The wind howled like a feral beast, clawing at Megan as she trudged through the knee-deep snow. Her breath came in short, labored bursts, clouds of it dissolving into the icy night. Somewhere above her, the full moon tried in vain to pierce the swirling storm. She clutched her walking stick tightly, its metal tip her only ally against the treacherous mountain terrain.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. The hiking trip had been her escape, a chance to clear her head after months of stress. She’d planned meticulously, checked the weather reports, and ensured she had all the necessary supplies. But the mountains had their own plans. The sudden blizzard had swept in faster than she could descend, leaving her stranded with nothing but her pack: a lighter, a rope, a sleeping bag, and her trusty walking stick.
A jagged crack echoed through the storm. Megan froze, her heart hammering. Avalanche? She scanned the mountainside, but the swirling snow blinded her. Slowly, she pressed on, each step more uncertain than the last. Her mind raced, battling panic.
Find shelter. Survive the night.
After what felt like an eternity, she spotted a dark shape against the endless white—a narrow crevice in the rock face. Relief surged through her as she stumbled toward it, nearly collapsing as she squeezed inside. The wind’s roar dulled, replaced by the eerie quiet of the cave. Megan dropped her pack and fell to her knees, her body trembling from cold and exhaustion.
She lit the lighter, the small flame casting flickering shadows on the rough stone walls. The cave was shallow, barely enough room to stretch out, but it was better than freezing outside. She unfurled her sleeping bag and crawled inside, pulling it tightly around her. The warmth was meager but enough to keep her alive.
As the adrenaline ebbed, her thoughts drifted to the mountain’s legend—a story she’d dismissed as local folklore. Supposedly, a group of climbers had vanished here decades ago, their bodies never found. The villagers claimed the mountain was cursed, that spirits roamed its slopes, preying on the lost and vulnerable. Megan shook her head. She didn’t believe in ghosts. The only danger here was the storm and her dwindling strength.
A faint noise interrupted her thoughts. It was distant, almost inaudible beneath the wind’s muted howl. A voice? Megan sat up, straining to hear.
“Hello?” she called, her voice hoarse. “Is someone there?”
Silence. Then, faintly:
“Help…”
Her heart leapt. Another hiker? She grabbed the lighter and crawled toward the cave entrance, peering into the storm.
“Where are you?” she shouted.
“Here…” The voice was closer now, but something about it made her shiver. It was flat, devoid of emotion.
Megan hesitated. She wanted to help, but every instinct screamed at her to stay put.
“Come to the light!” she yelled, holding the flame high. “I’m in a cave!”
The snow shifted outside. A figure emerged, shambling toward her. Megan’s relief was short-lived as the lighter’s glow illuminated the person. Their face was gaunt, skin stretched tight over sharp cheekbones. Ice clung to their clothes, and their eyes… their eyes were black, voids that seemed to suck in the light.
“Let me in,” the figure said. Their lips barely moved, and their voice was a monotone whisper.
Panic surged. Megan scrambled backward, her heart racing. “Who are you?” she demanded.
“Cold,” they replied, stepping closer. “Let me in.”
The storm outside seemed to grow louder, as if urging her to decide. Megan fumbled for her walking stick, holding it defensively. “Stay back!”
The figure stopped. For a moment, they stood motionless, the snow swirling around them. Then they smiled, a grotesque, unnatural grin that sent a jolt of terror through her.
“You can’t stay here forever,” they said before turning and vanishing into the storm.
Megan’s breath came in ragged gasps. She crawled back into the sleeping bag, clutching the stick like a lifeline. Her mind raced. Had she imagined it? Was it hypothermia playing tricks on her?
The hours dragged on. Sleep was impossible. Every creak of the cave, every gust of wind outside, set her nerves on edge. She kept the lighter close, its tiny flame her only source of comfort.
As dawn approached, the storm began to ease. The wind’s howl softened to a mournful sigh, and the snow settled into an uneasy stillness. Megan gathered her courage and crawled out of the cave, squinting against the pale morning light. The mountain was unrecognizable, its features buried under a fresh layer of snow.
She adjusted her pack, gripping the walking stick tightly. The rope dangled from her belt, a last resort for the treacherous descent. She started down, each step cautious. But she couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.
Halfway down, she spotted them. Figures scattered across the slopes, standing motionless in the snow. Their black eyes fixed on her. Megan’s blood ran cold. She quickened her pace, her breath hitching with every step. The figures didn’t move, but their presence loomed, oppressive and suffocating.
A sudden crack beneath her foot sent her sprawling. She tumbled, the world spinning as she slid down the slope. Her walking stick flew from her grasp, and she came to a jarring halt against a rocky outcrop. Pain shot through her leg. Gritting her teeth, she checked for injuries. Her ankle throbbed, but it wasn’t broken.
The rope. She grabbed it, securing it to the outcrop before looping it around her waist. Carefully, she began her descent again, the figures still watching. They were closer now, their black eyes unblinking.
Megan’s pulse pounded in her ears. She focused on each step, her survival instincts overriding the terror. As she neared the base of the mountain, the figures began to fade, dissolving into the snow like phantoms. Relief flooded her as she reached the tree line, the dense forest offering a sense of shelter.
She didn’t stop until she reached the edge of town, collapsing onto the porch of a ranger station. The door opened, and a man stepped out, his face a mix of shock and concern.
“What happened to you?” he asked, helping her inside.
Megan tried to explain, but the words caught in her throat. All she could do was glance back at the mountain, its peaks shrouded in clouds. The figures were gone, but their black eyes haunted her.
Weeks later, when the storm finally cleared, a search party went up the mountain. They found no sign of other hikers, no evidence of the figures Megan had seen. But near the cave where she’d sheltered, they discovered something chilling: dozens of footprints in the snow, too small and too many to belong to one person. They led to the cave entrance and stopped abruptly, as if whoever made them had vanished into thin air.
Megan never returned to the mountains. But on cold, stormy nights, she could still feel their gaze, waiting, watching, and whispering for her to let them in.174Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ24tvT49ad1
and then Add to home screen.