The Haunting of the Mountain (Mountain Men of Whispering Winds #9)

1. Kyla

Chapter 1

Kyla

“Are you sure we’re in the right place?” I ask, surveying the charming downtown from the passenger seat.

The main street is adorned with a tasteful mix of autumnal and Halloween decorations. Fall wreaths hang from the black metal lampposts with glittering string lights in between. Pumpkins and gourds of all shapes, sizes, and colors sit on hay bales. And the decorative storefronts, all brick and stone facades with gorgeous, gleaming windows and architectural flourishes, are to die for.

For a town that’s supposedly filled with paranormal activity, I’m not getting that vibe.

“Are you kidding me?” Nell asks, eyes on the road as she tries to find a parking space. “A town this wholesome has some demons. Ancient curses or cults too, if you ask me,” she adds.

She might have a point. This town seems a little too perfect. A little too nice. Surely, something’s lurking beneath the bespoke, autumnal landscapes painted on storefront windows. The picture-perfect families dressed like they’re headed to a Land’s End catalog photoshoot. And the?—

“Does this town smell like cinnamon?” I shout-whisper.

I sniff the air as I roll down the window, struck by the undeniable scent of cinnamon, nutmeg, and… ginger?

“Pumpkin. Spice,” Nell, corrects me. “Should I turn around? Maybe we’re in over our heads with this one. Cult ,” she gusts out, her knuckles white on the steering wheel.

I can’t help but laugh.

“We should probably start recording,” I say, grabbing my phone and pretending to videotape her. “Get some footage before our inevitable disappearance. Maybe someone will find it and make a podcast about our story. Or if we’re lucky, an entire Netflix docuseries.”

Nell glares at me. “Don’t joke.”

I smile, glancing out the window again. “I can’t help it. The town might be a little… different . But so are we. A ghost hunter and cryptid enthusiast? We’re just as odd. Besides,” I add, sinking back into my seat. “I can’t think of a better place to investigate than a town that makes both of us a little uneasy.”

Nell seems to relax. “It will make for a good podcast series, I guess. ”

I think so too. There have been whispers online about Whispering Winds. Strange things happen here. Inexplicable weather anomalies. Women get stranded, go missing, and then reappear with engagement rings on their fingers and giant men who appear more beast than human at their sides. And there’s been some talk of people selling souls for cobbler so good only the devil could have possibly made it.

Haunted cabins and spooky cryptids too, of course. And after finally speaking with a resident who left years ago, we decided to investigate for ourselves. But we’re switching things up.

Nell, the resident ghost hunter will be searching for cryptids with a local guide, while I’ll try to contact spirits in a remote haunted cabin. I’m a little bummed that I’m not out here searching for Bigfoot, especially considering the history of big, burly, mountain men. Some of the photos the ex-resident emailed us have made me think we’ve been searching for the big guy in the wrong areas all along. His lineage might have its origins here…

“Maybe you should interview some of the locals. Figure out when the cult meets next. Do you think there’ll be a potluck?”

If looks could kill, I’d be dead and haunting this car from the one Nell’s leveling at me.

“Kidding,” I say.

Kinda.

“Oh, God,” Nell whispers as she slows down. “They’ve blocked off the road. Are those cops?”

“I think so?”

Two uniformed men stand in front of a large barricade with bunches of straw stalks exploding wildly from their collars, sleeves, pants, and in between the buttons on their shirts.

“Scarecrops?” Nell asks.

“Police Strawfficers?” I proffer.

“I’m telling you, Kyla. There’s something off with this town.”

I pat her leg. “It’s fine. They’re setting up for a festival.”

A large banner hangs across the road, fluttering in the wind. I can’t make out the words but pumpkins, colorful assortments of leaves, apples, and of course, scarecrows, weave together to form an intricate autumnal tapestry. Men, women, and children, some in costumes and some in flannel, filter through the barricades and into the open road filled with multicolored stalls.

“Festival? I’m sure that’s just code for a ritual sacrifice for the new girls in town. Check if there’s a full moon toni—Oh, hi, Officer,” Nell coos, shifting seamlessly into a saccharine tone as she rolls down the window.

“Howdy,” he says, bending down low to look through the window. A few bits of straw fall out of his sleeve and into Nell’s lap.

“Sorry about that,” he says, taking them from Nell’s hand and shoving them back into his sleeve.

“Oh, no problem,” Nell says in a voice that screams we very much have a problem. “Wha-what’s going on here?”

Nell clears her throat. I clear my throat. My grip on her leg tightens unintentionally as I try to shove Nell’s unfounded conspiracy out of my head. There’s nothing sinister about this town!

“Road’s closed for the Great Harvest Festival.”

Nell slides her hand off the steering wheel and takes mine into a death grip. “Great Harvest Festival?” she squeaks.

The officer nods.

“What are—what are you… Harvesting?” she croaks.

Don’t say virgins. Don’t say virgins.

DO. NOT. SAY. VIRGINS.

I glance around nervously, hoping some nice mountain man might help me out before?—

“Apples and pumpkins. Some corn and wheat.”

Phew.

He clicks his tongue and then lowers his sunglasses down his nose, painted red with ochre. “New to town?”

“Nope. Not at all, Officer.”

My eyes flare. My pulse accelerates. And now it’s my turn to squeeze the hell out of her hand. What is she doing?!

“Well, I am,” the officer says, loosening up. “My first festival. Is it as fun as it looks?”

“Yes,” both of us answer in unison.

He makes a throaty noise and then taps on the frame of the window. “Well, cars are lining up and I don’t want to take more of your time. Actually,” he says, bending down low again and taking a long hard look at us. “Don’t go anywhere.”

The officer walks away and immediately Nell reaches for the shifter but I stop her. “Don’t. Do it.”

“We need to get out of here, Kyla. Harvest Festival? Are you kidding me? That’s just code for—Hiiiiii,” she coos in that same voice as the officer returns.

“A few parting gifts,” he says, handing over two paper cups of a heavenly-smelling liquid and… what the hell are those?

“Corn dolls. Handmade,” he says.

It looks like someone wrapped a crucifix with cornhusks and twine to make a makeshift human body. There’s a dress. “Hair.” And a face that’s composed of two black dots and a shaky smile that the Joker would be jealous of.

“By my daughter,” he adds. “And that’s some of the best apple cider around. Damn fine. Pardon my language.”

“N-no problem at all, officer. Thanks,” Nell says.

“Cute,” I squeak, patting the “doll” as I try not to cringe. “Tell her thanks.”

He nods. “You can make a U-turn there,” the officer says, pointing. “There’s some parking on 5 th and 6 th Street last I heard.”

As soon as the officer leaves, Nell makes a U-turn and I consider chucking the corn dolls out the window but Nell’s the one to stop me this time.

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “Fire. Burn them to ash. If we toss those dolls, we’ll either wake up with them tucked in next to us or not at all because they strangled us in our sleep. Cursed,” she adds, under her breath.

A few minutes later, we find a parking spot, and I can’t help but laugh.

“We’re insane.”

Nell looks at me.

“Right? Cults and curses? Some sinister underbelly in this sleepy mountain town? It has been far too long since we’ve breathed air this fresh. We need to get out more.”

I can’t even remember the last time I had a date. As I reach for the cup of cider, I swear Nell’s about to knock my hand away.

She sighs, turning off the car and slumping back in her seat. “You’re probably right. They probably didn’t drug that cider. They’re not waiting in a nearby dark alley for it to take effect so that they can collect their next human sacrifices.”

I bring the cup to my lips, eyeing her over the rim. “I’m doing it.”

She watches me closely as I take my first sip, searching for any clue that something’s amiss, but there’s nothing amiss. This cider is heavenly. Nectar of the small town gods. I might tell her it’s awful so I can take hers.

“ Nell ,” I moan. “The corn dolls might be cursed but this makes it all worth it.”

“I’ll hold off for now,” she says. “Just to be safe.”

“Let’s get you checked into this hotel so I can get to my haunted cabin.”

“You still want to go through with this?”

“Does Bigfoot poop in the woods?”

Nell grabs the keys and tries to put them into the ignition but I stop her. “Hey!”

She looks at me. “What? I thought you didn’t want to go through with it.”

I groan. “Because there’s no such thing as Bigfoot. Ha ha. I’d be happy to trade places with you. I’m going to be bored to tears talking to myself alone in a dark cabin all weekend.”

Not only does Nell get to stay at a gorgeous, rustic Inn for a few nights. She’ll be gallivanting through the forest, ’Squatch hunting with some strapping mountain man guide. I shouldn’t have agreed to this switcharoo.

“You bring that energy and you’ll be in for it. Ghosts feed on negativity.”

“I’m not being negative. I think it’s comical that you’d rather believe this town is a part of some cult than in Bigfoot. I think that requires a bigger leap than an elusive animal who lives deep in the mountains and avoids humans. Hell, I think I’m looking at one of his descendants now.”

A large. Scratch that. A massive mountain of a man, clad in flannel, walks by our car, and I can’t help but stare. I’ve never seen someone that big before.

“Well,” Nell says as we both follow the burly man’s lumbering gait down the sidewalk before he disappears inside the Whispering Winds Inn. “I guess we should go into this with eyes wide open.”

I snort.

“Come on, let’s go.”

“It doesn’t look haunted.”

The drive from Whispering Winds took longer than I expected, but we’re finally here. I wasn’t nervous before, but the realization of spending the weekend alone this far from civilization is finally setting in.

“Famous last words,” Nell says as she parks the car in front of the cabin.

I groan. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“You’ll be fine. Keep that crucifix and holy water nearby in case of emergency.”

I snort. “Ghosts aren’t the scary thing. This looks like some serial killer’s cabin. Like, are we sure this isn’t some scam to lure unsuspecting women out here to a kill shack? I’m keeping my bear mace with me at all times, not a squirt gun filled with holy water.”

“There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Says the woman who thinks there’s a cult running that wholesome little town.”

“Okay, I might’ve been wrong about that. Although…” She bats the steering wheel with her thumb, considering her next words. “We should probably leave the engine running.”

“Nell…”

“I’m joking, of course. This place is legit. Legit haunted too from what the owner told me. There’s this lumberjack ghost who wanders around the property. He said he saw him at the foot of his bed one night, thumbing his axe.”

Nell unbuckles her seatbelt and then hops out of the car. I can’t help but notice that the engine is still running. I sigh. That settles it. I’m not leaving this mountain alive. And this cabin will assuredly be haunted soon because I’ll be the one haunting it.

The car door shuts with a solid thud, reverberating through the crisp mountain air as I head for the cabin. It’s so dark up here. Quiet too apart from the hum of insects. A part of me hopes I’ll have a run-in with a ghost so I won’t feel so alone out here.

“He said it would be unlocked,” Nell says slowly as I approach.

“Is it?”

She grabs the handle and it creaks open slowly.

“Are you sure this is legit?” I ask again.

“Totally,” she squeaks.

“That’s not exactly reassuring,” I say, wrapping my arms around myself as I wonder if I should’ve let Nell take the reins on booking this place. “Where did you find this place? Who owns it?”

“I forwarded you the reservation. The cabin used to be housing for one of the first lumber mills here. And after the mill burned down, everything was either abandoned or sold off. If this house isn’t haunted, the land definitely is.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“You know that guy from Whispering Winds that we’ve been emailing? He connected me with the nephew of the cabin’s owner.”

“Why didn’t you speak with the uncle?”

“Because his uncle is off-grid a lot of the time. His nephew looks after the cabin while he’s gone. He’s usually up here the entire month of October because it’s a busy time for his uncle.”

I glance around the cabin, wondering what “off-grid” looks like to his uncle.

“And his uncle approved?”

“I didn’t ask.”

Cool. So instead of a ghost lumberjack standing at my bed at three in the morning, I’ll have a real one.

“If I get murdered, I’m blaming you.”

Nell switches on the lights and then glances back at me “Can you trust me, Kyla?”

As I glance around the cabin, taking note of the best possible escape routes, all I can say is, “I hope so.”

This isn’t so bad.

The cabin. The dark woods. Being alone.

I thought I’d freak out once Nell left me alone in the wilderness with only wild animals and a spectral lumberjack to keep me company. So far I’ve held it together.

My main concern is whatever critter is living beneath the cabin. Possibly a family of critters. I’m hoping for something small. Chipmunks… maybe a raccoon or two. I’d prefer my lodging free of feral animals but in a place like this? I’ll consider myself lucky if I get out of here without contracting rabies.

“Potato.”

I snort at the robotic voice speaking through the ghost-hunting gadget Nell left me. Spirit Box? SB seven hundred ultra ghost edition? I can’t remember what it is but it’s grating on my nerves with the constant static interspersed with what is apparently, a recipe for some kind of stew. I’m not quite sure what my lumberjack buddy is trying to communicate to me, but it’s clear that he’s a little hungry.

And so am I.

I’ve been at this for a few hours and there’s been no ghostly activity. At least there hasn’t been anything that I can attribute to ghosts. The scratching I hear at the far corner of the cabin is raccoons, rats, or mice. Possibly all of the above. The phantom cold spots are nothing more than wind leaking through this drafty cabin. And this Spirit Box? Overpriced technology.

“Mash… Mash,” the Spirit Box growls. “Freezer. In the freezer.”

I cover the speaker, providing a brief respite to my sanity as I ask my ghostly buddy, “Are you hungry? I’m sorry but my forte is ramen, mac and cheese, and microwaveable dinners.”

I uncover the speaker, the static filling my ears once again but there’s no response. After a few more minutes, I turn it off because I can’t take it anymore.

“Must have died of starvation,” I mutter to the camera I set up for the investigation. “I might too if I don’t eat something soon. I’ll try out the Ouija board once I’m done.”

I turn off the camera and then grab my flashlight. The interior is lit fairly well from the fire Nell and I were able to make in the wood stove. We only smoked ourselves out for a few minutes.

I navigate toward the lamp next to the well-worn leather couch and yank at the chain. I block the light with my arm, blinking as my eyes begin to readjust.

The cabin is surprisingly cozy for a serial killer or whatever the dude’s uncle does for a living out here. The furniture looks handmade. Maybe he’s a craftsman.

I grab my phone and a box of macaroni from my bag.

Nell: Any paranormal activity?

Kyla: Gastrointestinal, mostly.

Nell: ???

I attempt to clarify but the message fails to send. It’s not long until I switch the camera back on. The isolation is beginning to get to me but the camera makes it feel like I have someone else with me.

“And I’m back,” I say, walking around the kitchen as I monologue for a minute or two, explaining the intricacies of preparing boxed macaroni and cheese like I’m on some Food Network show. Haunted and Hungry? Ghostly Gastronomy? Yeah, probably wouldn’t make it out of a pilot episode, especially when each episode would be me inventing new ways to cook the same mac and cheese.

“Should we take a tour?” I ask, hearing nothing but deafening silence before gasping. “Did you hear that? I think the ghost wants to see the fridge. Unfortunately, there’s nothing but the basics and some leftovers. The freezer…” I mutter, cringing at the frosty air as I glance inside. “Is a different story.”

I poke at the frozen meat. “I think this might be where the dead bodies are stored,” I joke. Kinda.

“Interesting,” I mutter, eyeing the lone container that isn’t vacuum-packed meat. I plop it onto the counter, trying to open it one-handed as I angle the camera for the big reveal.

“Hold on,” I say, setting the camera down.

After a few more seconds of struggling I pry off the lid and… “Jackpot.” I know a dessert when I see one, and this one looks delicious.

“Look at that crust,” I say, aiming the camera at the large square of cobbler, golden and oozing with blueberries or blackberries or all of the above. I wonder if this is the legendary cobbler our Whispering Winds insider told us about.

“I’ll have to thank my lumberjack pal for the tip. This cobbler looks delicious.”

Thunder cracks and I jump as the lights flicker. Once my nerves settle, I point the camera toward the window. Rain lashes against the glass as the wind howls. The storm has been growing in intensity over the last couple of hours making everything moan and creak.

“It’s a dark and stormy night,” I tell the camera. “Perfect for ghost hunting, but even better for dessert.”

I turn on the oven, pop in the cobbler, and then sink into the couch. Tonight is going to be a good night.

The candles surrounding me flicker as my fingers rest lightly on the planchette. I thought they’d help set the mood, but there hasn’t been a peep from the lumberjack ghost since I started asking him questions. The planchette hasn’t budged, but my heart is hammering from this brutal storm. I’m not used to storms like this. I haven’t heard of mountain tornados, but I think one might be knocking on my door soon.

I glance back at the camera angled down at my hands. “Sorry, guys. I think our lumberjack must have fallen asleep for the night.”

This ghost has given me nothing, which was exactly what I expected, but I’d hope for a little bit of action.

“Maybe I should take out the Spirit Box again. He wasn’t too shy to talk earlier.”

Thunder cracks and I jump, sending the planchette across the board and then skidding on the floor. I take a deep breath and then retrieve it.

“Okay, last question before we call this a bust.” I rub my hands together and then shake out my limbs. “Lumberjack, lumberjack, lumberjack…” I begin in mock seriousness. I know you’re not supposed to mock ghosts but a little prodding could do him some good. “I found your cobbler stash. Thank you. It was delicious.”

A crack of lightning illuminates the interior of the cabin, and I shriek when I see that damn corn doll sitting on the rocking chair in the corner of the room. I swear I left that thing in the car. Nell must’ve snuck it back in here. Thankfully, it’s on a chair and not beneath the covers of my bed.

Unless…

No, Nell wouldn’t leave me with two of the dolls, right?

I exhale slowly. I’m cool. It’s the weather that’s getting to me and nothing more. I clear my throat. “Okay. So, last question, lumberjack. Are you going to make an appearance at my bedside tonight?”

I wait for the planchette to move but it refuses.

“Or maybe tomorrow night? I hear you like to stare at people as they— hoooly…” I mutter as I feel the planchette move. “I swear I’m not doing this.”

Right? Or am I feeding into this? Am I— thump, thumpthump, thump!

I barely register the heavy thuds outside as I watch the planchette move toward ‘Yes,’ freezing in place as I turn toward the camera, my mouth open.

Thunder booms and the front door swings open as a dark silhouette of a massive, solid figure steps forward and fills the doorway

I scream, chucking the planchette at it but missing completely. I launch the Ouija board like a frisbee, and it connects with the beast. It grunts and growls and moans as the board falls to the ground.

I don’t know what the hell that thing is but it’s not human. No man is that big and thick and heavy and holy shit, I need to get out of here before Sasquatch makes me his next meal.

I knock the camera off the coffee table as I launch myself over the couch and crawl-run into the bedroom, shutting it firmly and locking it as if that will stop him. I’ve seen The Shining. I know what axes can do to a wood door.

This. This right here. This is how I die.