow the rusted iron gate off its hinges. When the sticks blew, a boom rang out through the tunnels of that dreadful place. The sound rattled out very bones and only intensified our fear. The boom seemed to go on and on until we realized the sound of the explosion had stopped only to be replaced by a long, blood-curdling roar of rage.

When the dust settled enough for our meager lighting to pierce the darkness we found the entrance of the labyrinth to be littered with the dry brown bones of so many hundreds of victims. Horribly large rats with beady re eyes scurried out of the reach of our torch light. The cobweb covered bones were strewn down the passages tour front and both our sides. The team proceeded down the left hand passage making careful note of any twists or turns we made so we would not get lost on the way out. Our guns were loaded and at the ready. The blackness pressed in around us like a wet blanket, dampening the glow of out torches; the air was musty with oldness. Phantoms and ghouls of our imagination seemed to be hiding behind every rock, waiting to devour us. Now and then we would stop, thinking we heard the haunting sound of two large hooves following us. Being that our vision was limited we saw nothing when we turned around.

We proceeded on; goose bumps crawling across our whole bodies. We jumped at the slightest movement of shadow or whisper of foul wind. We came to what we assumed was a large cavern because of the echoes we heard. Our group huddled closer together in dread of what might be lurking in that black abyss. All of a sudden the unding of thick hooves rang out through the darkness. It stopped and e heard a scream; a thick wet scream. We turned around to see out photographer spewing blood from his mouth and a huge, horrible horn sticking out his chest.

The minotaur had found us. The beast let out a wretched howl, rose up to its full height and shook its gruesome head violently. Warm sticky blood sprayed on alll of us and the fresh corpse went flying into the darkness. We coward before the evil thing, frozen by the fear generated by this demonic legend. I glanced up to see it. Its head was above the reach of our torchlight, but I could see its eyes burning an eternally angry hell-red. It reared its head back and roared.

From an enormous ancient scabbard it pulled a black blood-stained saber. Reaching out with a giant gnarled claw it picked up out journalist by the neck. The poor fellow screamed as the minotaur drew the saber back and with a roar swung the crusty blade right through the journalists midsection. Internal organs and blood spilled to the ground like candy from a pinata. This gruesome sigh twas enough to wake up from our trance, sending us fleeing into the darkness in different directions. I was lucky enough to have one of the torches. I found a little filthy nook occupied by a previous victim, the brown dry skin stretched tight across the face in a mask of fear. Now I sit here writing this journal entry waiting until that beast gets me or dehydration does. If anyone should find this journal and read my a account; a word to the wise: get out!