“Daniel Chan and the Ghost Below the Delta Sierra”

Daniel Chan had filmed in every kind of haunted hotel, derelict church, and spirit-saturated alleyway. But when a tip from a local historian brought him to an abandoned gold mine in the Delta Sierra foothills, he felt something different—older, heavier.

The locals called it Hollow Ridge Mine. Closed since the 1800s, it had collapsed in on itself after an unrecorded quake, swallowing an entire crew. Most bodies were never recovered, and the mine was sealed. But lately, hikers reported strange tremors, voices whispering from deep shafts, and a figure in tattered overalls emerging just before dawn.

Daniel parked his van at the trailhead, shouldered his camera bag and flashlight, and descended into the brush-covered entrance, now half-choked with ivy and time. As he stepped past the threshold, a dry, metallic air pressed in on him like a warning.

The mine exhaled a sigh.

“Just a story,” Daniel muttered. But he touched the amulet around his neck—a Khmer charm from his grandmother—and kept going.

The tunnels were damp and narrow, beams groaning as if they might give at any moment. He documented the old rail tracks and rusted carts while narrating into the camera, but a cold draft from deeper inside kept pulling at him.

“Daniel Chan here, investigating Hollow Ridge, the final resting place of the forgotten fifty.”

Then came a voice.

“You came back for me?”

It wasn’t in the audio playback. It was in his head.

Daniel turned sharply. No one. Just rocks and darkness. But then he saw something strange—an old lantern flickering by itself, deeper down the shaft.

He followed.

The tunnel widened into what was once a central junction, rotted support beams held aloft by willpower alone. There, crouched by the collapsed wall, was the figure of a man in miner’s garb. His skin was pale stone, translucent in parts. His jaw slack, beard caked in dust. But his eyes—his eyes were desperate.

“Name’s Ellis,” the ghost rasped without moving his mouth. “I was their foreman. They left me.”

Daniel’s breath slowed. “When the tunnel collapsed?”

“They heard the rumble. They ran. My leg was pinned under a beam.” He gestured. “I screamed. They didn’t look back. I died calling for them. Calling…”

The name echoed faintly down the tunnels.

“I’ve been waiting here ever since,” Ellis whispered, “Too angry to die proper. Too alone.”

Daniel knelt. “You’ve been stuck in this pain for two centuries. That’s long enough.”

“No one’s tried to pull me out.”

“I’m not like the others.”

Daniel scanned the collapse. The rocks were ghost-light, unreal. Part memory, part matter. He reached out slowly.

“Let me help.”

As his hand met the spectral beam, it resisted—then softened. Like fog soaked in grief.

He began clearing it, layer by layer.

“Why do you care?” Ellis asked.

“I lost someone too,” Daniel said quietly. “I know what it means to be left behind.”

Minutes passed. Then—Ellis shifted. His form rose slightly. Chains of dust and regret pulled at his ankles, but he moved. The ghost cried out—not in pain, but in surprise.

“You’re lifting me.”

“Come on,” Daniel grunted. “You’re almost there.”

With one final heave, the last of the phantom rubble dissolved. The air changed. The tunnel lights—ghost lanterns—burned brighter for a moment, then extinguished all at once.

Ellis floated, eyes wide.

“Where…where is this?”

Daniel stepped back as a glow unfolded behind the miner—a golden veil of fog, undulating like a dream.

“The next place,” Daniel said. “Where you were always supposed to go.”

Ellis looked down at his hands, now clean. Solid. Young.

“I thought I’d rot here forever.”

“You were never meant to be forgotten,” Daniel said. “You just needed someone to remember.”

A pause.

Then Ellis smiled—a soft, grateful smile—and nodded once.

“Thank you.”

He stepped into the veil and vanished.

Silence returned. The mine seemed lighter now. The air less heavy. As Daniel walked back out, dawn crept across the ridge.

Outside, birds chirped.

Back at the van, Daniel turned the camera off. But not before saying:

“Some ghosts don’t want revenge. Some just want rescue. And maybe, if you listen hard enough, you’ll hear them calling.”

He closed the lens. Another soul set free.

Another chapter in the strange and sacred work of Daniel Chan.