Archaeologist, Morgan Wilson accidentally discovers the ruins of an ancient village beneath the Mexican pyramids and learns that it may still be inhabited.
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Nervously looking over his shoulder, he sensed that someone or something was watching him and nearly ran from the hut. The sensation remained with him once he was outside. He couldn't shake the feeling that someone was near him, close enough to touch.
There was something horribly wrong with this place. He didn't know what it was, but he could feel it to the very essence of his soul.
Terrified, he forced himself, to enter another hut. The stench inside was overwhelming. A crude table occupied the center of the room, pushed up against it was a wooden bench. In one corner of the room there was a pile of what appeared to be straw, evidently some kind of a bed.
The floor was littered with bones, and fur just like the other hut, but there was one thing different, blood. Kneeling down he touched it with his index finger. It wasn't dry. Someone did live here. Where in the hell were they? Were they hiding somewhere watching him?
Trying to calm his already shaky nerves, he thought that maybe they were frightened of him. Since they remained concealed and hadn't attacked him. Maybe he looked differently than they did. Just because there was blood on the floor it didn't necessarily mean he was in any danger.