Two friends went missing in Oregon: 6 months later they found this in a cave.

The morning of October 12, 2012 dawned enveloped in a thick fog that seemed to be born from the soil itself. In central Oregon, autumn had already claimed the Willamette National Forest with its mix of moisture, cold, and that unmistakable smell of rotting leaves and pine needles that sticks into memory. It was an ordinary morning for residents in the region, but without anyone knowing it, it was destined to become the start of one of the most disturbing stories the state would remember for decades.

At 8:30 sharp, a dark blue Subaru Outback left Eugene and took Highway 126 eastbound. At the wheel was Betty Thompson, 23, a medical student, applied and responsible, accustomed to planning every detail of her life with the precision of who knows that the future is not improvised. In the co-pilot’s seat, Stacy Miller, also 23-year-old, graphic designer, more impulsive, more laughter, the friend who balances Betty’s seriousness with constant jokes and an almost childish curiosity about the world.

Been waiting for this weekend for weeks. It wasn’t an exotic trip or a big epic adventure, just a short escape into the woods, away from exams, deadlines and bright screens. They wanted to walk, breathe cold air, sleep a night under the stars if the weather allowed. The chosen destination was the Iron Mountain Trail, a route known for its expansive views, century-old trees, and a level of difficulty enough to feel alive without being dangerous.

In the trunk of the car they carried two hiking backpacks, sleeping bags, a light tent and food for two days, although their plan was to spend just one night. Nothing seemed spontaneous. Nothing seemed out of place They were young, yes, but not reckless.

At 9:15 a.m., security cameras at the small Timberline Coffee and Supplies establishment, located along the road, captured their last image together. The footage, grainy and blank and black showed the two friends getting out of the car, laughing, leaning against a paper map unfolded over the hood. Betty wore a red jacket that stood out even in the off picture. Stacy wore a grey polar jacket and pants black They looked carefree, alien to the weight of the fog that surrounded the building.

Five minutes later, at 9:20, Betty paid by card for two large lattes, a pack of snacks and a double-A battery set for the lanterns. The cashier, a woman named Marta, would later remember them as cheerful and polite. They asked about the state of the road to the Santiam Pass, listened to the answer carefully and thanked for the information before returning to the car. Nothing in her attitude indicated haste or restlessness.

That was the last documented moment someone saw them alive.

Around 10 a.m., the dark blue Subaru arrived at the Iron Mountain trail start parking lot. The place was almost empty. Only a forest service truck remained parked on a far corner. Underneath a small wooden awning, sheltered from the rain, was a waterproof box with a notebook intended for hikers. Betty opened the notebook and wrote with blue pen a clear and orderly note. Two people. Trail to the top and back through the Cone Peak loop. ETD 16:00

That sentence, written without drama, would later become a line obsessively reviewed by researchers and rescuers.

The weather was accompanying. Temperature was around 50 degrees Fahrenheit. The wind was light. The fog lifted and closed intermittently between the glasses of Douglas fir and giant cedars. The trail, about eight kilometers long and a moderate steep, used to be completed in three or four hours by hikers with basic experience. It all indicated that Betty and Stacy should have been back long before dark..

But time went by.

The sun began to go down behind the mountains. At six pm, the parking lot was still the same. The car stood there, lonely, like a forgotten object. At seven o’clock, the temperature began to drop rapidly. A thin layer of scrape formed on the windows. The forest, which had looked welcoming during the day, became dense and silent.

At 7:40pm, ranger Thomas Green was doing his usual round when he repaired the Subaru. Something just wasn’t adding up. When checking the excursion log and seeing the estimated time of return, he felt a lump in his stomach. He tried to call the contact numbers written down. Both phones were out of coverage, a common thing in that hilly area. Nevertheless, the anxiety didn’t go away.

Green lit up the interior of the car with his flashlight. He saw empty coffee cups, a folded map, some sunglasses. There were no signs of a struggle or a hasty exit. Following protocol, he left an official note under the windshield and reported the situation to the Linn County Sheriff’s Office. The rules were clear. No active searches were initiated at night on that area.

The wait was extended until dawn.

On October 13, at 6:30 a.m., the search operation began. Forest rangers, volunteers, rescue teams and two canine units entered the forest. A National Guard helicopter flew over Santiam Pass, but the closed beams from the trees made air surveillance almost useless.

Dogs followed the trail from the car door. During the first few kilometers, they safely advanced down the main path. Everything seemed to indicate that the girls had walked normally. However, near mile three, something changed. The trail swirled abruptly to the left, entering an area of thick weeds and a ravine covered in giant ferns.

It was not a marked route. It wasn’t a tourist detour.

The rescuers descended carefully, securing themselves with ropes. They advanced about three hundred meters between thorns and wet branches. At the bottom of the ravine, near a dry creek, the dogs stopped. Moaning, wandering, confused. The trail is completely gone.

There were no signs of struggle. There were no fallen objects. There was no blood. It was like Betty Thompson and Stacy Miller had dissolved in the fog.

For fourteen days, the forest was registered palm-by-palm. Caves, crevices, lakes, gorges were inspected. Nothing. On October 27, with the weather worsening and no new leads, the official search was suspended. The case was filed as missing under unexplained circumstances.

Willamette forest went silent again.

No one imagined yet that the truth was not far away, but hidden, waiting patiently underground….

to be continued…