THE CANADIANS WHO VANISHED UNDER WEIRD CIRCUMSTANCES

The story begins on a night no one in Silver Wick, Alberta, ever forgot.

A night the snow fell in sheets so thick it erased the horizon.

A night four Canadians—each from different towns, different lives, different reasons for being on that road—simply vanished.

Not lost.

Not missing.

Vanished.

And thirty years later, when a windstorm ripped open a forgotten emergency shelter in the Rockies, everything Silver Wick thought it knew shattered in an instant.

Because inside that frozen concrete bunker, the search team found four objects arranged on a small metal table:

A driver’s license.

A wedding ring.

A torn leather glove.

And a cassette tape labeled:
“PLAY ONLY IF YOU WANT THE TRUTH.”

No bodies.

No blood.

No footprints.

Just those objects—and a truth no one was ready for.

1.

THE LAST NIGHT THEY WERE SEEN

Their names were strangers to each other at first, but they would soon be bound by something no one could explain.

Evan March — a 27-year-old musician running from the failure he refused to admit was his fault.

Dr.Lena Hargrave — a quiet, brilliant biologist whose research on animal migration had begun to terrify her.

Caleb Yates — a truck mechanic who had been having the same nightmare for months: a tunnel of light swallowing a frozen lake.

Teresa Bloom — a schoolteacher who left behind a note none of her family ever understood: “I’m finally ready to face it.”

They were last seen at Boone’s Gas & Tackle, the only warm light on Highway 7 that night.

The storm was worsening.

The radio kept cutting out.

The cashier—an old man named Rich Danvers—later told investigators he had felt something was wrong the moment the four stepped inside.

They didn’t know each other.

They didn’t speak to each other.

But they all kept glancing toward the snowy darkness outside like they were being followed.

Rich said Lena’s hands shook so badly she dropped her coffee.

Caleb stood with his back to the wall, eyes fixed on the windows.

Teresa kept whispering, “It’s close… it’s close now…”
Evan kept checking a strange compass-like device around his neck.

At 9:48 p.m., they walked back into the storm.

At 10:02 p.

m.

, a passing trucker saw their vehicles parked on the side of the highway, engines running, lights on.

At 10:04 p.

m.

, they were gone.

The footprints ended five meters from the road.

Just ended.

Like the snow had denied they ever existed.

2.

THIRTY YEARS LATER — THE SHELTER OPENS

The tape was brittle.

The handwriting shaky.

The ring still warm to the touch though there was no heat source in the shelter.

Two RCMP officers and one search-and-rescue worker stood inside the bunker, frozen in disbelief—literally and figuratively.

Their breath turned to mist in the cold.

The bunker had been sealed shut since the 1970s.

So how did those items get there?

Corporal Nia Crest took the cassette.

Her partner, Oliver Halley, muttered, “We shouldn’t play that.”

But they did.

And the voice that leaked from the speakers was Lena Hargrave’s.

Older.

Weaker.

Trembling.

“If you found this… then it means it still wants us back.”

A long pause.

A rustle.

A whisper.

“We didn’t disappear.

We were taken.”

Another pause.

 

“And one of us let it in.

”

3.

THE RECORDING

Evan screamed.

Caleb prayed.

Teresa laughed—a broken, empty sound Lena said “didn’t belong to her anymore.

”

They had wandered from their cars, pulled by an instinct none of them understood.

The storm wasn’t normal—snow falling upward, lightning crawling across the ground.

And then they saw the bunker.

Not built into the earth.

Not emerging from the ground.

But phasing in, like an image slowly gaining resolution.

Inside, the air hummed.

The walls vibrated.

Their eyes watered from pressure.

Caleb said he felt “every memory being flipped through like a deck of cards.

”
Teresa said she heard singing beneath the floor.

Evan said something was learning their names.

But Lena—scientist, rational thinker, devoted skeptic—was the only one who described it clearly on the tape:

“It wasn’t a place.

It was a mouth.

And we walked straight inside.”

4.

WHAT LENA FOUND

The bunker changed every time they blinked.

Rooms rearranged.

Objects vanished and reappeared.

Hallways lengthened and shortened like a breathing organism.

And they were not alone.

Lena described hearing footsteps behind them—but when she turned, the hallway was empty.

Evan claimed he saw a shadow “walking inside him.

” Teresa said something whispered strategies into her ear, telling her which friend she should sacrifice first if she wanted to leave.

But the worst was Caleb.

On the tape, Lena’s voice cracked:

“Caleb stopped blinking.

He just stared at the door.

The one door that never moved.

”

The others had avoided it.

Its frame pulsed.

Its surface rippled like skin brushed by a breeze.

Caleb finally whispered:

“It wants me to open it.”

And when he did—

The recording exploded with static.

Nia fast-forwarded.

When the audio returned, Lena was sobbing.

“Caleb didn’t walk through it.

He was dragged.

Like gravity reversed and only wanted him.”

Evan tried to save Caleb and vanished with him.

Now only Lena and Teresa remained.

5.

THEY WERE NOT MEANT TO LEAVE TOGETHER

On the tape, Lena’s breathing steadied.

“I trusted Teresa.

She seemed the kindest.

The calmest.

But she wasn’t even herself anymore.

She wasn’t even trying to hide it.”

Teresa had begun speaking in mixed voices—her own layered with another, deeper tone.

She stopped responding to her name.

Her eyes never reflected light.

She didn’t blink.

And she kept telling Lena:

“It only wants one.

The other must stay.”

Lena realized then—

Teresa had already chosen who should be left behind.

They fought.

The tape captured it in messy crashes and desperate gasps.

Finally, Lena cried:

“I locked her in one of the shifting rooms.

I am not proud.

But it was her or me.

The bunker… it eats whoever hesitates.

”

Another rustle.

“If you are listening to this, then you found what remains of us.”

A final whisper.

“But you didn’t find the pilot.”

Static.

End of tape.

6.

THE PILOT?

Officer Oliver froze.

“Pilot? What pilot?”

Corporal Nia rewound and replayed that final line.

“You didn’t find the pilot.”

But none of the vanished Canadians had been pilots.

So who was Lena talking about?

Before they could discuss it, the search-and-rescue worker, Clyde Rowan, staggered back from the far wall.

“Uh… guys… this bunker wasn’t here last month.”

“What do you mean?” Nia asked.

Clyde lifted his headlamp.

The concrete walls shimmered faintly under the beam.

“You’re not going to like this,” he whispered.

7.

THE BUNKER BEGINS TO MOVE

At first it was subtle—just a low hum.

Then the walls shifted an inch.

Then another.

Oliver stepped backward.

“We need to leave.

Now.”

But the door they had entered through was gone.

Nia pressed her fingers to the wall.

It was warm.

Breathing warm.

Clyde whispered, “What if we’re not in a shelter?”

They all knew what he meant.

What if they were inside the same thing that had swallowed the four thirty years ago?

A rumble shook the floor.

The cassette slid across the table.

Oliver grabbed it on reflex.

It burned his hand.

8.

THE NEW NAME ON THE TAPE

The portable recorder they carried displayed text when it played.

The tape had originally been labeled “PLAY ONLY IF YOU WANT THE TRUTH.

”

But when the recorder rebooted after the tremor, the display glitched.

Letters rearranged.

A new phrase appeared:

“PLAY ONLY IF YOU WANT HIM.

”

Oliver’s hands trembled.

“Him who?”

The recorder clicked.

The tape rewound on its own.

A voice played—

A voice no one recognized.

Male.

Calm.

Ancient.

“I am the one they called the pilot.”

Nia froze.

Oliver dropped the recorder.

Clyde backed toward the wall.

The voice continued:

“You brought me back when you opened the shelter.”

A pause.

“One of you will stay.

Choose.”

9.

THE CHOICE

The bunker shook violently.

The floor split in places.

Clyde screamed as the crack widened beneath him.

Nia grabbed his arm.

Oliver grabbed her.

But the voice returned:

“One.”

Clyde shouted, “It wants me—let me go!”

Nia refused.

Oliver refused.

But the tape voice whispered:

“She made the wrong choice last time.

Make the right one now.

”

The floor caved.

Clyde slipped.

Nia held on until her arm nearly dislocated.

Oliver pulled.

The bunker roared.

Clyde’s fingers slid with a horrible sound.

And then—

He fell.

Screaming.

Fading.

Gone.

The crack sealed behind him.

The voice said nothing more.

10.

THE BUNKER OPENS AGAIN

A new door appeared.

Cold air blasted through.

Nia ran.

Oliver followed.

They emerged onto the snowbank outside—

Into the same world.

The same mountain range.

The same storm.

But the bunker behind them was gone.

Not faded.

Not collapsed.

Erased.

Only the four objects remained on the snow:

The ring.

The glove.

The license.

The cassette.

11.

THE TRUTH THAT STILL HUNGERED

Oliver stared at the cassette.

“I’m keeping it,” he said.

“Someone needs to study this.”

Nia didn’t argue.

She couldn’t.

Her mind was still replaying Clyde’s face.

She turned to leave—
but froze.

Footprints were appearing beside theirs.

Not human.

Not animal.

Long, stretched impressions, each one forming in the snow as if something invisible were walking alongside them.

Oliver whispered, “It’s still here.”

Nia didn’t move.

Because behind her, a voice she recognized from the tape—Lena Hargrave’s voice—whispered:

“You didn’t choose.

It chose for you.”

12.

THE OPEN-ENDED FINALE

The investigation was silent.

The RCMP classified the bunker incident as an avalanche shelter collapse.

Clyde Rowan was declared deceased.

Nia and Oliver were given medical leave and strict non-disclosure orders.

But two weeks later, Oliver went missing.

His truck found empty on Highway 7.

Engine running.

Lights on.

Just like Evan’s.

Just like Lena’s.

Just like the others.

The cassette was gone from his house.

And Nia—now unable to sleep, unable to ignore the feeling of footsteps behind her—finally played back the last voicemail Oliver ever sent.

His voice shaking.

Whispering.

“Nia… I think I know who the pilot is.”

A pause.

“I think he’s choosing again.”

Static.

Then, faintly:

“Don’t turn around.

”

The message ended.

And Nia, reading it alone in her dark apartment, heard the floorboards behind her creak.

She didn’t turn.

She didn’t breathe.

She simply waited—

Knowing something had finally caught up.

Something that had waited thirty years.

Something that always wanted one more.

Something that had never finished flying the ones it had taken.

And something that still wasn’t done choosing.