Dead Summit (Book 1): Dead Summit

by Loubier, Daniel

  “See you two later,” George replied.

  Charlie and Grace followed Terry out of the cafeteria, through the lounge, and down the hallway opposite the one through which they had arrived.

  “Have to put you down here,” Terry said over her shoulder. “The main hall is full at the moment.”

  “No problem,” Charlie said.

  As they walked down the hall, Grace admired the various pictures that hung on either side. One of the images was of the summit in winter. It was a widely-known fact that the mountain recorded snowfall every month of the year, whether it was a light flurry or a blizzard. In fact, conditions were so treacherous during the winter months that the state closed off that part of the mountain between the hut and the summit from October until March. The only vehicles allowed on that part of the mountain during those months were the snowcats. They patrolled the mountain in the event that any would-be skiers tried to take advantage of the untouched powder.

  Grace also stopped to admire a shot of the lake, presumably taken during the fall given the colors of the leaves. She also noticed it was extremely overcast in the picture, much like this day, and wondered how often the hut saw the sun.

  As if awoken from a dream, Grace flinched when she heard her name called, rather loudly.

  “Grace!” Charlie said, nearly shouting. Terry laughed. “Are you with us, Grace?” Charlie said, laughing at himself. Grace shook her head, eyes wide.

  “Wow, sorry,” she said. “I was admiring the photography you have along the walls here.”

  Terry looked around. “Oh yeah, we’ve got a lot of talented folks that come up here. Most of them locals,” she said, matter-of-factly. “Well, I was just telling Charlie, here we are!” She motioned toward a room on the right side of the hall. “You two will be in room nineteen.”

  Grace and Charlie walked into the room. There was a window straight ahead that overlooked the lake and, to their right, a full-size bed with only a mattress and sheets. Next to the bed was a nightstand with a small lamp.

  “You folks bring pillows?” Terry asked.

  “Yep,” Charlie replied.

  “All righty. Bathroom’s at the end of the hall if you need to use it,” she said, pointing toward the far end of the hallway. “There’s another one in the hallway you came in at the end closest to us. Showers are outside, there’s four of ’em. And, with a full house like we have here tonight, as you can imagine, it might be a little bit of a wait before you can get in, but the line moves quickly.”

  Charlie was amazed that she knew precisely where they’d entered the hut.

  “How’d you know we came in at the other end?” he asked.

  “Because that door,” she said, pointing again toward the end of the hall, “is broken.” She let out another scratchy, hoarse laugh. “The door you came in is currently the only way in or out. Well, there’s a door in the kitchen of course, but you probably don’t want to be running through there now, do ya?” When she said “do ya,” her blue eyes became big as silver dollars and she’d pulled her face back so much that her extra chins had now spread her face into the size of a platter. Grace had to stifle a laugh.

  “Okay, sounds good.” Charlie said, allowing the straps of his backpack to fall off his shoulders and into his hands. Terry stood there and kept nodding. She looked around the room, out the windows, toward the lake. There was an uncomfortable silence as nobody could think of anything to say.

  “So, um...” Charlie said, trying to break the lull.

  “Right,” Terry said, remembering their meals. “You folks get yourselves settled in and give me...” she paused to think. “Ten minutes? That sound good?” Charlie and Grace nodded. “Okay! See ya back at the caf in ten!”

  Grace set her backpack on the bed while Charlie took a seat on the mattress. He took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair. Grace looked at him while he rested and combed through his pack. She smiled. They’d been through so much just to get back to this mountain, Charlie especially. In that moment she had never been more proud of him for all his hard work: rehabbing his knee, getting into shape, never giving up. There were times when he felt like quitting, when the rehab became so intense and exhausting, he just wanted to settle and live a life devoid of any strenuous physical activity. Those were the times when she picked him up and helped him see his potential, when she helped him to regain his inner physical and mental strength. But she never claimed or accepted credit for helping him get back on his feet. She would assert, “It was in you all the time,” and she believed it. All she did was make sure that he never lost faith in himself.

  She was pulling a few toiletries from her pack, her mind back in the room once more, when Terry poked her head in the doorway.

  “Hey!” she said. Grace flinched so wildly, a small bottle of shampoo flew out of her hand and hit Charlie in the back of the head.

  “You folks going to bed early or are ya stickin’ around for the campfire tales?” Terry asked.

  Charlie rubbed the back of his head. Grace squinted her eyes and tilted her head, not certain what Terry was referring to.

  “After the sun goes down—maybe about eight-thirty, nine o’clock—a bunch of us sit around by the fire and share some stories. Sometimes spooky ones!” she said, raising her eyebrows excitedly. She didn’t elaborate any further—only nodded, urging them to say yes.

  Grace looked at Charlie. “You know, we didn’t really have any plans so, yeah, that sounds like fun.”

  “Fantastic!” Terry beamed. “Okay, you two. I’ll have your food ready in a jif!”

  Terry bounded down the hall toward the kitchen. Charlie turned to Grace and raised an eyebrow. Grace laughed.

  “Sorry,” she said. “Ter needs to knock next time.”

  Chapter 5

  Charlie and Grace dined on Terry’s specialty: pulled pork sandwiches and lentil soup. Because they had arrived so late, only one other couple and a family of three ate dinner with them in the cafeteria. Most of the other campers had eaten earlier and were now using the bath houses to get cleaned up for the night.

  They spoke about the hike while they ate, recalling many of the day’s challenges, and compared them to what lay ahead the following morning. Charlie apologized for the gun again. Grace forgave him, if a bit reluctantly. She did not want to see or hear about it for the remainder of the trip.

  They showered after dinner and changed into bed clothes. From their room they could hear “oohs” and “ahs” and laughter coming from the common area. Apparently, story time had begun without them.

  Grace felt a bit guilty that they hadn’t arrived in time for the first story. “I think we’re missing it,” she said.

  Charlie snickered. “I wouldn’t say we’re ‘missing’ it. Are we?” He laughed at himself. Grace sighed and threw a pillow at him.

  “Stop it.” She arched her eyebrows into a pleading stare. “This is like a community for these people. They probably love this kind of stuff.” Charlie stared straight back at her for a second before rolling his eyes. Grace gave up. “I don’t care what you say. I think it’s going to be fun.”

  Of course Charlie never honestly intended to blow off the evening’s event; he only used it as another excuse to mock the child in Grace. Truly, he was more than happy to entertain the idea.

  They finished dressing, turned off their light, and headed down the hall toward the lounge area. To their surprise there was actually a large number of people gathered around the fireplace. Most of them sat on pillows on the floor. Grace guessed that this was everyone who was staying at the hut that night. There were old couples, young couples, and families with children. They spotted George and Cheryl seated toward the back of the audience.

  Looking around at everyone sitting on the floor, Charlie couldn’t help but feel like this was a kids’ party. “I wonder when Barney the dinosaur is showing up,” Charlie whispered.

  Grace pressed her lips tight, nearly breaking out in laughter. She pinched Charlie on the in
side of his bicep and he pulled away, rubbing his arm. Grace motioned toward George and Cheryl.

  “Oh, seriously?” Charlie said with a reluctant sigh.

  “Shut up,” Grace whispered. “We’re sitting next to them. It’s not even like we have to talk to them.”

  They sat on the floor next to the old couple. Politely and quietly, Grace asked Cheryl if they had missed much.

  “Not much,” Cheryl said, her voice low. “This chap Joe is telling a ghost story.”

  Joe, a lanky beanpole of a man, sat on a chair as the rest of the people sat on the floor, looking up at him. As he told his story, he moved his hands around in wide, arcing motions, trying to add effect and tension as he spoke. “And when she got to the top of the stairs... THERE WAS NOBODY THERE!” he exclaimed. A few small children jumped and screamed.

  These are probably the “oohs” and “ahs” I heard, Grace thought.

  Charlie, unmoved by Joe’s story-telling abilities, turned to Grace. “Is this guy for real?” he asked. He grunted slightly when Grace elbowed him in the ribs and nodded in acquiescence after she shushed him.

  She looked around and saw lots of attentive faces: couples sitting arm in arm, children playing quietly on the floor next to their parents. Terry was sitting toward the front. She caught Grace’s eyes and smiled, acknowledging her with a slight nod of her head. Grace smiled back and continued to scan the crowd while Joe told his story.

  “She entered the room to find the baby, still sleeping in her crib,” he continued. “So how did the man know where the baby was?” he asked quietly, scanning the crowd. Several people looked at each other and shook their heads, anticipating the conclusion. “BECAUSE HE WAS STANDING RIGHT BEHIND THE MOTHER!” he shouted with dramatic flair. A few people in the audience even jumped. Charlie turned to Grace, yawning, and she shook her head in disapproval.

  “HE WAS IN THE BABY’S ROOM THE WHOLE TIME! BWAHAHAHAHA!!!” Joe yelled, concluding his story. He stood up from his chair to much applause. Several children whimpered to their parents, frightened by the story they’d just heard.

  “Sorry folks!” Joe said. “Didn’t mean to scare the little ones.” He walked around the front of the audience and sat down at the far side of the room, to Grace’s left. As the applause died down, Terry stood up and walked over to the chair.

  “Thank you for sharing your ghost story with us, Joe,” she said. A few more people applauded. She took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. “I have a story,” she continued, “but, uh, some of you parents might want to put the kids to bed for this one!”

  Some moms and dads stood slowly, gathering their things. Several of them shook hands with their neighbors as they shuffled their kids off to bed. Some folks stood up just to stretch their legs. The ones who left thanked Terry and the other storytellers for an enjoyable evening, but there was still a large audience. Some families with older children stayed to listen.

  Terry sat down in the chair and looked around the room. “I still see a few young’ns here,” she said. “Well, suit yourselves!”

  She reached for a glass of water from a table next to the chair. After taking a sip, she set the glass back down and rubbed her hands on her thighs. She leaned forward slowly and rested her hands on her knees.

  “This story,” she began in a very soft voice, “didn’t happen in anyone’s home.” She took a long, deep breath, allowing the audience a moment to settle in. “It didn’t happen in some mental institution, either.” She paused to look around, a gesture that commanded everyone’s attention. “It didn’t happen in a boat or a ship or a plane or a car.” She spoke very calmly and deliberately, making eye contact with as many people as she could. Grace found her voice to be very soothing–yet, at the same time, unsettling. “That’s because,” Terry continued, “there were no cars when this story took place.” She paused another moment, attracting several puzzled looks. “That’s because, this story took place right here.”

  Several people shifted uneasily. Grace noticed the attempts of others to get more comfortable. She leaned in closer. The woman sure can command an audience, she thought. As Terry looked around, her eyes caught Grace’s, but it was too late; Grace was already hooked by Terry’s inflection. She’s got them, Grace thought. And surely Grace was one of “them.”

  “This story takes place around four hundred years ago, back when the settlers first came to the New World, when the Pilgrims landed at Plymouth Rock. You see, the settlers arrived in what is now Massachusetts, but they soon migrated west, south, and north.

  “New Hampshire was founded by John Wheelright, along with a number of other early settlers. It was also one of the original thirteen colonies.” This earned a few “good-to-know” looks from people who were impressed with Terry’s knowledge of local history. “Folks came north and found the lakes and rivers of New Hampshire full of bass and trout. They were able to hunt deer, bears, and moose for food and kept the animal hides for clothing and warmth. Farming was also a big industry in the colony. So with that, they decided they could live up here.

  “Unfortunately, weather, as most of you know, was and still is very unpredictable in New Hampshire.” Several people nodded in agreement.

  “Most of you little ones,” she continued, pointing to a few of the remaining children in the audience, “grew up with electric or gas heat. Well, the settlers didn’t have such forms of heat because that technology didn’t even exist yet!” The kids’ eyes went wide with awe.

  “Back in those days,” she continued, “the only source of heat was fire. Now, Massachusetts was certainly colder in those days than it is today. After all, there were no such things as cars and buses, smog and pollution, buildings and skyscrapers. But it wasn’t cold like New Hampshire,” she said, shivering as she spoke. “You see, New Hampshire is far more mountainous than Massachusetts and, well, the early settlers weren’t familiar with weather conditions in the New World. Many people died very unpleasant deaths due to the harsh, unforgiving winters. Especially in the mountains...especially here” She paused a moment and allowed the implications of what she just said to sink in.

  More people shifted nervously on the floor. A couple with three small children got up to leave.

  “Sorry, folks,” Terry said. “I warned ya’s to put the children to bed!” The father of the family turned back, half-smiled, and continued with his wife and children back to their room.

  “Well now,” Terry said. “Where was I? Oh, right, the mountains.” She drew in a deep breath. “Now, weather in the mountains is quite different from weather at sea level, as many of you probably experienced today.” She gestured toward the audience. “I saw many of you arrive in T-shirts and shorts, and now look at you. You’re all in sweatshirts and pants.” Many people looked around at each other. Some grinned as they noticed that, in fact, they were all in much warmer clothes than those they’d been wearing upon arrival.

  “Well, the first settlers weren’t aware of exactly how much colder it got in the mountains. So when they tried to cross, they were unprepared for the elements and ended up dying in their attempt to cross through the mountains into what is now Vermont.”

  “When does this story get scary?” a teenager mocked from the audience. Several others giggled along with him. Terry stared at the young man. Her face was stoic.

  “The story gets scary when you find out what happened to these people—after they died.”

  The young man’s smile quickly faded away. Grace noticed a heightened sense of unease around the room. She nudged Charlie in the arm. He turned toward her and shot her a concerned look. She shook her head, as if to say, “I’m not finding this fun anymore.”

  Charlie nodded. “We’ll go when she’s done,” he whispered, and returned his attention to Terry. Grace turned to George and Cheryl. Their eyes were glued to big woman as she spoke.

  “There’s an energy here, friends,” Terry said, her voice a bit louder than before; her face completely emotionless. Any hint of friendliness in her tone wa
s completely gone at this point. Her story began to sound less like a story, and more like a warning.

  “An energy, in these mountains,” she continued, pointing toward the ground below her. “An energy that, when triggered by the right forces,” she paused before finishing this most crucial sentence, “brings the dead back to life.”

  Grace, not one to believe in such fantasies, didn’t realize the pace of her breathing had increased so much. She felt winded. Charlie noticed it, too.

  Are you okay? he mouthed.

  Stunned, Grace looked back to him. She swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and regained her composure. “Yeah,” she whispered with a nod, but even she could hear the uncertainty in her own voice.

  Charlie nodded back and turned to continue listening.

  “But they aren’t exactly living,” Terry said. Her eyes were now less focused on her audience. She stared blankly toward the opposite end of the room. “No, no, these people,” she continued, “or more appropriately, these beings, are far different from you or me because of the lives they lead.”

  Every person in the audience now hung on her every word.

  “They are the undead,” she said, pausing again to allow the words to sink in.

  Nobody on the floor stirred this time. Grace felt the as if a pair of hands were holding her down permanently to the floor. There was utter silence because the everyone was either too tired to move or too frightened, like her.

  Grace looked over at George and Cheryl. Cheryl, wrapped in George’s arms, turned toward Grace and gave her a knowing glance. Grace smiled thinly and turned back to Terry.

  “They don’t remember the lives they led when they were alive,” Terry said. “They don’t try to go back to work or drive a car or find their loved ones.” She stared down at the floor, a trace of sadness on her face. “They don’t eat food or sleep or do any of the things normal living humans do. They don’t do much of anything.” She then looked up and faced her audience. “They do nothing...except crave human flesh.”