Your torch cuts through the darkness like a knife through jello. It's thick, damp, untouched for lifetimes. The wall illuminates and that is when you see the markings. They seem alien yet familiar. Was this the language of early man? Maybe even before? Pokemon?

You spend hours staring up at the wall. Your eyes strain as you copy the markings down into your notebook. Did they move or is it the flames light licking dancing on the stone?

You copy down the last letter just as the Unown descend on you.  You utter the same words the beasts spelled out.

"who farted?"