Greykin Mountain

| 1 | In Pursuit of the Lost

WARNING: This story contains depictions of violence, gore, and/or death that may be upsetting to some readers. Reader discretion is advised.

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Jackson Carter loved a mystery—the kind that kept him up at night in fear the shadows might devour him. That was why he found himself in Ascela's bitter tundra as the sun set over the mountains.

          With a huff of exertion, he dragged his shins through the knee-deep snow, trying to shake that sinister feeling of eyes examining his every move. He glanced to his left, gazing into the thick fir forest, but even if something was watching him, his cerulean eyes wouldn't be able to see it. The blizzard was picking up.

          He focused on the warm glow of a village a hundred yards ahead. This was where his findings had led him.

          It didn't look like much, a few brick houses, a post office, a store, and a bar. At least the roads had been cleared of snow—mostly.

          His legs shuddered in relief as he broke free of the snow onto the slushy path, the weight of his luggage causing him to stumble a little—and when a pack of dogs raced past hauling their sled, Jackson haphazardly stepped aside, watching them as their master, who was wrapped in at least three different animal skins, headed towards the store.

          Jackson felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He looked over his shoulder, and when he eyed the steep hill leading up further into the mountains, a strange part of him felt as if that was the direction he should head in. It was almost as if something was calling him. But that wasn't where he needed to go.

          As fast as his aching legs would carry him, he hurried towards the bar. He hastily pulled the door open and stepped inside, battling with the door for a moment as the wind wrestled to keep it open. Once he finally won the conflict, he sighed and turned to face the room of silent, staring faces.

          He smiled, but when he realized they couldn't see his face beneath the scarf he had wrapped around it, he lifted his stiff arm to wave. But all that ensued were quiet whispers and sceptical frowns.

          Jackson wouldn't let that stop him, though. He made his way over to the bar, pulling off his gloves as the warmth of the room's fire began to melt the ice from his clothes. He let his rucksack fall off his back, and as it hit the floor with a thump, he rested his arms on the bar.

          "Hey, could I get a coffee please?" he asked the bartender, but the gruffly man looked him up and down and scoffed. "Okay...cocoa? Tea?"

          The bartender responded with a grunt and snatched a white mug.

          Unsure of which beverage he was getting, Jackson watched the man closely. But the utters behind him drew his eyes to a group of bearded men sitting by a crate of firewood. They fell silent when he looked at them, as did the group by the window when he glanced over there, too. He had never felt so unwelcome somewhere before.

          He reached into his puffy jacket and pulled out his phone, but the screen didn't respond to his several frustrated taps. He sighed, glancing around the room, but there was no sign of an outlet.

          "Hey, uh...you got somewhere I can charge this?" he asked as the bartender placed a steaming cup of cocoa on the bar.

          The man looked down at his phone as if he had never seen something quite like it before...and by the looks of this place, Jackson was almost convinced he might not have.