In the beginning....

(this is rewrite 1, my browser crashed and I lost my work, so this will take a different look than my original idea.)
There are so many things we cannot know, simply because our histories do not cover. The greatest tragedy of the ancient world was the destruction of great libraries by barbarians, when man discovered writing the use of oral traditions was lost. Perhaps if some of those stories could be told they could cast light on what we do not know of our planet's past. One thing is certain, and that is the uncertainty of the past. Even in the cases where someone did put pen to paper and it was preserved, history is written by the winners.
Our story's beginning is one of those uncertain things. Some would say it began centuries ago when my family first was granted a title and some land in exchange for our silence about the truth behind the history that was then just being laid down. Others would say it started thousands of years ago, as man was first laying down the foundations of civilization. It's possible  it began even before that.
The land had been handed down from generation to generation, from father to son for over six hundred years. But almost ever one of them to a man lived in a reverent sort of fear of the land itself, not to mention the houses that lay upon it. Their age had made them more tombs than houses, though they housed no dead. Well, not any dead that would be visited. Once and awhile one of my ancestors would disappear into the many rolling acres, and never be heard of again. It served as a sort of warning, enough to frighten not just the local villagers but every male in my family as well. Though we lived in fear of the property, we felt it was our duty to keep the houses locked, safe from anyone with the misfortune to wander onto the property. About one hundred and fifty years after my ancestor first came into possession, one of his decedents decided to move to a less unsettling location, but still within close range so as to tend the property. He moved everything important, but left two houses and a workshop, simply because the buildings had foundations too deep, and it would have felt wrong to destroy them. He built a gatehouse, which was the only structure that anyone used for the next four hundred and fifty years.
This is what I consider the beginning of our story, and it occurred shortly after I came of age. My name is George Orion My father was not well, and not a single doctor could find out what it was, why it had happened, or how to cure it. He told me he sensed that his end was near. Those were the last words I ever heard him say. The next day I found his truck parked at the gatehouse to the property. It was open, the keys were in the seat along with a current copy of his will. I pocketed both and locked the truck. I returned to town and hired two strong men, and outfitted our team with enough provisions to last for months. I felt that the reason so many had disappeared was because of a stubborn streak of pride in my family. We decided to go on foot from the gatehouse, as it would be too easy to lose the trail. We followed the tracks for a mile, until the joined a larger path, about one hundred feet away from an imposing stone building. It looked like an old hunting lodge, made of stone presumably cut from nearby rock. It was three stories tall, with a large balcony on each end. I had never seen it before in my life, nor had anyone even discussed it aside from that there were structures dating back to before we abandoned the property. It was the duty of whomever was the male head of the family to do repairs and take care of the grounds. I could tell that although in decent repair, no one had lived there for a long time. The silence was permeating, so thick and unsettling, we found ourselves talking just to hear noise.
    The only sign that anyone had been there recently were the footsteps we had followed here, and that the front door was unlocked. My companions were in awe and fear of the structure, and strongly urged me to set up camp outside, however I felt that would be letting an opportunity for shelter go to waste. On the inside we found various furniture from different eras, most of it from the mid 20th century, though there were some pieces much older than that. We cleared a space in a large seating area surrounding a fireplace big enough for five men to stand side by side in and not scrape the sides.
We soon lost our daylight, and relied on heat and light from the large fireplace, and firewood we cut outside. I was instantly glad to have brought companions, simply to have someone to talk to in this large unfamiliar building. The silence inside was even more unbearable, growing up in a modern world I was used to the sounds of a house, ticking from clocks, air conditioners coming on. In spite of an unfamiliar lack of noise I found sleep. Unsettling dreams still haunted my sleep, regardless of the fact that I had company.
I dreamed of voices in the dark. This was my dream:
I was wondering down a stone lined corridor with no windows, curious carvings decorate the walls and ceiling. I have a torch in my hand, but the light gives me no comfort. Coming from every direction   I hear clicks, a grinding sound, water dripping in the distance. The corridor stretches to infinity, and I fear what lies outside of my torchlight. I felt a chill of air moving from somewhere ahead of me. it blew scraps of paper by my feat and past my arms, giving me an uncomfortable feeling like when you walk through a spider web. Luckily there are no spiders, or any other sign of life for that matter. I take comfort in the idea that air moving means a way out. I continued in that direction for some time more, then the torch blew out as the strength of the wind became too much. I touched the corridor wall and let it guide me, as I did not have any more matches. I came to the end of my wall, and I could tell from my hearing that I was now in a large chamber. I hear whispers in the dark.
"who is this?" a deep whisper reached my ears.
"you are in over your head boy, turn back."
a second voice joined in "there is no turning back, what lies in shadow should not be visited on the outside world."
I try to voice my protest, but it feels like icy fingers grip my neck, preventing speech.
A chant starts, and I continue to move forward, stumbling in the dark. There is no way to tell if the voices are real or imagined.
The chant, which contains no words I thought I would ever hear a human utter, becomes a background for a horrible song that penetrates my mind to the very core. I could never forget it.
"In the dark where shadows lie
hide the things that cannot die
Hidden deep beneath the ground
They guard the secrets that they keep
Older than trees, older than earth
These creatures lack death and birth
they guard their gruesome knowledge
Many secrets lie sleeping beneath the dark
Under the world of man, you'll find such secrets if you can
But watch yourself, and be aware
Because many before you have tried and failed
There's is a fate that you may share"
I heard a heart wrenching sound, and I woke to the sound of screaming.
I soon found the screaming was my own. A red flushness covered my body, and I had drenched myself in sweat. I looked around to see if I had awoken my companions. But where they had lie the night before now was empty. There was no sign of their gear or that they had even been there at all. I became more panicked and began to search the lodge, getting more frantic with every passing minute. However it was all in vain, I found no trace of them.
End of chapter 1