Page 31 of Obscurity
Just as he said the words, a man materialized from the forest like a ghost given flesh.
Olive sucked in a breath, and several people gasped or let out soft screams.
One moment the trail ahead had been empty. The next, this man stood blocking their path, emerging from what looked like a solid wall of rhododendron and mountain laurel.
No rustling branches had announced his approach, no snapping twigs. He simply appeared as if the forest itself had birthed him from its shadows.
The entire group stopped as if they’d hit an invisible wall, the cheerful chatter of the hike dying instantly.
Several people took instinctive steps backward. Maya’s phone, which had been recording almost constantly, trembled in her suddenly unsteady hands.
The silence stretched, broken only by the sound of nearly a hundred people trying not to breathe too loudly.
Olive observed the man a moment. He was lean and weathered, probably in his sixties. His sun-carved features spoke of decades spent in these mountains. His clothing—faded flannel, worn denim, and boots that had seen countless miles of rough terrain—marked him as someone who belonged to this wilderness rather than someone merely visiting it.
But his eyes were what made Olive’s breath catch. They held the stillness of a predatory cat, taking in every face in the group.
Behind him, just visible through gaps in the foliage, other shadows shifted. Not wind-blown branches or forest debris—movement that was more deliberate.
The Dark Watchers?
Were these the men she’d seen last night from her bedroom window? Had they sabotaged the shuttle?
Her heart pounded harder.
How many? Olive couldn’t tell.
But the message was clear: This wasn’t a chance encounter with a lone mountain man.
Jason moved closer as if ready to protect Olive if needed.
Funny, as of late Olive was usually the one doing the protecting. But she liked the idea of someone watching out for her—maybe she liked it a little too much.
“Y’all heading down to Grayfall?” The man’s Appalachian accent was thick with generations of mountain life.
“That’s right.” Max’s hand moved instinctively toward his radio. “Just taking some friends to see the old mining town.”
The man’s eyes swept the group. “Awful strange place for carryin’ on like that. Been happenings down yonder in town that ain’t natural-like. Things that don’t belong nowhere near decent folk.”
“What kind of things?” Maya’s voice trembled as she asked the question.
The man’s gaze fixed on her. “The kind that sends folks with a lick of sense packin’ back the way they come. Everyone knows six people died in them mines. Their spirits still haunt the place, not ready to go home yet.”
A chill swept over Olive.
His warning was loud and clear.
This area wasn’t safe.
What Olive wasn’t sure about was why.
Max stepped forward, his posture shifting into something more aggressive. “Sir, I appreciate your concern, but we’re on a tight schedule. We don’t want to keep people from their plans.”
“Plans got a way of changin’.” The man didn’t back down despite Max’s intimidating stance. “But some things, once they get to rollin’, ain’t no stoppin’ ‘em.”
The Grayfall Guardian, Olive mused. That became this man’s nickname in her mind.
As he spoke, Olive glanced into the woods. This guy had at least three friends with him. They were no longer hiding.
