Page 2 of Scarred Mountain Man

In the distance, the mountains with their vastness and solitude seem to beckon at me and the answer is as clear as day. I know where I need to go.

It’s better for myself and everyone if this monster lives with its kind.

Chapter One

Jean

If I wasn’t in such a rush to get to my friends and paid more attention to my surroundings, then I would have noticed I was playing right into the scenes out of a slasher film. The kind of film where the stereotypical dumb blond girl doesn't make it out alive and, in this case, I'm the dumb blond. The signs were everywhere, I just didn’t pay attention to them.

The first sign is of course the agent in rainbow suspenders called Steve who seems a little too eager to rent me the white Toyota Corolla that looks as old as the town itself. Perhaps even older.

“I’m telling you the truth, Miss Watson. Most tourists prefer to rent this car if they’re planning a long trip into the countryside. It is comfortable and reliable.”

I want to argue and point out to him that this car doesn’t seem like it would take me anywhere, much less the countryside but I bite back my retort. One peek around is enough to tell me I don’t have many other options anyway.

“Fine, I’ll take it,” I say, fishing out my credit card and driver’s license from my bag.

“Fantastic,” he says, way too excited for a car rental. “You’ve made a great choice. I just need you to fill out a few forms.”

I nod and follow him to the counter where he hands me a sheet of paper to fill in my details. I sit down on the leather chair when Steve starts chatting me up again.

“Now, do you have any destination in mind?”

I figure this is something he should have asked me before he tried to sell me on the car, but I don’t voice that thought. Something tells me he hasn’t been working here for long and I don’t want to make it harder for the guy than it needs to be, so I simply nod. “Yeah, just a little trip with my friends.”

“That sounds amazing. There are several resorts around here with the most picturesque views you will ever see.”

I smile at his words, almost wishing I was indeed headed to a resort but one of my friends had the genius idea to go camping instead and when I tell Steve that, he suddenly goes quiet.

“What?” I ask, looking up to find his eyes wide with horror.

“Y-you’re not going up the mountain, are you?”

“Well, yes.” His face goes ashen at my words and I am taken aback by his reaction. “What?” I ask again, completely ignoring the document I need to fill out.

“I’m not supposed to say,” he quickly says when I raise a brow at him. “My boss warned me not to say anything.”

Oh, now I am intrigued. “Tell me, Steve.”

Steve looks around to make sure no one is listening before leaning down to whisper. “We haven’t had anyone go camping on the mountain for so long. There is… a monster that lives in the mountains. He’s lived up there for twelve years terrorizing people–”

“You mean like a bear?”

“No, worse. A man,” he whispers. “They say he’s lived in the mountains for so long that he’s practically become a savage. He has beastly features and terrorizes anyone who enters the forest. I have seen grown men leave the mountains in tears, there’s no telling what he’ll do to a pretty girl such as yourself if you run into him.”

I chuckle at his words, dismissing them and turning back to the papers at hand. I know a folk tale when I hear one. Every small town has one they use to scare tourists away and I can tell that this is one of them. I can’t believe he expects me to believe that there is a man who has lived alone in the forest for twelve years, really?

That’s impossible. I’m sure there’s a law somewhere that says someone cannot simply move into the mountains. Even so, I don’t let Steve know how crazy I think his little story sounds in hopes of getting out of here as quickly as possible, and soon, I am driving away from the rental agency.

The second clue that I am stuck in some kind of horror film is when I pass the rundown sign warning visitors of bears. Luckily, I did a little research before this trip and brought bear spray in the unlikely chance that I run into one.

The third clue, and the one I can’t solve with bear spray, is when my car starts making low whining noises twenty minutes into the drive.It's just old, I convince myself that the whining noise is nothing I need to worry about. So, instead of doing the smart thing and turning around to return the clearly defective car, I drive up the mountain so I can catch up with my friends at the campsite.

Half an hour into the drive the low whining turns into sputtering noises and I watch with horror as a thick black smoke climbs out from the front hood of the car. The engine roars beneath thehood, propelling me forward. A loud clunk echoes through the car and the engine sputters to a halt.

“No, no, no!” I cry out, staring wide-eyed at the smoking hood of the car. I don’t know much about cars, clearly, but even I know that this is not good. I should have fought rainbow suspenders Steve when he convinced me to take this car, but my mind was set on getting to my friends fast.

"Well, you're not getting to anyone now," I scold myself as I drop my forehead against the steering wheel. The steering wheel of a car that won't move. The same car that sent warning signs to me earlier, but I chalked it up to being old.

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