In July 1995, Holly Mason Given and Jacob Given, an engaged couple from San Francisco, set out for a weekend hike in Yosemite National Park, their backpacks heavy with hope and their trail log marked with a cheerful sun. They planned to loop north past Ridge Hollow, guided by a weathered pine carved with the Roman numeral “IX”—Tree 9. By Monday, they were gone, their trail log torn, their names followed by a cryptic message: “They said Tree 9 was safe. They lied.” For 29 years, their disappearance remained a mystery, a cold case buried in Mariposa County’s archives. Then, in July 2024, a wildfire scorched the Sierra National Forest, exposing a rusted bunker, a trail cam with chilling footage, and a network of horrors called Project Ardan. The truth shook everyone.
Holly, 28, and Jacob, 30, were meticulous. Jacob, an engineer, checked maps twice, measured water to the ounce. Holly, with her camera always ready, snapped photos of mossy rocks and trail signs. On July 15, they signed the ranger station log at 10:47 a.m., noting their route to Tree 9, a landmark fading from modern maps but etched in old trail notes. The forest was quiet that day, the air warm under a cloudless sky. By noon, they reached Trail 4, where Jacob obsessed over Tree 9’s location, dismissing Holly’s unease about the thickening woods. At 3:00 p.m., they found it: a gnarled pine with “IX” carved jaggedly into its bark, standing alone in a clearing.
That night, Holly heard snaps in the brush, saw a shadowy figure between trees. She didn’t sleep, clutching her camera. Jacob dismissed it as wildlife. The next morning, he was gone briefly, returning shaken, camera in hand, claiming he’d explored a trail fork. Their hike east led to a bluff, where a tattered blue nylon raincoat—Jacob’s—hung on a branch. Then, a camera shutter clicked, not Holly’s. A third bootprint appeared by their tent, too large for either of them. Someone was watching. By July 17, their trail vanished, the forest looping unnaturally. Desperate, they camped again, hearing their names whispered in the dark—Holly, Jacob—followed by a camera flash.
On July 18, they stumbled onto a metal hatch near Tree 9, marked with “IX.” It opened to a concrete stairwell, a trail cam blinking red inside. Below, a bunker unfolded: a cot, a child’s sleeping bag, tally marks to day 647, and shelves of VHS tapes labeled with names and dates, including “Jacob G., Session 6.” Footsteps echoed above; the hatch slammed shut, trapping them. Monitors flickered, showing live feeds of their terror. Tapes revealed others—teenagers, children—posed against concrete, some alive, some not. A girl, Mara, helped Holly, whispering of a “custodian” running Project Ardan, a 1983 behavioral study on isolation and submission, funded by the shadowy Silven Accord.
Holly found a tape labeled “Exit Protocol,” revealing a hidden drainage tunnel. With Mara’s toy key, she reached an observation gallery, facing the custodian—a scarred man in a frayed ranger uniform. He taunted, “Tree 9 doesn’t release its roots.” Holly flipped a system override switch, triggering alarms. She crawled through the tunnel, Jacob dying beside her, and escaped as the hatch opened. Mara stayed behind, bound by a decade of captivity. Holly staggered to a ranger, collapsing with tales of cameras and kids underground. A search found the bunker empty, tapes gone, but a new carving on Tree 9: “Session 3 begins now.”
In 2024, the Signal Fire uncovered the bunker again. Sheriff Lena Bower, once a rookie on the case, stood over a rusted hatch, a scorched Tree 9 nearby. A half-melted trail cam held photos of Holly and Jacob, a shadow figure stalking them. Excavation revealed bones, a raincoat, and tapes of captives, including Mason Aldridge, missing since 1997. FBI Agent Dana Kellerman linked the bunker to Project Ardan, a network of experimental sites. A 2003 tape showed a recent captive, proving the horror persisted. Holly, now in Oregon, received annual tapes, the latest showing her in the control room, whispering, “Let’s begin again.” The note read, “There’s no final subject, only the next one.”
The custodian, R. Hollis, presumed dead, remains at large. The FBI hunts a network that may still operate, its roots deep in the Sierra. Holly lives haunted, her camera untouched, knowing Tree 9’s shadow still watches.
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