Everyone thinks, wouldn't it be great to come out to the forest
and live in a fire tower, but imagine being out here alone for
weeks at a time. There's some weird, creepy stuff
out in these woods. I know because I've seen it
myself. A lot of hikers and campers go
missing around here. Some return with stories you
wouldn't believe. Others never come back.
I'm one of those people. I went missing for four days and
I'm lucky to still be alive. If you're ever out in the woods
and you hear sirens, run. So if you've ever thought about
living in a fire tower, it's not like a long vacation in the
national parks. In reality, you end up carrying
water, food, books and other supplies up 11 flights of
stairs, all to live in a 10 by 10 room and sleep on a bunk bed
that's been used by 100 other people.
Yes, the view from the walk around deck is spectacular, and
if you're good with being on your own, it might be a good fit
for you. But today was a very bad day.
I'm standing here in a tiny room 120 feet up in the air, watching
rain come down in buckets. Thunder is booming and the wind
must be upwards of 60 miles an hour, so the whole tower is
swaying back and forth. My dog, who's terrified of loud
noises, is hiding under the bed. To top it all off, I left my
boots on the porch and they're now filled with at least 6
inches of water. On the positive side, after a
heavy rain like this, I won't have to worry about fires.
On the other hand, there's going to be a lot of debris to clean
up. The rain continued for the rest
of the day and on through the night.
When I woke the next morning, sunlight was peeking through the
clouds. I had to coax my dog Molly, a
three-year old border collie I got from a dog shelter when she
was six months old, out from under the bed with scrambled
eggs and bacon bits mixed in with her dog food.
Border Collies are working dogs, so they don't like being left
alone for long periods. They like to be close to their
person and she's an escape artist.
She can open a closed door and climb over a six foot fence.
Luckily I work for the Forest Service.
It's a take your dog to work kind of job and she's proven
herself to be a valuable part of the team.
Once when I was clearing a trail, two panicked parents ran
up to me. They said they were hiking with
their nine year old son, Daniel, but when they turned around he
was gone. They called and searched for
over an hour before seeking help.
I had them take me back to where they'd last seen him and Molly
saved the day. Dogs can hear much better than
we can. So I blew the emergency whistle
I had in my gear and had us all stay completely quiet.
Molly must have heard him calling for help because she
took off into the woods. After a 40 minute trek through
the undergrowth. We found him exhausted and
pretty scratched up, but OK. I walked with the family back to
their car and while we were walking I asked Daniel what
happened. He said he was following his
parents on the trail and looking for some cool rocks for his
collection. Suddenly he saw something move
beyond the trees, so he stopped to get a better look.
About 10 feet off the trail, he saw a giant white owl just
sitting there, staring right at him.
Daniel took a few steps off the trail to get closer.
The huge bird fluttered its wings and hopped a little
further into the woods. Daniel had almost caught up to
it when it disappeared. In its place was a small
Blackstone. Daniel said the stone had
strange markings on it. He picked it up, put it in his
pocket, and turned around to head back towards his parents.
But instead of seeing the trail, he saw a high rock wall going at
least 50 feet straight up. He said no matter which way he
went, he couldn't find his way back to the trail.
When Daniel started getting tired, he remembered to stay in
one place to make it easier for people to find him.
So he sat down under a large tree and called for help.
But no one came. And here's the really strange
part. The boy had been lost for maybe
2 1/2 hours at most. But Daniel said he was gone for
three days. He said he saw the sun go down
three times and he never heard anyone calling for him.
But every few hours he would hear something big.
Walking through the woods, Daniel couldn't see what it was.
He said he was too scared to look.
He just hid behind the tree and tried to stay quiet.
The only thing he saw was Molly running towards him.
Right before he got rescued, I asked Daniel if I could see the
stone he found, but after searching through his pockets,
he couldn't find it. He said he must have lost it
over there. The way Daniel said over there
made it sound like it was another planet.
We got back to their car, they thanked Molly and me again and
headed home. But the parents must have called
the local newspaper because the following week, a reporter came
out to take some photos of Molly.
They put her picture under the headline Hero dog finds missing
boy. She's been a bit of a local
celebrity after that. Sometimes a hiker will recognize
her, and whenever we're in town, she always gets a free scoop of
ice cream. And Molly seems to really enjoy
the forest Ranger lifestyle. But she's afraid of loud noises
like Thunder, so I couldn't really blame her for hiding
under the bed during last night's storm.
I spent the morning after the storm picking up branches from
around the base of the tower. Once that was clear, Molly and I
checked the trails. There's really only one main
trail this far out into the forest.
It enters the clearing by the fire tower from the South, then
keeps going farther N there are a few small offshoots and
overlooks into the valley, but they're all dead ends.
I found a few small trees blocking the path, and those
were easy enough to clear by hand.
As I tossed those into the woods, Molly helped by dragging
away some of the smaller branches.
A few miles from the fire tower, a huge pine tree had come down
right across the trail. That was a bigger job involving
a chainsaw, so Molly and I took a break for an early lunch.
I was sitting on a log finishing up a bag of chips when I noticed
Molly was acting strange. Ordinarily when I'm eating
something shareable, Molly will be staring at me with the
intensity of 1000 white hot Suns, but she was looking off
trail towards the valley. Her head was tilted to the side
and she was whining softly. What is it, girl?
I stopped chewing to listen, but I didn't hear anything.
Molly and I are always out in the woods.
She completely ignores rabbits and squirrels and barely gives
deer a second look, so I thought maybe a Mountain Lion was
passing by. Molly took a few more steps into
the woods. When I walked up next to her, I
could see she was trembling. Following her gaze, I noticed an
overgrown path, an offshoot from the main trail that I'd never
seen before. Maybe that fallen pine tree had
blocked it from view. Curious now, I carefully headed
down what remained of the old trail.
I knew it couldn't go very far because unless I'd gotten
completely turned around, the path should end at a steep Cliff
overlooking the valley. 10 minutes later I came to the end
of the trail. Blocking the way were two huge
boulders with A10 foot opening between them.
The opening was blocked by a massive deadfall of tangled
branches and small trees. There was no way around.
On the other side of the boulders there was a steep drop
off into the valley. What the hell is this?
I mumbled. The whole thing looked strange.
It looked old, sharp, and dangerous.
For some reason it reminded me of a Stephen King book pet
cemetery when the old guy and the new neighbor climb over a
huge dead fall at night to bury a dead cat.
After standing there for a few minutes, I decided to head back
to the main trail to get back to work and start cutting up that
fallen pine tree. I'd made-up my mind to ask
Chester if he knew anything about the old hidden path and
the massive blockade of piled up branches.
Chester had been a park Ranger in this area for at least 25
years. He knew this park inside and
out. If anyone would know about it,
he would. I started walking back when I
realized Molly wasn't with me. I turned to see her about 80
feet back, standing perfectly still, staring at the deadfall.
Her head was tilted like she was listening to something in the
distance. All of a sudden she took a
running leap up onto the deadfall and started climbing.
No, no, Molly come. I yelled, running back towards
her, but she didn't stop. By the time I got back to the
deadfall, her tail was just disappearing over the top.
I ran around the side of one of the boulders, still calling for
her, but I couldn't see anything, only a sheer drop.
I heard Molly bark from the other side, but when she barked
again a few minutes later, she sounded much farther away.
I ran back to the main trail to grab my pack with my supplies.
I quickly hid the chainsaw and tools off trail in case any
hikers with children came through.
I rushed back to the deadfall and started climbing.
It was only about 15 feet high, but it was dangerous.
A couple of times branches broke under my weight and I almost
fell through. This is a great way to break a
leg, I thought to myself. Reaching the top I looked down
to find a small path at the bottom of the deadfall.
It looked like it was carved right out of the side of the
mountain. On the left side of the little 2
foot path was the rocky face of the mountain.
On the right side was a sheer drop off.
I swung my leg over and started climbing down the other side of
the deadfall. If I fell now and missed the
path, I'd enjoy a 200 foot drop straight down to the valley
floor. No wonder they blocked this
trail. Breathing a sigh of relief, my
boots finally hit solid ground. I used the high vantage point to
check for any signs of Molly, but all I could see was the
steep trail I was standing on, slowly descending down the
mountain and into the tree line. There were no clearings that I
could see in the valley, just dense forest.
So I started down. I had to watch my step because
every once in a while a chunk of the trail had fallen away and
there would be a 2 foot section of open air.
But about halfway down I began to notice a slight haze along
the base of the trees. The closer I got to the valley
floor, the more the light mist turned into a heavy fog.
It was cool and damp. At the bottom of the trail.
The temperature must have dropped 10 or 15°.
I called out for Molly, but the sound of my voice seemed to fade
in the mist, so I blew my emergency whistle.
Molly would hear that from a long way off.
I listened for any sign of her but heard nothing.
Looking down I noticed paw prints in the damp ground
heading into the forest, so I followed. 30 minutes later I
lost Molly's trail. I decided to walk in a large
circle and try to look for any paw prints.
I marked my starting point with a piece of rope tied to a
massive oak tree. After 45 minutes of walking
through dense forest, I realized I was lost.
It was hard to see 10 feet in front of me through the heavy
fog, and I started to get the feeling that something was
watching me. Shaking off the paranoia, I blew
my whistle again to see if Molly could find me.
The sound might also scare off any mountain lions.
Then I sat down on a log for a drink.
I was putting the canteen away when a man stepped out from the
trees. He was young, maybe in his 20s,
thin, in tattered clothes, with an old backpack slung over his
shoulders. Startled, I said, hey, I'm
looking for my dog, are you OK? Without saying a word, he put
his hand up to cover his mouth, signaling for me to keep quiet.
He pointed into the trees. I felt the vibration through the
soles of my boots. It was a ways off, but every
four or five seconds I could feel the ground shake slightly.
Then I heard it. A soft boom.
The sound would repeat every few seconds.
It was like something huge was walking through the valley and
it was getting closer. I looked over to the guy and saw
that he had plastered himself behind a large tree, and that's
when I heard the siren. It was so loud I actually fell
back onto the ground and the sound was coming from above the
tree line. This thing, whatever it was,
seemed close now. I stayed low.
The ground shook with each step. There was a fallen log on the
ground next to me, and I saw it roll away to the left.
It was the next blast of the siren that got me moving.
It was so loud that I could feel my eardrums ringing.
It sounded like it was almost on top of me.
I scrambled towards the nearest tree and held onto it.
My face pressed into the bark. Then there was silence.
Everything was completely still. I didn't move.
I didn't even breathe. And then it was moving again,
moving away from us. I thought about Molly, how she
was so afraid of loud noises. She must be as far away from
here as possible. I hope she was OK.
I looked over to where the guy had been hiding, but he was
gone. Legs shaking, I slid down to the
ground and tried to catch my breath.
It was then that Molly's head poked through the underbrush.
Molly, man, am I glad to see you.
I patted my leg for her to come, but she didn't move.
It's OK girl, come on, let's get out of here.
But Molly stayed where she was, whining softly.
She looked back into the brush, then took a small step towards
me, and something came with her out of the bushes.
It was a little girl with long dark hair, maybe nine years old.
She was wearing a Rugrats T-shirt and she was clutching
Molly's fur like it was a lifeline in the ocean.
I could see the girl was scared, so I spoke as quietly as I
could. Hey there, I see you've met
Molly. She's a good dog.
The girl looked down at Molly and then back up at me.
What do you say the three of us find our way out of here?
She stood there motionless for a full minute, then gave a slight
nod. OK, good.
You hold on to Molly so she doesn't get lost.
Can you take my hand? I stood where I was and held my
hand out toward her. After a moment, she slowly came
toward me and took it. Grabbing my backpack, I pulled
out a fresh water bottle and offered it to the girl.
I bet you're thirsty. Would you like some water?
But she just stood there staring at me.
OK, not right now. We'll try again later.
Then I looked down at Molly and said.
Let's go home girl. She sniffed at the air and then
headed into the forest. We followed close behind twice
more. We heard something huge walking
through the trees, once from a distance and once too close for
comfort. We stayed silent and unmoving
until the danger passed. We walked for hours, I was sure
we'd never find our way out. We eventually decided to sit
down to rest, and I was once again trying to get the girl to
take some water. Suddenly Molly jumped to her
feet, her head tilted to the side like she was listening to
something in the distance. Then she took off straight into
the woods. I grabbed the girl's hand and we
ran after her. Whenever Molly got too far
ahead, she would stop and wait for us.
She'd keep barking till we caught up, then she'd take off
running again. When I saw the rope tied around
the tree I'd used for a marker, I breathed a huge sigh of
relief. It was only a little farther
till we reached the trail that led up and out of the valley.
As we came out of the mist, I couldn't believe my eyes.
Chester. I mumbled.
There was park Ranger Chester Miles with a relieved look on
his face. He had a length of rope tied
around his waist. Jim, thank God.
Come on, he said. Hurry.
I picked up the girl and we made our way back up the path carved
out of the Cliff face. As we climbed, I told Chester
about the hiker I saw in the valley.
He said he'll have to find his own way out.
We're not going back there. The only reason you three got
out is because Molly heard my emergency whistle.
When we got to the top, Chester took off the rope and tied it
around the girl's waist, then told her to climb over the
deadfall. Slowly and carefully, we climbed
up right behind her. I carried Molly under one arm.
When we made it to solid ground on the other side, we stopped to
catch our breath. All of a sudden I was incredibly
thirsty. I pulled out the water bottles,
gave one to the girl and we both drank until the bottles were
empty. Easy, easy there, you don't want
to make yourself sick a little at a time.
Chester said, taking a sip from his canteen.
Jim, I see you and Molly have a new traveling companion now, who
have we here? Chester asked.
I just shook my head. She hasn't said a word.
I replied. That's OK, let's all get back to
the fire tower and we'll figure things out from there.
Chester replied with a smile. Molly took the lead, with the
girl following close behind. Chester.
I said quietly. If you've got your phone with
you, call for an ambulance now, because it'll take them over an
hour to reach us. Chester shook his head.
No calls. He pointed towards the girl.
I'll explain later. I looked over at him wondering
what was going on, but I trusted Chester, he's a good guy, so I
just nodded and kept walking. By the time we got back to the
fire tower, the sun was setting. We were all exhausted.
The girl refused to go more than three feet away from Molly, so
we made a campfire in the clearing below the tower.
We cooked up some food and set up a small tent for her and
Molly to sleep in. Chester and I sat by the
campfire and had a couple of cold beers.
When we were sure the girl was sound asleep, I turned to him
and asked. So what the hell is going on?
She needs to get checked out by a doctor and her family needs to
be informed now. How long do you think you've
been gone? Chester asked.
What does that have to do with anything?
I replied. Just answer the question, he
said. I sighed.
OK, I guess I was gone for maybe eight or nine hours.
Chester shook his head. You were gone for four days?
That's not funny, Chester. I'm not laughing, he said.
When you didn't report in for three days after the storm,
Kenny assumed that the storm knocked out the equipment again
like it did last April. And with all the power outages
and flooding, we had our hands full for the last few days.
But when I heard Kenny mention that you hadn't called in, I
dropped everything and came right over because I knew
exactly where you were, how I started.
But Chester cut me off. No, let me finish, he said.
There's something wrong with that valley.
I don't know exactly how to explain it, but let's just say
it goes to another place. Not always, but sometimes it
does. When I first started here as a
new park Ranger, about six months in, a couple of hikers
disappeared. Boyfriend and girlfriend.
They were heading down into the valley to camp for the weekend.
They never came back. There was a big search.
It went on for over three weeks. Never found anything.
Not a tent or a backpack or a shoe.
Nothing. Like they just vanished clean
off the earth. About a year later, a 12 year
old girl goes missing about 50 miles from here.
Her name was Allison Beckett if I remember correctly.
Anyways, this search party was massive.
Always is when a child goes missing.
There must have been 400 people out looking for her.
They found nothing. Six weeks later, two women were
hiking through our valley and they found her huddled up
against a tree, brought her back, called her parents.
She was OK, but remember, she got lost 50 miles away.
So how did she end up here in the valley?
Our mayor held a little celebration to thank the two
women and present them with an award.
Allison and her family came down to attend.
There was food and drink. Everyone was happy.
Just for a moment, I happened to catch Allison sitting by herself
at a picnic table. So I sat down and asked her what
really happened. She said that her family was
hiking up to a waterfall and her little brothers were arguing.
Her parents stopped to separate them and while they were
stopped, Allison kept walking. She said she was tired of
listening to her brothers argue. She went around a curve in the
path and off the side of the trail, about 50 feet into the
woods was a merry go round. A full-sized merry go round with
lights and music and everything. She said.
She stepped off the trail, walked over to it and held out
her hand. Allison said she just wanted to
touch it to see if it was real. And as soon as her hand touched
the carousel, she was standing in a different forest and
everything was covered in mist. There were three more
disappearances over the next five years, and that's when I
decided to block off the trails that led to the valley.
You did that? I asked.
You made the deadfall. Yes, and I don't regret it
because the disappearances fell off after that, Chester
continued. I blocked off every entrance and
then I hid the trails leading to the valley as best I could.
Things were pretty quiet here for a long time, but four years
ago a little boy went missing. His name was Jackson Perry.
He was six years old at the time.
And again, a massive search. Locals, reporters, even some
people from out of state came to help.
We looked everywhere, brought in search dogs too, and you better
believe I searched those hidden trails, even climbed up the dead
falls to look. There was nothing there.
Five days later I found him sitting at the base of that same
deadfall we climbed over today. I'd already looked there three
times. So I check him for broken bones
and he looks OK except for some scrapes and scratches.
I pick him up and carry him back to the search party, and while
it's just me and Jackson, I ask him what happened.
He says he was playing hide and seek with his sister and he was
hiding behind a big rock. He closed his eyes and when he
opened them, his sister was gone and he was in the woods and he
couldn't see very far because there was smoke everywhere.
Like when there's a fire. He got scared and started
crying. Then he heard a big noise, kind
of like a fire truck. It made his ears hurt.
The ground started shaking. Then he says a giant picked him
up and carried him over the trees.
He said it was like flying. Jackson said he could see a long
way. Then the giant set him down on
top of a big pile of sticks and he climbed down and sat at the
bottom. And after a while I came and
found him. When I brought him back to his
parents, they rushed him to the hospital.
The doctor said the only thing wrong with Jackson, other than
some cuts and scratches was a burst eardrum.
The doctor said that could happen from being close to a
loud blast of noise. I think Chester noticed that I
went pale after that last story. He stopped to open another beer.
I asked him the only question I could think of.
But why don't you want to take the girl to the hospital to get
checked out? We have to find out who she is.
I know who she is, Chester said quietly.
Her name is Olivia Hernandez, she's 8 years old and she went
missing over 20 years ago. How?
I started again, but Chester interrupted me.
You were gone for four days. Time is different over there.
How could you possibly know it's her?
I said. I looked for that girl for
weeks. I guess I never really stopped
looking for her. I memorized her picture and I
recognized the Rugrats T-shirt she was wearing when she got
lost. It's faded now, but it's the
same shirt. And I remember her father,
Miguel, long after they called off the search, he was up here
searching side by side with me every weekend and every day off
he was out in these woods looking for Olivia, He said he
knew she was still alive. He knew it.
But 20 years, I stammered, how could she survive?
What did she do for food and water?
And how did she keep away from the things that live over there?
I don't know, Chester said. But at first light, I'm going
back to base. I'll find contact info for her
parents. They'll have kept it current.
Parents of missing children always keep their contact
information current. No matter how much time passes.
I'm going to have them get out here as fast as possible.
I guarantee if they're still breathing, they'll be here by
tomorrow night. In the meantime, she stays here
with you. And before you start to argue
with me, let me say this. That little girl has been
through more than we could ever imagine.
If we take her in, there will have to be a report, the press
will show up and eventually they'll figure out her story
doesn't make sense. They'll be all over her and her
parents for months. It'll be a crap show.
And if you need another reason, take a look at her sleeping with
Molly. I think she feels safe for the
first time in a long, long time. Do you want to take her away
from Molly and leave her at the hospital with a bunch of
strangers? Let me answer that for you.
No you don't. It's not right.
Let her stay with Molly till her parents get here.
I thought for a moment about what happened to me and about
what people would say if I told them what happened to me.
They think I was crazy. Then I thought about Olivia.
Chester was right to keep things quiet.
OK, I said. Olivia will stay here with me
and Molly until you come back with her parents.
I fell asleep in the chair by the fire, and by the time I woke
up, Chester was already gone. He'd left a note under a rock by
my chair. I'll be back by tonight, was all
it said. I spent the day watching Olivia
play with Molly in the clearing, and true to his word, by 5 that
evening, Chester called to say he was waiting at the airport to
pick up Olivia's mother, Maria Hernandez.
She was flying in alone because her husband was finishing his
last round of chemo and was too weak to travel.
When I heard the truck pull up two hours later, I waited at the
head of the dirt path from the parking area.
A few minutes later they came walking up.
As soon as I saw Maria, I knew it was Olivia's mother.
I could see the resemblance in her face.
She was visibly nervous as she asked.
Where is she? I pointed to the clearing.
Olivia was sitting with Molly and weaving dandelions into her
collar. Maria gasped and clutched at her
heart. Oh my God, can this be real?
She whispered. She walked slowly towards the
girl. Olivia.
She whispered, it sounded like a prayer.
Olivia stood looking at the woman for what felt like an
eternity. Then she ran, throwing her arms
around her mother, her little hand still clutching a flower.
Then Maria was full on weeping, still holding tight to Olivia.
I had tears in my eyes and I looked over to see the Chester
did too. It was one of the best moments
of my life. I'll never forget it.
After things calmed down, we all talked for a while.
Maria thanked us over and over, saying she could never repay us
for what we had done. Olivia still hadn't spoken, but
she held tight to her mom. Chester drove mother and
daughter to the airport. Maria wanted to bring Olivia
back home to see her father as soon as possible.
She said that seeing his daughter would be the best
medicine he could ever have. After they were gone, I sat by
the fire thinking about everything that had happened.
Molly was sound asleep at my feet.
Weeks went by and things settled back down.
Then I got a call from Chester asking if I wanted to meet for
dinner in town. We met at the local diner.
They had good burgers and there was a patio Outback that allowed
dogs. After the waitress took our
order, Chester said I got a letter today from Maria
Hernandez. She said her husband's cancer is
in remission. She wished we could have seen
the look on his face when he saw Olivia.
It was like a huge weight he had been carrying for 20 years had
been lifted from him. She also said Olivia's coming
out of her shell. She's talking again.
And Maria said she took my advice about keeping things
quiet. She just wanted her family back.
In fact, she's homeschooling Olivia right now because she
can't bear to be apart from her. A few weeks ago, they took
Olivia to the local dog shelter and let her pick out a puppy.
She named it Molly and the puppy sleeps with her every night.
Maria also said that Olivia's birthday is next week and she
and her husband would be honored if we would come celebrate with
them because they have a lot to celebrate right now.
Chester looked at me and asked. So what do you think you two up
for a road trip? Always.
I replied, grinning. Molly looked up at the words
road trip and woofed her agreement.
After dinner, we walked out to the parking lot.
Chester got in his truck, waved, and pulled out onto the road.
I stood there for a minute, looking down at Molly.
There was a family, I said, with a giant hole right through the
heart of it. And you patched it up, Molly,
you did this. She stared up at me, head tilted
to the side. I gave her a scratch behind the
ear and said job well done girl, let's go home.
The end. I never thought I'd find myself
heading back into the wild, especially not to a place as
mysterious as Diatloff. Pass.
My name is Dan, and these days my best friend is my dog, Colt.
He's not just any dog, he's a hero who served with me on the
police force before I retired. Now it's just him and me against
the world. Or so it felt until my old buddy
Steve called Dan. You've got to get out of the
house, man. Come with me to Diatloff Pass.
It's going to be an adventure, just like the old days, minus
the paperwork. Steve always knew how to mix
excitement with a touch of madness.
His voice crackled through the phone like he was right next to
me, pulling me out of my slump. Despite myself, I felt a spark
of curiosity. I hadn't left my house much
since retiring, except for walks with Colt.
Steve, that place is not just any camping site.
You know the stories? I replied, trying to sound
cautious, but a part of me was already packing bags in my mind.
Yeah, yeah, the stories make it even better.
Imagine the thrill, Dan. Plus, we'll be careful.
We're not rookies. He laughed, brushing off the
danger as he always did. I couldn't help but smile.
Steve could always make the darkest alley seem like a stage
lit up for a grand adventure. After hanging up, I look down at
Colt, who was watching me with his keen, intelligent eyes.
Looks like we're going on a trip, buddy.
I said. He wagged his tail, almost as if
he understood. Maybe he did.
The next day was a blur of preparation.
Packing felt strange, like I was dusting off a part of my life.
I had put away warm clothes, camping gear and of course,
Colts essentials. We were ready to go before I
knew it. Our journey started with a long
drive to a small, remote Russian village.
It felt like travelling back in time.
Wooden houses scattered around snowy fields, smoke curling up
from chimneys and a silence that spoke of both peace and secrets.
The villagers eyed us with curiosity mixed with a hint of
suspicion. They knew where we were headed.
Andy, our tour guide, was a young, eager man with a thick
accent and a bright smile. Welcome, I prepare everything
for journey. Snowmobiles are ready, yes?
He announced proudly, gesturing towards the sleek machines
behind him. His enthusiasm was infectious,
and even I felt a thrill looking at the snowmobiles and the
untouched white landscape beyond.
Steve was in his element, chatting with Andy and loading
our gear onto the sled attached to one of the snowmobiles.
I took care of Colt, making sure his special coat was snug
against the cold. He seemed excited, his nose
twitching at the new sense, his eyes bright.
As we left the village, the reality of where we were going
hit me. Dyatlov Pass was not just
another wilderness. It was a place of mystery where
a group of hikers had lost their lives in strange circumstances
many years ago. But as the cold wind brushed
against my face and Colt sat close by, looking as fearless as
ever, I felt alive. For the first time in a long
while. I felt like I was part of
something adventurous again, something bigger than the small
world I had confined myself to. Tonight.
We would camp where they did, under the same stars, surrounded
by the same silent, snowy peaks. I wasn't sure what awaited us,
but I knew we were in it together.
As the sun dipped below the icy horizon, the whole world seemed
to hold its breath. The pass, with its haunting
beauty felt alive, as if the snow and trees were watching us
set up our little camp. We were far from everything and
everyone except for the eerie memories of those who had never
left this place. Steve and I, along with Andy,
managed to set up our tents quickly.
Colt, ever vigilant, patrolled around sniffing and sometimes
growling softly under his breath.
He was uneasy, and seeing him like that made a chill run down
my spine That wasn't from the cold.
Animals sense things we don't, Andy had said earlier, and his
words echoed in my head now, as darkness wrapped around us like
a thick blanket, we gathered around the fire.
The flames crackled and danced, throwing shadows that twisted
and turned on the snow. It should have been cozy, just
like the camping trip Steve and I used to take.
But tonight, each snap of a twig, each whisper of the wind
seemed loaded with warning. We tried to keep the mood light,
Steve joked about old times and Andy shared stories about the
mountains. But amidst our laughter, a
strange sound cut through the night air, a sound that seemed
to come from nowhere and everywhere all at once.
It was a low, haunting melody, like a flute playing a tune
meant to lure or to warn. I felt my heart skip a beat.
Do you guys hear that? I asked, glancing around.
Steve shook his head, looking puzzled, while Andy stopped mid
sentence, his face turning serious.
Music here. He whispered, and there was fear
in his eyes that made my stomach turn.
The music grew louder, weaving through the trees, a sound no
wind could mimic. Colts started to bark, his body
tense and alert. Something was very wrong.
I reached for my radio, trying to contact anyone who might be
out there, but all I got was static.
And then the compass Andy had been playing with earlier
started spinning wildly. It was as if the very earth
beneath us was shifting, refusing to be still.
No good. This place, it has bad spirits.
Andy muttered, looking at the compass with wide eyes.
We should not have come. But it was too late for regrets.
We were here, and the night was only getting darker.
Suddenly, out in the distance, lights appeared.
They were like nothing I'd ever seen before, red orbs floating
above the ground, moving in patterns that made my head spin.
They flickered and darted through the trees as if they
were watching us, deciding what to do.
Colt growled louder, and I felt a primal fear rise in my chest.
We need to stay together. I said, my voice barely above a
whisper. Steve nodded, his usual jokes
gone. He pulled his jacket tighter
around him. As we watch the lights dance,
the night air grew colder, and the music played on.
I couldn't tell where it was coming from, but it felt close.
Too close. Then the unthinkable happened.
The music seeped into our radios, a clear, sharp melody
that was impossible to ignore. It filled the camp, drowning out
the sound of our breaths. Colt barked furiously, and I
grabbed my flashlight, shining it into the darkness beyond our
camp. There, in the beam of light,
were footprints in the snow. They circled our tents,
overlapping and weaving a dance of shadows and threats.
They weren't just human. Some were too large, too
misshapen. I swallowed hard, trying to
steady my shaking hands. We need to be ready for
anything, I told Steve and Andy. We agreed to keep watching
shifts through the night, each of us on edge, listening to the
haunting melody that refused to let us rest.
As I settled down with Colt by my side, I knew one thing for
sure. We weren't alone in Diatloff
Pass, and whatever was with us didn't want us here.
The darkest part of the night seemed to last forever.
Every minute felt like an hour as we sat huddled in our tents,
listening to the strange, haunting music.
In the eerie silence that followed, I tried to sleep, but
my eyes kept snapping open at every little sound.
Colt was restless too. His ears perked up, his body
tense as he lay by the tent flap.
As dawn finally broke, the light brought little comfort.
Stepping outside, I saw our campsite in disarray.
It looked like a storm had hit, but the chaos was too focused,
too deliberate. Tents were torn, our supplies
scattered across the snow. The snowmobiles were overturned,
looking like fallen giants in the pale morning light.
Steve was missing. Andy was still tied up, but he
was different now. His eyes had a wild, terrified
look as he mumbled incoherently. The rope that had bound him was
shredded, soaked in blood. It was clear that something
horrifying had happened while I was trying to catch a few
moments of rest. Steve.
I called out, my voice echoing off the distant mountains.
There was no reply, just the whisper of the wind through the
trees. Colt barked, his growl low and
ominous as he stared into the woods.
I followed his gaze and saw footprints leading away from the
camp. Some were boots, some bare feet,
and others were too strange to identify with.
No sign of Steve and Andy, nearly catatonic.
Fear and responsibility weighed heavily on me.
I had to find Steve. I had to find out what was
happening. Grabbing my flashlight and
radio, I set off into the woods, Colt by my side.
The forest seemed alive, watching me with unseen eyes.
Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig made my heart
race. The footprints we were following
were erratic, weaving between the trees as if whoever made
them was running from something or towards something
unimaginable. As we went deeper, the air grew
colder, the shadows darker. Then, just when I thought we
were lost, we came upon a clearing.
There was Steve, standing in the middle, looking confused and
scared. His clothes were torn, his face
pale and drawn. Steve, what happened?
I asked, stepping closer. He looked up at me, his eyes
unfocused, as if he was seeing me through a fog.
He, he came at me, Dan. I had to defend myself.
He stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.
In his hand he held a knife, its blade stained with dark blood.
I froze, taking in the scene. The ground was disturbed, signs
of a struggle evident in the snow.
I didn't want to believe it, but something terrible had happened
here. Colt growled again, his body
tense. He didn't trust Steve, and I had
to admit, something felt off. The Steve I knew wouldn't act
like this. He was always the steady 1, the
jokester, not this haunted figure before me.
We need to get back. I said slowly, watching Steve
closely. We can figure this out, but we
need to be safe back at camp. Steve nodded, but his movements
were jittery, uncertain. As we walked back, I kept Colt
close, the dogs unease mirroring my own.
When we returned to the ruined campsite, the full horror of the
night hit me. The snow around our tents was
blackened, as if burned. The food and gear were ruined,
scattered like leaves in a storm.
Then, out of nowhere, the haunting melody started again.
Soft and close voices joined it, forming a haunting chorus that
seemed to come from all around us.
I spun around, trying to locate the source, but it was
everywhere and nowhere. Colt barked furiously, and I
felt it. Then a pull, a tug in my chest,
like the music wanted me to follow it.
I resisted, focusing on the dog beside me, on the cold wind
against my face. We're not going to let it take
us. I said to Colt, though I was
really trying to convince myself.
We're going to make it through this.
The haunting melody that had plagued our night was now a
constant echo in the woods around us.
The more we tried to block it out, the clearer it seemed to
become. Steve's movements grew more
erratic, and his eyes darted around as if he was seeing
things in the shadows that I couldn't.
Colt stayed close, his growls low and menacing.
We should have never come here. Steve muttered, his voice
trembling. This place, it's cursed.
I couldn't disagree. Everything that had happened
since we arrived at Diotloff Pass, the strange behaviors, the
supernatural occurrences, and now the eerie music that
wouldn't cease it all pointed to something beyond our
understanding. Something malevolent.
As the day wore on, the sky remained a dull Gray, the sun
hidden behind thick, oppressive clouds.
We tried to reorganize what was left of our camp, but our
efforts felt futile. The sense of impending doom grew
with every passing minute. We need to leave.
I said decisively. Now we'll pack up what we can
and get out of here. Steve nodded, but his gaze was
fixed on something behind me. Turning around, I saw them.
Shadows at the edge of the clearing.
Not just shadows, but figures. Human like, but distorted, their
outlines blurry, as if seen through water.
They were moving towards us, slow and deliberate.
Dan, they're coming. Steve's voice cracked as he
backed away, stumbling over a fallen branch.
Colt barked ferociously, positioning himself between US
and the advancing figures. I grabbed my flashlight, shining
it directly at them, but it did nothing to dispel the gloom that
seemed to envelope them. As they drew closer, the details
of their appearances became horrifyingly clear.
Their eyes were hollow, their mouths agape and silent screams
and their skin pale and translucent.
Some bore the marks of violence, others the decay of time.
The melody grew louder, a cacophony that seemed to be
coming directly from the figures.
It was as though the song was their voice, a siren call that
was both a warning and a lure. We can't just stand here.
I shouted over the din, grabbing Steve's arm.
We need to move. We ran, stumbling through the
snow and underbrush, the figures mirroring our movements just
beyond the tree line. Every glance back showed them
closer, their numbers seemingly multiplying.
Suddenly, Steve stopped, his face going white as he stared at
something ahead. Dan, look in the path before us.
The ground was moving, not with life, but with a swarm of
shadows, forming a barrier that writhed and twisted on the snow.
It was as if the darkness itself was alive, blocking our way
forward. Trapped, we backed away, but the
figures from the woods closed in, encircling us.
Colt snarled and lunged at the nearest shadow, but it was like
biting air. There was nothing solid to hit.
I could feel the cold seeping into my bones, the song piercing
my mind, urging me to give in. Steve was beside me, shaking
uncontrollably. I can hear them, they're in my
head. The figures converged, the music
reaching a deafening pitch. I clutched my head, trying to
block out the sound, but it was inside me, a melody that knew no
end. In that moment, the world
narrowed to the song and the cold, the darkness and the
pressing weight of eyes unseen. The last thing I felt was Colt's
fur against my leg, his body pressed to mine in a final,
desperate attempt to protect me. Then everything went silent.
The Dyatlov Pass claimed us as it had claimed others before.
The melody lingered in the air, a final note hanging in the
chill, a reminder that some places are better left
unexplored. I've always had a weird group of
friends. They all went into manly careers
like logging, oil rig work, and construction.
I'm the black sheep of our little group of high school
buddies. I went into IT.
They give me a hard time about working on nerd stuff and I give
it back. Me no, like computer me dig.
I'm an unlikely addition to their group of friends, but it
works somehow. So there we are, in a bar.
This is one of those rare occasions when everyone's back
in town together and we're getting drunk, swapping stories
about horrors on the job. Someone talks about when part of
their oil rig blew up, killing three people a few years ago.
Danny, an actual lumberjack, talks about seeing a guy working
not ten feet from him get his arm torn clean off by a log
line. Just a quick zip and a limb went
flying. He held a shirt to the wound as
the man bled out, babbling and whining in agony until a life
flight came two hours too late. And all the while I'm sitting
there knowing I've got a story. But it's not the kind of story
I'd usually bring up to a bunch of drunk sort of friends.
Not the kind of story I'd tell anybody.
It's the kind of truly unsettling memory that you worry
should you tell it. You might give it life, you
might feed it somehow, make it more real.
I carry it around in the back of my mind like a caged, dangerous
animal, not considering letting it out until now.
Everyone has said something already, and I'm just sitting
there, looking sheltered, looking obvious.
So I ignore that voice in my head that says don't.
I ignore my dry, tightening throat.
I've got one. My voice cracks and they look
surprised. I'm surprised.
They all give me doubtful, amused looks.
Go on then, the looks say. And so I do.
I work from home on our 30 acres outside of a small town in
Alaska. I live alone, no kids.
It's a college town, just a small liberal arts College of a
few 100, but it's the heart of the town.
The campus is huge, with the natural beauty of the area being
a big draw. Reservation land neighbors the
campus, and the tribe sort of acts like Park Rangers for the
hundreds of miles of forest trails.
My own land borders part of the campus on the other side.
One day I'm out at the edge of the cleared part of my property,
right behind my house. It's probably about 200 yards
from the house. I'm watering a set of raised
beds I have right near the tree line, just enjoying the
scorching sunny day. And that's when something weird
happens. There's this sound, like a
record of someone speaking coming from a few 100 feet into
the woods. It's like someone talking to you
through a bad cell connection where only parts of the words
are coming through and it's just noise, but you can tell it's
supposed to be words. I just stood there listening to
the noise, curious but not afraid.
I didn't even turn the hose off. I think, looking back, that's
why it took me so long to get freaked out, to start taking it
seriously. Weird things like that.
Supernatural things. They happen at night, deep in
the woods, Not at 1:00 in the afternoon while standing right
in your backyard. After about 30 seconds, it just
stops. I turn the water off, then
figure out if it actually stopped or just got quieter.
Nothing. I file it away as a minor
oddity, something to be brought up later as a casual
conversation token or more likely, forgotten.
That was my first regret. Fast forward a couple of weeks.
I'm on a hike at the back of my property on one of the trails I
started last summer, which is pretty overgrown at this point.
I'm strolling, lost in thought beneath the tree cover, simply
enjoying the gorgeous Midsummer weather.
I'm pulled from my thoughts when I hear the odd sound in the
woods far in the distance, There's the sound of garbled
human speech. The forest around me, though, is
oddly quiet now. I'm not much of A risk taker,
and I generally prefer looking irrational to looking dead.
I casually turn and walk back towards the trail entrance, not
wanting to encourage any large predators by fleeing suddenly.
What the Hell's making that sound?
Anyway, I resolved to bring Danny along to check it out when
he comes to visit in two weeks. 2 weeks later I'm back at the
trailhead alone because Danny bailed on me.
I told him that if I died, I'd be coming straight to his
apartment to haunt the hell out of him.
I'm looking down the seemingly innocuous forest trail.
I steal myself, check my pack, bear spray and brand new Bowie
knife which I have no idea how to use.
It's just a sound, I tell myself.
I start down the path a few miles, and about an hour in, I
hear the first signs of that odd sound in the distance.
It's maybe 100 yards ahead and just off the side of the trail.
The forest, however, moves and rustles with life in that
familiar, reassuring way. I carry on.
As I approach the origin of the sound, I put my hand to the hilt
of my Bowie knife. The source of the sound, now
within 20 feet or so, is not immediately apparent.
It's the same stream of incoherent Babel, but with a
distinct crackling sound to it. Looking up, I see a small black
speaker fixed to a tree about 10 feet from the ground.
Huh. Fairly confident the speaker
poses no threat, I take my hand for my knife and inspect it.
Written on the side of the speaker in white paint is the
name of the local college and the words Forestry Department.
Ah, a clue and a reasonable explanation.
Go figure. Content that I won't have to
stab anything or haunt any apartments this day, I head back
home during a slow day. The next week, I call the
forestry department of the college.
Yes, I'd like to speak to the Dean.
No, I'm not a student. No, they don't know I'm calling.
The Dean answered in a bored voice, but seemed eager to
answer my questions as if I were the highlight of an otherwise
mundane day. As it turns out, the speaker is,
or was a sort of live art project in which students could
write and record poems to be spoken aloud in the forest.
It's solar panelled. But he suspected the connection
to the speaker, I found, had gone bad.
Once per semester, someone was supposed to come out and upload
new MP threes to a waterproof MP3 player near the base of each
tree. He went on to say that they
discontinued the project due to outcry from the nearby tribe.
Initially, he ignored their request to take down the
speakers, but the vice president of the college eventually
stepped in when complaints persisted, worried about souring
good relations with the tribe. They'd probably missed my
station when they went to take them all down, he said.
Mystery solved. Hiking season passes without
incident. About a month after the snows
finally melt, I decide to go on another hike on the trail with
the speaker. I've got some overnight camping
gear with me and I plan to camp out near my turn around point a
few hours away. I almost missed the speaker when
I'm about an hour in. It's completely silent now.
I stopped to poke at the electronics event, but there's
nothing obviously wrong with it. The fraying connections appear
to have finally worn out over the winter.
I continue down the trail. About two hours later, I've set
up my tent and prepared a simple camp.
It's late afternoon, but I'm restless With a few hours of
daylight left. I decide to walk ahead of my
turn around point for a little bit.
I pick a little offshoot trail that leads upward, perhaps with
the promise of a nice view. Just a few minutes into the
walk, my mind is drifting. I'm just soaking up the late
afternoon sun and basking in the first good weather of the
season. I've picked the perfect time to
explore. Damn, this is nice, I think to
myself, and a moment later I hear that familiar unsettling
sound of speaking in the distance.
I pause on the trail, my brain still registering the noise as
something innocuous. This sound is a little
different, and Even so far away I can tell that it's a higher
quality than the first speaker. I get closer and have to go a
little off the trail to make out the words.
It's definitely missing that crackly sound, so I can easily
make out the words. It's the sound of a woman
reading poems, just as the Dean said.
Less perturbed than I once was, I decide to sit on a rock near
the speaker, pull out my water, and take a little break.
I'm sitting there listening to the sounds of the forest and the
voice reading the familiar poems.
It still feels a little eerie though, and after just a few
minutes, I decide it's time to get going again.
I tossed my water bottle into my pack and stand to leave.
And that's when I hear the other voice.
Someone nearby is babbling these crazy nonsense words.
I perk up, curious but not yet afraid.
It has this strange warbling sound, like the natural rise and
fall of pitch in a sentence, but in all the wrong places, like
someone turning random words in a sentence into questions.
It's the kind of sound you'd laugh at if you weren't alone in
a forest miles and miles from help.
The forest goes dead silent around me.
As if flipping a switch, the sound begins trailing close
through some thick brush in front of me.
I'm totally frozen in place, just listening to this
ridiculous noise like a giant Basso baby voice.
I utter under my breath. What the hell?
I see just a glimpse of something coming through the
brush and then my trance is broken.
My conscious mind is slammed to the back seat as my animal
instincts send me sprinting back toward the trail.
I'm already careening back down the trail before I even realize
what I'm running from. And then it hits me.
A wall of realization. A great, towering cloud of cold,
crippling realization. I actually stumble.
My neurons fire in slow motion. The implications are forming in
my mind like a slowly condensing water droplet just before the
release. And then the fall.
My chest tightens and I take a sudden, sharp breath.
It was a hand. Some kind of elongated,
grotesque hand reaching through the brush.
A body to match that distorted voice.
It's then that I hear it again, on the path right behind me.
What the hell? It warbles like it's learned a
phrase for the first time and it's trying it out loud.
And then I'm running. I'm barely touching the ground,
feet flying down the tight forest trail in the late
afternoon sun. Tree branches are slapping at me
as I barrel down the path. Careless, mindless.
My nerves are on a knife's edge for the entire Sprint back to
camp, ears pricked, skin covered in goosebumps.
I enter a clearing and slow to walk cautiously into camp, my
hand hovering lightly over my Bowie knife.
I see my tent in the small clearing where the main trail
splits into these smaller tributaries.
The tent sits in the shade, flat, partially open.
I stop staring at it. It would take about 10 minutes
to pack it up. I contemplate it for about half
a second. Nope.
And then I'm moving again, back on the main trail.
Now I'm holding a sustainable jog, but after about 30 seconds
I slide to a stop because I hear something new.
And then I hear nothing. A quiet deeper than anything
before. No distant birds, no rustling
leaves, no quiet breeze or chirping insects.
There's only complete and unnatural silence.
It's almost suffocating. It's like having a giant glass
jar dropped around me. One second there's a rich
blanket of forest sounds, and then next it's like I'm in a
vacuum. I freeze.
I can feel my heart pounding out of my chest, but otherwise I'm
as silent and still as the forest around me.
The air is hot, still and dead on my sweaty skin, like standing
in a silent summer attic. An odd thought occurs to me, an
intuition that I shouldn't move. People always get that feeling
like they're being watched, but it isn't quite like that.
It's not like being watched, it's like I'm being examined and
my guts telling me to blend in, to do what the bugs and the
birds and the trees are doing. Sit still and wait.
Do as they do. This isn't something you run
from. Do as they do and survive.
So I wait, frozen in an awkward position, mid stride, mid
breath, refusing to even blink or look around.
I stand there like a store mannequin in the closet.
Watching through wooden slats as something very bad looks back at
me, trying to figure out if I'm actually a mannequin or just
something. Pretending.
We look at each other like that, this force, and I.
For 10 seconds my head is swimming with terror. 20 seconds
my lungs are screaming for air and my heart is pounding still.
It examines me and suddenly the gaze is broken.
Its focus is on something else. My vision narrows to a pinpoint
because my brain is clamoring for oxygen.
Far off, I hear a rustle of leaves, and then, slowly, it
comes my way. Not the rustle of a creature,
but a great collective exhale from the forest.
The sound of the forest returns in great sweeps past me.
I bend, put my hands to my knees, and join in with a
heaving gasp of my own. The rest of the trip back is a
barely restrained panic. I jump at every twig snapping,
but I'm in a forced calm because the logical part of me knows I
can't run forever. I set my pace at a brisk hike
for two hours into the late evening.
It's getting dark by the time I get back to my property.
In the bar. My friends are all statues,
still faces slack. No one's touched their drink in
5 minutes. My whole body's shaking as I
absent mindedly run the fingers of both hands up through my
hair. It was like I was staring down
the barrel of a gun. I say.
A gun I couldn't see, but I knew.
I knew that if I had so much as twitched, I wouldn't be here
right now. It would have known I was there.
It would have known I was real. And I never went back for that
tent. I say, taking a sip of my beer
and taking a little grim satisfaction in my friend's
stunned, distant faces. They let out a few half hearted,
nervous chuckles at my attempt to lighten the mood, but
otherwise everyone seems intensely interested in their
drinks. The table or the floor.
Man. One of them eventually says.
Yeah. I reply.
We're all pretty quiet and unusually pensive until we pay
our tabs and leave the bar. On the way out, one of my
buddies pulls me aside and asks, Was that really true?
All of it, I mean, I just sort of squint and look up at the
stars in the Alaskan sky. Eventually, the words I'm
looking for come to me. There are things out there that
no one can explain, things that don't have names.
And I think every now and then someone comes across one.
The smart people, the lucky people like me, are the ones who
get to tell their stories. He looks at me for a moment
longer. Then, seemingly content with my
answer, he nods and walks to his car.
Night, he says. Of course I don't tell him
There's more. I don't tell him.
It wasn't some ethereal, invisible force staring me down
in the woods. It was a monster.
A lanky, horrid, yet somehow human thing.
It was in the shape of a man, but it was no man.
God gave me two gifts that day. The first was sparing my life
and the other was keeping that creature in the periphery of my
vision. I did tireless research after
that incident in the forest. I found out about a missing
homeless man and the dismembered corpse the cops found in the
woods. Parts of a corpse anyway.
And I found out about something called the Acadic site.
I think that's how you say it. A follow up call to the Dean
from the nearby university got me that, and it got me a meeting
with the grandson of the shaman who asked the university to take
the speakers down. I met with him the very next
day. I don't know how well I can
explain it. I don't think of it the same way
my grandfather does, Ida says. I follow up immediately.
Try me. You know how everything that's
alive today has some of the same DNA?
Like, if you go back far enough, we all have a common ancestor,
Even really different things like germs?
Well, I think acadixite are in that family tree.
I think they come from something else.
He sort of trails off, perhaps expecting skepticism from me.
Two days ago, maybe. But he doesn't know that I have
a good reason not to be a skeptic.
These things aren't a joke, you know?
He tells me, fingers wrapped around a Frappuccino.
People at the college think my grandfather's crazy.
They only listen to him because he's respected in the tribe.
But even though they respect him, most of the tribe thinks
he's crazy, too. Do you think he's crazy?
I ask him about this. He looks brave, and the sudden
seriousness from this man surprises me.
No, he's not crazy. He's not crazy because I saw
one. It was like five or six years
ago. I was out in the woods on an
ATV, just weaving through trees, and I was going too fast.
I was stupid back then. I did a lot of stupid stuff.
Anyway, I'm in some pretty sparse woods, so it's easy to
see far off, and I see this animal laying down in the
distance. I turn my ATV to get closer and
I can tell it's a deer as I'm pulling up to it.
I cut the engine and just roll to a stop about 20 feet from the
thing. I think it must be heard or
something because it's back legs aren't working and it's pulling
itself along by its front legs. Thinking I'll need to kill it, I
go to pull out my knife. As soon as I reach down this
thing's head just snaps towards me and I don't mean it heard a
sound and sort of looked around then saw me.
It just immediately jerked its head right towards me.
It it didn't look right. It was like someone tried to
make a deer but didn't have all the right parts.
It was all twisted and gangly with these nasty swollen eyes
just staring at me. And I got this feeling like it
was trying to figure me out, trying to figure out what I was.
And then a couple seconds later it just turned and dragged
itself away. Wow.
I say with real awe. I pushed my ATV as fast as it
could go back to the house and that's when my grandfather told
me about the acadic site. He said they were bad spirits
that spawned deep in the forest. They're attached to signs of
life, noise, sight, stuff like that.
And when they find something alive, they sort of copy it, but
they disassemble it first. Once they've copied something,
they try and find more of it to make a better copy.
I don't really know why, it's just what he told me.
Most of the time they're harmless, but every now and then
one shows up in the shape of a deer, a dog or something else.
And then some men go out and take care of it.
Huh. So what did they do about the
one you saw? They went out to find a deer.
A real deer. When they caught one, they
brought it to the acadic site. The only way to kill them is to
make them copy something already dying.
We sat in silence there for a moment, drinks forgotten.
I saw one. I say what?
He says, surprised. And I think I know why.
Your grandfather wanted the speakers taken down.
What he was afraid of. It happened.
Wait, wait, slow down. What are you talking about?
There's a human Akadek seat out there.
A few hours later, we're standing at the trailhead behind
my apartment. It's turning into evening now,
with only about an hour of real daylight left.
There's a group of men nearby from Ida's tribe, talking to
each other in hushed voices. Behind them are a dozen or so
women and children, and some of the women are crying.
Ida, what's going on? I ask in whispered tones but
emotions for me to wait. As the circle of shaman breaks
up, an older man in his early 60s, who I assume is Ida's
grandfather, walks over to us at the entrance to the trail.
He doesn't stop to talk to us, but just nods his head in our
direction and continues past us down the trail.
He has a wiry sort of strength to him, despite his age, and the
feathered garb and war paint on his body lend him an air of
danger. I see an ornate stone dagger on
his belt as he goes. Eventually I speak.
When's he coming back? And Ida just gives me this flat,
mournful look. He isn't coming back.
And then I remember Ida's words. The only way to kill them is to
make them copy something already dying.