A Man of the Mountain - Murder on the Mountain

13. Murder on the Mountain

The cast and crew were continuing their languid pace up the mountain. Shirley watched as one-by-one, their headlamps turned on in the growing darkness creating crisscrossing cones of light. In that instant, she knew that something was very wrong. The forest had gone quiet, the lights looked hollow, and the world felt charged, as if it were waiting for something to happen. The hairs on her arm stood on end.

     “This is too obvious,” said Nick, running his hands over a freshly mutilated tree. “No creature that’s lived for hundreds of years is this clumsy.” Every mile they traveled up the mountain, signs of the beast appeared more frequently. Tree bark along the trail’s edge was slashed, fur hung in clumps from the trees. “Something is not right about this.”

     Shirley paid him no attention. Without realizing it, her hand had dropped to the pistol at her side.

     “Hey,” Nick snapped his fingers in front of her face. “Don’t you get it?” Stress lines creased the corners of his eyes. “It’s leaving us breadcrumbs. Animals don’t do that. Things that want to be found do.”

     Shirley’s fingers moved automatically to unclip the pistol from its holster. She had barely heard Nick’s words. Something was still very off.  

     “Do you want to get cooked by a witch, Gretel?!” shouted Nick.

Her fingers had barely closed around the pistol grip when a scream cut through the otherwise quiet forest. The sound was horrifying. It stopped suddenly, leaving a heavy silence in its wake. The crew stopped dead, everyone looking wildly around at the dark forest surrounding them.

     “That’s why you stay at the back of the line,” whispered Nick. He drew his pistol and began moving toward Mansen.

     Shirley followed suit.  

     A panicked murmur spread among the crew as they began to fan out, still looking for the source of the noise. Mansen had remained at the front of the line, but his eyes had grown wide with fear. He too was searching the trees for the sound of the noise. He clung to an oversized rifle like his life depended on it; it probably did. By how he was holding it, Shirley wondered if he had actually ever used it.

     “Who was it?” whispered Nick, sidling up to Mansen.

     Mansen stayed silent for a moment.

     Shirley kept her eyes on the path ahead of them. The scream had come from further up the mountain, she was sure of it. The trail ahead was illuminated by only their headlamps. Snowflakes fell with ghostly quiet.

     “I,” started Mansen, and then stopped. The reality of the situation had finally dawned on him.

     “Who was it?” asked Shirley, repeating Nick’s question.

     “I sent a scout up to get some establishing shots.” He spoke languidly like a man in a dream.

     “We should turn back,” said Nick, making sure to keep his voice low. “Whatever is up there is baiting us.”

     “Don’t be silly,” seethed Mansen. “It’s a wild animal.” He adjusted his headlamp and raised the rifle to the tree line. “It’s hunting.” The performance was quite impressive until he glanced to his right to make sure a camera was still trained on him.

     One crewmember had remained dedicated to the cause and was dutifully filming Mansen, holding the camera with shaking hands.

     “Well, you’re right about one thing,” countered Nick. “It is hunting, but it’s not a wild animal. We need to turn around and think of a better plan that isn’t walking into a trap.” He was growing exasperated and the pallid fear was plain to see behind his eyes.

     While it pained Shirley to be on the same side as Mansen, she didn’t like the idea of leaving anyone on the mountain to die.  “We can’t just leave them up there. They might be hurt.” She knew as well as they did that the person was probably dead, but if there was even a chance…

     “The dead don’t feel pain,” answered Nick. “Whoever it was has it easier than us now.”

     “Y-yes,” stammered Mansen. He took a deep breath and regained his persona. “We’re not going to leave a crewmember behind. We’ve never lost anyone on this program and I don’t plan on starting tonight.”

     Nick threw his hands up in frustration. “You’ve already lost them, Rick!” He pointed a finger up the dark trail. “The only thing waiting for us up there is a trap and a corpse. I, for one, don’t have a high motivation to find either of them!”

     “If you’re too scared, feel free to turn around. We never had need of your services to begin with.” A malevolent grin spread across Mansen’s face. “Although, I imagine it would be hard for a respectable monster hunter to find work after they were proved a coward on national television.”

     “Son of a bitch.” Nick stomped away, running a hand through his hair.

     “Come on, time is of the essence,” called Mansen to the rest of the crew. “We need to save…” he trailed off and looked to a production assistant that had returned to his side.

     The PA was still clearly stunned but managed to mouth ‘Bob’.

     “We need to save Bob!” With that, Mansen’s fear evaporated, giving way to the one emotion that was stronger; pride. He continued his mad march up the mountain.

     Shirley, unsure of what to do, walked over to where Nick was fuming.

     “Asshole,” he muttered. “If we turn around now, then we’re two prey alone on this mountain. Unless it’s after Mansen specifically, we’d be the easier target.” His pistol was gripped firmly in his right hand, his finger held sideways against the safety, ready to move at the slightest hint of danger. “He played us, Shirley.”

     “Weren’t you saying earlier that it wasn’t a sasquatch anyway?” It seemed that mending Nick’s damaged psyche was a more pressing need than the likely murdered cameraman further up.

     “Yes, but what’s that got to do with it?”

     “Shouldn’t it be less dangerous?”

     Nick’s eyes widened with incredulity. “Absolutely not. Sasquatches are predictable. Humans on the other hand, especially the bloodthirsty kind, are irrational, impulsive, and among the most dangerous creatures on the planet. Mark my words, when we get to the top of this damned mountain, someone is going to die and they’re going to die quick. Might want to pull out a notepad because the Local Eye is going to be running a special on obituaries.”

     With that, Nick pushed a few interns out of the way and rejoined the line, this time in the middle. Shirley hurried after him.

     It didn’t take them long to reach the source of the attack and realize that as Nick had said, it was far too late. They found the cameraman kneeling in the center of the path in a deep puddle of his own blood. Steam rose in lazy tendrils from the body. Frost coated his lips and the life had long since left his eyes.

     “Want to check for a pulse?” asked Nick, stepping out of the line. “I think you might still be able to save him.”

     “A man has died here, Nick,” gagged Mansen, turning away from the sight. “You three.” He pointed at the interns. “Wrap him up and get him down the mountain.”

     The interns stepped forward silently and went to work. Shirley guessed that they were willing to do anything if it got them off the mountain. She had half a mind to join them but seeing the attack brought it all back. Crime scene photos flashed before her once more and it was as if she was right there again. She could see her partner’s face, eyes wide with terror, mouth open in a silent scream. The cold green room with the metal tables swam before her eyes. Not again.

     Just then, a howl cut through her thoughts like a knife. It was deep, low, and mournful, reminding her of old werewolf movies. Even Nick took a break from berating Mansen for poor leadership to listen. With amazing speed, he pulled a tape recorder from his pocket and caught the last few seconds of it. Then, he walked around, holding the recorder out to the forest, waiting for it to happen again.

     “What was that?” asked Mansen, his bravado momentarily faltering.

     “Shh,” whispered Nick. “That’s the monster you came up here to destroy.”