Page 2 of Haunted By the Mountain Man
"Who the hell are you?"
The voice came from directly behind me, deep and sharp with authority. I spun around, my hand instinctively going to the pepper spray on my belt.
The man standing in the doorway was massive—at least 6'5", with black hair and eyes that caught the light strangely, almost metallic in the shadows. He wore camouflage pants and a jacket, but it was his expression that made my breath catch. He looked at me like I was a threat to be eliminated.
"I asked you a question." He stepped into the room, and I automatically stepped back.
"I'm Raven," I said, forcing my voice to stay steady. "I'm filming a documentary about abandoned places."
"This is private property."
"The lodge is abandoned."
"The lodge is on my land." His attention shifted to my cameras, and his expression darkened further. "Turn those off. Now."
"Look, I know I'm trespassing. That's what urbex is. But I'm not here to steal anything or cause damage."
He moved faster than someone that big should be able to, closing the distance between us in two strides. He didn't touch me, but suddenly I was backed against the wall with nowhere to go, his massive frame blocking any escape route.
"Turn. Them. Off."
This close, I saw the exhaustion carved into otherwise striking features.
I reached up slowly and switched off the main camera, then the others. "Happy?"
"No. You're trespassing on my property, filming without permission, and probably planning to plaster this all over the internet." His voice dropped lower. "Give me one reason I shouldn't call the police right now."
That's when I heard it—shuffling footsteps from the floor above, and that humming again. "Jingle Bells," clearer now, echoing through the empty building.
The man's entire demeanor changed. The dangerous predator became protective, almost panicked. He grabbed my arm, his grip firm but not painful.
"You need to leave. Now."
An elderly man stood in the doorway, dressed in a maintenance uniform that looked like it belonged in a museum. His weathered face was confused but not threatening.
"Hello?" he said. "I'm sorry, but the lodge is closed for the season. We don't reopen until Thanksgiving weekend."
His uniform said "Walt." The name tag was yellowed with age, the stitching frayed. He spoke with complete certainty, as if the lodge was still in business.
Then his face brightened
"Shane! You didn't tell me we had new staff starting today." He held out his hand to me. "Miss, I'm Walt Harrison, head of maintenance. Welcome to Wildfire Ridge. I hope you're ready for the Christmas rush. We're expecting record snowfall this year."
My eyes darted between Walt's genuine smile and Shane's barely controlled fury.
I tentatively shook his hand. "I—" I started, but Shane cut me off.
"This is Raven," he said, his voice completely different now, gentle, careful. "She's just touring the facilities. Getting familiar with the layout."
"Excellent, excellent." Walt beamed at me. "You'll love it here. I've been keeping this place running for ages, and every season is special. Shane, you should show her how the east wing renovations are coming along."
The east wing. Where the fire had happened.
"Maybe later," Shane said. "Why don't you go check the heating system? I heard some unusual sounds earlier."
"Of course, of course." Walt headed off with purpose, humming to himself.
The moment he was out of earshot, Shane rounded on me.
