Through the cracked glass, we see Davin reach back to pull Jake up, but he stops dead. He’s looking past the camera.
"Look at the tag, Davin," Jake says, his voice trembling. He zooms in. Hanging from the bear’s neck is a hand-written cardboard slip. In jagged, frantic ink, it reads: PROPERTY OF J. DANIEL.
A shadow, tall and impossibly thin, stretches over the bears. It doesn't have feet; it just glides. "Run," Davin breathes. TGS - Jake Daniel, Teddy Bear, Davin Strong.mp4
Suddenly, the tunnel echoes with a wet, slapping sound—like bare feet on shallow water. It’s coming from behind them, fast. Jake spins the camera around, the light swinging wildly. "Davin?" Jake yells.
Jake turns the camera around. The flashlight mounted on top of the lens cuts a narrow path through the dark. For a second, the light catches something small and brown sitting in the middle of the tunnel. A . Through the cracked glass, we see Davin reach
The camera tilts. Ten feet away, another Teddy Bear sits in the water. Then another. Then a dozen more, forming a perfect, fuzzy corridor leading deeper into the dark.
"Jake, don't touch it," Davin warns, his shadow stepping into the frame. "We need to find the exit. The water is rising." He zooms in
"Is it recording?" Jake Daniel whispers. His face fills the frame—eyes wide, breathless, his hair matted with sweat. He’s leaning against a damp concrete wall that looks like the inside of a drainage pipe.