It was a dare. Nico and I had heard about the old ruins on the island of Sarpedon, off the coast of Greece. We were backpacking through Europe, taking a break from university, and thought it would be fun to explore the place. We’d read stories online about the hidden temples, places where the gods supposedly walked thousands of years ago. But we didn’t believe in any of that.
That changed this summer.
We arrived in Sarpedon early in July. It’s a small, quiet place, not many tourists. The locals didn’t seem interested in talking about the ruins we wanted to see. Some said it was dangerous. Others just said it was cursed. The kind of stuff you expect from old, rural towns.
But we weren’t easily scared. We found the temple after a couple of hours hiking up a forgotten path, hidden under a dense canopy of trees. It was quiet up there, unnervingly so. No birds. No wind. Nothing. Just stillness.
The temple itself was overgrown with vines, but you could still make out the ancient carvings on the stone pillars—symbols of Athena, the goddess of wisdom. She supposedly cursed Medusa. The stories say Medusa was once beautiful until Athena, jealous or angry, transformed her into a monster with snakes for hair, turning anyone who looked at her to stone. We always laughed about it. Myths, we thought. Stories to scare kids.
But standing there, in front of that ancient ruin, it felt different. Real.
We went inside.
The air was cold, damp, like the temple had been sealed off from the world for centuries. The carvings inside were better preserved—images of Athena, Zeus, and Poseidon. But the one that stood out was Medusa. Her face was carved into the stone above the entrance to a deeper chamber, her eyes seeming to watch us, even in the dark.
Nico shrugged it off. He’s always been braver—or maybe just more reckless—than me. “Come on, we’ve come all this way,” he said. He stepped into the chamber.
It was then I felt it. A weight, like the air itself was thicker, heavier. My heart pounded. “We shouldn’t be here,” I said, but Nico didn’t listen.
Inside, the chamber was small and dark, except for a faint glow coming from a pool of water in the center. And then I saw it—a mirror, resting against the far wall. Ancient, cracked, but still reflecting the room. I remembered the stories. The only way to look at Medusa without turning to stone was through a reflection.
Nico didn’t wait. He stepped right past the mirror, deeper into the chamber. He was always so sure of himself.
Then I heard it—a faint slithering sound. At first, I thought it was just my imagination. But it grew louder, closer. I tried to shout at Nico, to tell him to get back, but my voice caught in my throat.
That’s when I saw her.
Medusa wasn’t a myth. She was there, standing in the shadows, her face hidden by the snakes coiling around her head, their eyes glowing in the dim light. Her body moved unnaturally, like she was part human, part serpent.
Nico froze. He turned, and our eyes locked. He didn’t believe it. None of us did.
But then, he looked at her.
It was instant. His skin began to harden, his body stiffening in place. His mouth opened in a silent scream, his eyes wide in terror. He was turning to stone, right there in front of me.
I grabbed the mirror and thrust it in front of me, using the cracked glass to look at her. Medusa’s reflection shimmered in the surface. The snakes hissed, recoiling, and she let out this terrible, guttural sound before retreating into the darkness.
I didn’t wait. I ran. I ran until my legs gave out, collapsing outside the temple. I didn’t stop until I was back in the village.
No one believed me, of course. They said I was delusional, that I had lost Nico in the mountains. But I know the truth.
The gods, the myths—they’re not stories. They’re real. They’ve been here all along, lurking in the places we’ve forgotten. Medusa is out there, and so are the others. Athena, Zeus, Poseidon—they never left. We just stopped seeing them. Maybe that’s why the world feels the way it does now, like something bigger is always just out of sight. Life is more spiritual than we understand.
The gods are still here, watching us from the shadows, waiting.
