Page 2 of Whiteout

"Come on, come on," I mutter to myself, pressing the gas pedal a little harder. The darkening sky has me worried. The last thing I need is to get caught in this storm.

My mind wanders to the reason I'm here, driving six hours into the middle of nowhere Pennsylvania. The Hemlock Hollow Huntsman, a mysterious man said to roam these very mountains. According to local folklore, he wears a handmade leather mask. Similar to the hood executioners used to wear to hide their identities from the public. In the weeks leading up to Christmas, he seeks out those who have been nice to reward them. Leaving behind candy and sweets for them to find. But the naughty ones? The Huntsman finds them in the middle of the night to deliver their punishment, sometimes even death.

The closer I get to Hemlock Hollow, the more my excitement builds. I recall the Reddit post I stumbled upon while researching this area. The locals here genuinely believe in the Huntsman. To them, he's not just a fictional character but a real entity patrolling these mountains. And it's not just ancient history; there was a string of missing women in recent years, the latest being the young woman in 2022. Locals believe the Huntsman took her, and her body was never found. It's equal parts intriguing and chilling.

I tighten my grip on the wheel, the road ahead twisting before me like a serpent. My mind begins to wander, weaving a tale of the Huntsman and his victims. The women, nice or naughty, that he sought out and either rewarded or punished. It's an eerie thought, especially with the storm rolling in, turning the sky into a shade of dark gray.

What if the Huntsman is more than just a legend? A masked man, doling out rewards and punishments. It's exactly the kind of story my podcast listeners eat up and then ask for more.

I can almost hear the intro now: "Welcome to 'Murder, Mystery, and Myths,' where we explore the stories that no one else dares. I'm your host, Ivy, and today we're diving into thechilling tale of the Hemlock Hollow Huntsman..."

I can't help but smile at the thought. It's a fun legend, one that will no doubt captivate my listeners. But more than that, it's a distraction from the pain of the past year. This trip is my "screw you" to my ex-husband and the life we once shared. With some of the money from the divorce, I've booked a remote cabin far away from everything familiar. A place where I can be alone with my thoughts, my research, and the quiet beauty of the mountains.

A gust of wind slams into the side of my car, snapping me back to reality. I ease off the gas, my heart pounding. The trees on either side of the road seem to close in, their bare branches reaching out like gnarled fingers.

Part of me wonders if I'm crazy for doing this. Spending two weeks alone in a remote cabin, chasing after a fictional Christmas tale. But the alternative of spending Christmas in the empty shell of a house that doesn't feel like my home anymore is unbearable.

The first snowflakes begin to fall as I pass a sign welcoming me to Hemlock Hollow. I've made it, just in time. Now all that's left is to find my cabin and hunker down before the storm hits.

As I drive through the small town, I can't help but wonder what secrets and stories are waiting here for me to uncover. For the first time in months, I feel a spark of excitement. This is going to be one hell of a Christmas.

Chapter 3

Ivy

I pull up to my rental cabin, it's nestled in the mountains outside of Hemlock Hollow. The drive up the mountain was picturesque, the towering trees covered in snow, surrounding me on all sides. I step out of my car, the crisp mountain air filling my lungs. It's a refreshing change from the stuffy city I left back home.

An older man greets me with a warm smile from the front porch of the cabin. His face is deeply lined, and his eyes hold a kindness that immediately puts me at ease.

"Miss Anderson, welcome. I'm Mr. Hastings, the property manager." He holds his hand out to shake mine.

"That's me. It's nice to finally meet you. You can call me Ivy."

"I thought I'd get the fire going and warm the place up a bit.The winters can be brutal up here." He hands me the key, his hands rough and calloused against mine.

"Thank you, that was so thoughtful of you."

"Let's get you settled in. I'll show you around, though it's not a big place." His steps are slow as he leads me inside.

"It's perfect. Cozy. And the view is incredible." My gaze takes in the view of the surrounding mountains just outside the windows. The fresh snow blanketing the ground sparkles in the soft glow of the evening sun.

"I'm glad to have you staying with us. It's been a while since we've had any guests on the mountain."

"I actually chose Hemlock Hollow because of its history. I'm a podcaster, researching the Hemlock Hollow Huntsman for a holiday special."

"Ah, the Huntsman. Now there's a story. The owner of this cabin, Mr. Kincaid, he's a descendant of the original Huntsman, or so they say. His family has been around for generations, owns hundreds of acres up in these mountains. He might be able to help you. His home is just up the road; you'll be neighbors, the only two homes for miles."

I can't hide my surprise. "Really? Mr. Kincaid, huh? The reclusive mountain man millionaire?"I laugh lightly, picturing a mountain-dwelling millionaire. "Well, I'd love to speak with him. It sounds like he could be a valuable source of information for my podcast."

"I'm sure he'd be delighted to talk with you. It's not every day we get visitors up here. Most folks prefer the town below, with its Christmas markets and cheer. But you've chosen a truly magical place to stay, Miss Anderson. Just be careful and make sure you stay on the Huntsman's nice list. A sweet girl like you won't want any part of those punishments."

"Oh, now come on Mr. Hastings. I think I'm a little too old to fall for old wives tales. I appreciate your hospitality. I'm looking forward to my stay here."

"So am I, Ivy. You be careful up here on your own. My number is on the fridge if you need anything."

I unpack my suitcases, placing my clothes neatly in the drawers and the food I brought with me in the kitchen cabinets. It's a lovely cabin, perfect for just me. As I set up my podcast equipment on the kitchen table, I feel atingle of excitement for what's to come in the next few weeks.

Once I'm settled, I find myself restless. With a quick glance outside, I decide the snowfall is light enough to risk the drive up the mountain. I want to see if this Mr. Kincaid might be as interesting as Mr. Hastings implied.

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