Derek

Silence again, thick and oppressive. A few steps later, the taps repeated, now from behind. A cold dread climbed up my spine. Leave me alone, I shouted, my voice echoing weakly into the darkening forest. A movement across the river caught my eye, a shape, indistinct through sheets of rain, standing tall, hunched unnaturally. My throat tightened as I struggled to focus on it clearly.

Silence again, thick and oppressive. A few steps later, the taps repeated, now from behind. A cold dread climbed up my spine. Leave me alone, I shouted, my voice echoing weakly into the darkening forest. A movement across the river caught my eye, a shape, indistinct through sheets of rain, standing tall, hunched unnaturally. My throat tightened as I struggled to focus on it clearly.

Its outline wavered, limbs too long, head tilted strangely, and then it moved, quickly, jerkily, along the opposite bank, matching my pace precisely.

Its outline wavered, limbs too long, head tilted strangely, and then it moved, quickly, jerkily, along the opposite bank, matching my pace precisely.

i broke into a run heedless of my footing stumbling repeatedly my knees struck rocks painfully palms scraped raw as i pushed myself upright again and again behind me footsteps heavy uneven matched mine precisely echoing wetly across the river-bed panic seized me blinding overwhelming Suddenly, exhaustion took hold. My legs folded beneath me, sending me sprawling into mud and debris.

i broke into a run heedless of my footing stumbling repeatedly my knees struck rocks painfully palms scraped raw as i pushed myself upright again and again behind me footsteps heavy uneven matched mine precisely echoing wetly across the river-bed panic seized me blinding overwhelming Suddenly, exhaustion took hold. My legs folded beneath me, sending me sprawling into mud and debris.

I clutched at my chest, gasping ragged breaths, eyes squeezed shut in desperation. The footsteps stopped abruptly nearby. I held perfectly still, terror hammering in my chest. After several endless moments, another sound reached my ears. A static hiss, faint but unmistakable. My radio.

I clutched at my chest, gasping ragged breaths, eyes squeezed shut in desperation. The footsteps stopped abruptly nearby. I held perfectly still, terror hammering in my chest. After several endless moments, another sound reached my ears. A static hiss, faint but unmistakable. My radio.

shaking i pulled it from my pack turning the volume dial a distorted voice barely audible through bursts of interference crackled through search and rescue do you copy derrick we have your coordinates hold tight we're coming I don't remember turning on the radio. Minutes stretched painfully, blending into one another. I didn't move.

shaking i pulled it from my pack turning the volume dial a distorted voice barely audible through bursts of interference crackled through search and rescue do you copy derrick we have your coordinates hold tight we're coming I don't remember turning on the radio. Minutes stretched painfully, blending into one another. I didn't move.

Eventually bright beams pierced through the rain, voices calling my name. Hands lifted me gently from the ground. Faces, blurred by exhaustion and relief, surrounded me. They carried me swiftly out of the wilderness, wrapped in blankets, my soaked body trembling violently. Hours later, at the ranger station, questions bombarded me.

Eventually bright beams pierced through the rain, voices calling my name. Hands lifted me gently from the ground. Faces, blurred by exhaustion and relief, surrounded me. They carried me swiftly out of the wilderness, wrapped in blankets, my soaked body trembling violently. Hours later, at the ranger station, questions bombarded me.

I spoke in broken sentences, describing cabin 27, the claw marks, the lantern. Someone brought my phone, fully charged, displaying no photos of the cabin, just a single blurred snapshot of muddy ground and dead leaves. They exchanged uneasy glances, disbelief coloring their faces. I knew what they thought. Exposure, panic, hallucinations brought on by isolation.

I spoke in broken sentences, describing cabin 27, the claw marks, the lantern. Someone brought my phone, fully charged, displaying no photos of the cabin, just a single blurred snapshot of muddy ground and dead leaves. They exchanged uneasy glances, disbelief coloring their faces. I knew what they thought. Exposure, panic, hallucinations brought on by isolation.

I quit the forestry service shortly after, unable to shake the feeling of dread clinging to me. Months later, after I'd moved far from New Hampshire's mountains, a plain envelope arrived in the mail. No return address. Inside, a single photograph, grainy and shadowed, but unmistakable.

I quit the forestry service shortly after, unable to shake the feeling of dread clinging to me. Months later, after I'd moved far from New Hampshire's mountains, a plain envelope arrived in the mail. No return address. Inside, a single photograph, grainy and shadowed, but unmistakable.

Cabin 27, sagging under years of neglect, claw marks deeply gouged into the walls and hanging from its ceiling beam, a rusted lantern glowing faintly in the gloom. I've always found a certain comfort in the cold clarity of high elevations. It's one reason my friend Thomas and I regularly climb in Rocky Mountain National Park.

Cabin 27, sagging under years of neglect, claw marks deeply gouged into the walls and hanging from its ceiling beam, a rusted lantern glowing faintly in the gloom. I've always found a certain comfort in the cold clarity of high elevations. It's one reason my friend Thomas and I regularly climb in Rocky Mountain National Park.

Places like Sky Pond, nestled at nearly 11,000 feet, feel both exhilarating and detached from everyday anxieties. This particular trip had a clear goal, summit Taylor Peak via the Class 4 scramble. We'd bivouacked countless times in alpine conditions before, and this trip wasn't supposed to be any different.

Places like Sky Pond, nestled at nearly 11,000 feet, feel both exhilarating and detached from everyday anxieties. This particular trip had a clear goal, summit Taylor Peak via the Class 4 scramble. We'd bivouacked countless times in alpine conditions before, and this trip wasn't supposed to be any different.