Page 1 of The Haunting of the Mountain

Chapter 1

Kyla

“Areyou 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.

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