Spirit Mountain (2 page)

Chapter Three

My fingers shook over the mouse as I read through the archived newspaper clippings from the past. So far, I’d learned about the two dead kids, each of whom had reported a recurring dream of a boy with dark eyes who was on his knees at the top of Spirit Mountain. Each had also claimed that the boy had reached out to them. Oddly enough, they were both girls, and their dreams had supposedly started when they’d murmured the words,
Spirit Mountain,
three times. At least that’s what the newspaper article had said.

That was the one difference between those girls and me. I hadn’t mentioned the name of the mountain because I didn’t
know
the name of the mountain. Yet, on the first night I slept in my room at Aunt Vine’s, I’d dreamt of him. He wasn’t evil or mean. He just seemed lost and alone, as if he were summoning me to help him with something.

That first night, I had awakened from my dream in a sweat and knew right away it was a mountaintop from where he’d beckoned me. I wasn’t sure how I knew, but it was during that night I saw the orb of light, a flickering ball of energy that I felt at peace with. The boy didn’t scare me and knowing he was there, staring into my room, reaching out to me in my dreams, actually gave me an inner calm that I hadn’t experienced since before my mother’s death.

Every night after that, I went to bed waiting for him to visit me. I wanted to gaze into those rare eyes and reassure him that I was there, the way I felt he was there for me. That was what made this whole thing even more strange. I didn’t view him as a threat, nor did I view the mountain as a threat. I was curious. I wanted to know more about him, understand him, and yet, everyone else led me in the direction of fearing him. I had to know the truth. Why was he so misunderstood?

Scrolling relentlessly through the archived articles brought up nothing. So, I finally decided to ask the librarian. “Excuse me,” I said, raising my right hand and leaning over the counter to get her attention.

“Yes, dear?” answered a woman who appeared to be at least in her seventies. She had a shaky voice.

“I’m looking for information on that mountain outside the town—the one that has a legend attached to it. But I couldn’t find any more articles on the mountain, the legend or the two girls who allegedly died because of it.”

“Shhh.” The old librarian lifted a wrinkled index finger to her thin lips. “We don’t make those articles accessible, dear. The legend is dangerous and we’d rather keep people away from anything pertaining to that evil piece of land out there.”

“Please, I’m doing a report on legends, not the mountain itself,” I lied. “Can you let me peek at the articles so I don’t get an ‘F’ in the class? This will determine if I go on to college or end up working in a beautiful library like the one you’ve got here.”

I could tell she wasn’t sure if I was insulting her. I really wasn’t, but I needed that data because apparently, according to the legend, my life depended on it.

After scrutinizing me through a pensive frown, she nodded. The old librarian got up and motioned for me to follow her. She led me into a back storage room full of cartons.

“We keep the ‘legend’ articles in a box and off the Internet. So far, we’ve been lucky that no one outside of Castleborough has caught on to the legend. We’re a closed-off community, so most people won’t whisper a word of it. And therefore, it keeps thrill seekers out of our backyards. Besides, who wants to live in a town where it snows every day of the year?”

“I understand, ma’am.”

“This is the box. You can go through it, but don’t take anything, and try to keep it all in the same order.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“When you’re done, close the storage room door and make sure it’s locked.”

“Of course, ma’am. Thank you so much for your help.”

She lifted her thin lips in a tight smile and strode out of the storage room, holding onto the shelving units to keep her balance.

Taking a deep breath, I grabbed the box and sat on the cold cement floor, opening it to see yellowed newspaper articles and stories about Spirit Mountain. Folding my legs, I read the first article on top. The headline read: “Spirit Trapped on the Top of a Mountain Causes Another Death in Castleborough.”

I was so engulfed in reading that headline, I didn’t hear the person walk up behind me from somewhere in the storage area until he spoke.

“So, what’s your interest in the mountain?” a deep voice asked, scaring me to the point that I shot up and spun around to face the boy behind me.

“It’s you. Logan, right?” I muttered. “Logan Hall?”

“Yeah.” He nodded with an indifferent expression. “What’s your interest in the mountain?”

“Uh, I’m doing a paper on it and—”

“Bull!” He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at me. “You can lie to Edith, but you’re not going to lie to me.”

“Edith?”

He rolled his eyes. “The librarian.”

“Fine.” I straightened up, pushing my shoulders back. I wasn’t going to let this guy, as hot as he was, bully me out of discovering the truth. “Why don’t you tell me how your sister died?”

I immediately cringed as I said it. It was abrupt and rude, and her death must have still been fresh for him. I felt even worse when I saw a sharp pain cross his eyes and face. I wanted to take it back, but I couldn’t. I’d already said it—already I sounded like an insensitive rude girl from New York.

He stared at me for what felt like forever. Then, he softly said, “She died in her sleep.” Without another word, Logan stormed past me and grabbed the box from the floor. He moved through the storage room so quickly that I lost him.

“I need that,” I yelled. My throat seized with emotion, I sat on the floor and put my head in my hands, almost pulling out my bangs. “I need that box to save my life,” I whispered.

Chapter Four

As I brushed past way too many hustling students on my way to final period, I noticed Logan in the busy hallway, grabbing books out of his locker. I stormed over to him and slammed my hand against the blue metal door, forcing it shut. “Hey.”

A bit startled, he turned to me. “Oh, it’s you. What do you want, New York?” He turned to open his locker again.

I rolled my eyes. Clearly, no matter where a girl found herself, hot guys were always jerks. “My name isn’t
New York
and I want that box back.”

He shut his locker and fixed his light brown eyes on me. “What for?”

“Because…” I hesitated. “I need it.”

He shrugged. “Gotta do better than that.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “I want to know more about the legend. Is the legend of Spirit Mountain what killed your sister?”

I hated bringing up his sister, but I knew he was the only person at this school so closely related to one of the victims of Spirit Mountain. So, I had no choice.

Logan glared at me. “How dare you? No. And don’t mention the name of the mountain again!”

“Then what’s in that box that you don’t want me to see?”

“Listen, New York.” He leaned forward. “What if there is a possibility that the legend is true? I’m not going to watch something happen to you, too.” Irritated, he turned to head into final period.

“I’m having the dream,” I said, watching him walk away.

He stopped with his back toward me and the two textbooks cupped in his hand at his side slipped and hit the floor. When he turned, his eyes bore into mine. “You’re kidding, right?”

With a sigh, I took three steps toward him to get closer. The last thing I wanted to do was announce to the entire small town of Castleborough that the new girl was dreaming about the same guy that two other girls in the town had dreamed about and then, had mysteriously died. When I stood in front of him, staring up at him, I placed one hand on my hip. “No, I’m not.”

Logan grabbed my arm and pulled me to a small alcove in the hallway where he could talk to me alone. “If you’re lying to me, I will—”

I clenched my fists and pouted. “Ugh, I’m not lying. Why would I lie about such a thing? Listen to me, Logan. I’m not asking you to help me figure out the legend. I’m just asking you to give me the box so
I
can figure it out. It’s my life on the line here, apparently.” I shook my head at myself for even entertaining this town’s crazy story. And yet, like those dead girls, I
had
been dreaming about that boy.

Logan sighed. “How many days?”

“How many days what?” I asked.

“Have you been having the dream?”

“Last night made it fourteen.”

He tilted his head and pursed his lips. We stopped talking and watched as three of our peers walked past, pointing at Logan and whispering. Logan huffed, shaking his head. By this point, neither of us cared about final period anymore. Without warning, he grabbed my arm and took long strides down the corridors before dragging me into the library stockroom.

Logan was the type of guy who made a girl feel uneasy with his lush, dark-brown hair and charming light-brown eyes. The first day I’d arrived at this school, when I’d seen him in my class, I didn’t think he belonged in such a small school or a backward town like Castleborough. He reminded me more of a surfer boy who might live somewhere in California, riding the waves before school.

Once inside the library stockroom and out of earshot of other students, I had to ask him, “Do you believe in the legend?”

He let out a slow deep breath. “No…yes…I mean, not really. But if there’s some truth to it, and you’ve been having the same dream my sister had, then we should find out now and see if we can do something about it.”

“Wait a minute.
We’re
not doing anything. I’m not dragging you into this with me, Logan. I’m going alone.”

“You’re going
where
alone?”

“To the top of the mountain.” My heart raced. From what I’d seen of it so far, it looked like a daunting climb. And I’d never climbed a mountain before. Yet, something from up there compelled me. I had to meet that boy. I had to know the truth about him.

He shook his head. “Oh, you city girls are insane. First of all, if you think it’s cold here, just wait until you get up there. You’ll die before you get to the top.”

“I’m from New York. I’m not afraid of the cold. Are you?”

Logan rolled his eyes. “This has nothing to do with being
afraid
. It has to do with being smart. Climbing that mountain is suicide.”

I nodded. “You’re right. So, help me research the legend so I can arm myself with knowledge and maybe I won’t have to go to the top.”

“Fine. The box is in my truck.”

“Does Edith know you have the box in your truck?”

Logan laughed. “Edith is my grandmother. I hardly think she’ll care.”

I had forgotten that all the small-town movies I’d seen over the years always had one thing in common—one way or another, everyone was related. I laughed inwardly at that thought. “Fine. After today, we’ll be out of school for two weeks. Come over to my house tonight around six, after dinner, and we can start going through the articles and stuff. According to the legend, I only have six days left.”

“Where do you live?”

After I told him my address, he narrowed his eyes at me. “I know that house. It has a fancy upstairs balcony.”

“Yeah. That’s my bedroom. The room with a view. What of it?”

He didn’t answer my question. “Nothing’s going to happen to you, New York.”

I sure hope you’re right,
I thought as we left the library stockroom.

Chapter Five

Aunt Vine made spaghetti for dinner, again. How could anyone mess up cooking something as simple as spaghetti? Even I could prepare a better meal, and I’d never needed to cook back in New York. After two weeks’ worth of meals at this home, I’d discovered that Aunt Vine could not cook to save her life. At this rate, I wouldn’t mind cooking for myself.

I stomached the meal as best I could, managing all of five bites of food while listening to Aunt Vine and Uncle Ernie fawn all over Teddy as he told them what he ate for lunch and how a classmate made him mad so he walked over and stole his brownie off his lunch tray when the boy wasn’t looking. The whole exchange made me sick.
Is this what being spoiled looks like to others?

After a while, I tuned them out and thought about the box of stuff Logan had agreed to bring over tonight. Would there be something in there that could tell us the truth about the legend? Or would it be a bunch of malarkey about how untrue and mythical the whole thing seemed?

I glanced at my extended family. “May I be excused from the dinner table? I’d like to call my dad.”

“Dear, it’s already 11:00 p.m. there. He’ll be sleeping by now. Maybe you should wait until tomorrow.”

“Okay, Aunt Vine.” I stood with my plate in my hand, hesitating for a moment. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Can’t promise an answer,” Aunt Vine said, trying to sound witty. She was a stay-at-home mom, like many of the women in Castleborough.

“Do you know anything about the legend of that mountain outside my room?”

Aunt Vine covered Teddy’s ears and gave me a stern look. “Are you insane, young lady? Why would you mention that in front of my boy?”

“Forget it. I heard something about it at school today, but I don’t think it means anything. All right, I’m going to go up to my room now. Good night.”

“We’ll be up to check on you at ten, sharp.”

“Okay.”

Both my aunt and uncle mumbled and returned to their plates of spaghetti. Teddy went back to his usual habit of shoveling food into his mouth. I placed my plate in the kitchen sink and headed up the polished woodgrain stairs, locking my bedroom door behind me.

No sooner did I turn around than I heard a tap on my balcony window. I ran over and opened it for Logan, who’d hauled up the box with him. I grabbed it from his hands so he could climb into my room.

“Are you sure you won’t get into trouble?” he asked, catching his breath.

“Don’t worry. No one will know.”

“Your aunt and uncle are weird. I don’t want to get on their bad side.”

“Stop worrying, will you?”

He glanced around my room. “This room is creepy.”

Tell me about it,
I thought. Aunt Vine had put me up in the room that used to be her doll room. She told me I couldn’t take down the displayed dolls sitting on the shelves. “My aunt’s collection of dolls.” I laughed. “Sometimes, I’ll throw a blanket over them so they don’t stare at me all night while I’m sleeping.”

Logan turned to look out the second-story window in my room that framed Spirit Mountain. “Whoa, New York. Most of the town was built with no windows facing the mountain, but you have a direct view of it.” He hesitated and glanced back at me. “Or maybe, it has a direct view of you.”

I shuddered and moved closer to him. We both stared out the window.

Logan keenly studied the mountain. Leaning toward me a bit, he brushed his shoulder against mine. A spark of electricity shot through my body.

He scratched his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen the mountain from this height before.” He turned to look into my eyes. “But then again, no one has direct-access viewing at this level of the mountain—except for you in this room.”

“Lucky me,” I whispered, tilting my head toward him.

We watched the mountaintop for a few more minutes before Logan nudged me to join him at the box. “Let’s figure this out, shall we?”

I nodded and followed him. We timidly opened the lid, as if something inside was waiting to jump out at us.

Logan pulled out a stack of papers, articles and flyers. “I think we should separate these by articles about the legend and deaths reported in the town.” He handed me a stack.

I took them and created two piles that we both built. Every so often, I’d glance up at him and he’d be staring at me with those brown eyes and curious face.

“Look at this.” I shoved an article his way. “It says that the legend started one hundred years ago.”

Logan scanned the yellowish, brittle paper, carefully holding it so it didn’t fall apart in his hands. “Wow,” he muttered.

“What? What else does it say?”

“The note attached is from...” He narrowed his eyes.

“What? Tell me.”

“How long has this house been here?”

“I don’t know! How would I know that?” My aunt and uncle had never told me much about their own past, let alone the past of their weird old house.

Logan glanced up at me and then back at the article. “Beth, this was written a hundred years ago by a woman who lived in
this
house.”

“No way! Let me see that.”

“Apparently, the boy—the one that appears in dreams—was this woman’s brother.” He handed me the paper, which I cradled in my hands.

“Logan, this is old. The English is broken, but there’s a note stapled to the back from the owners who lived here before my aunt and uncle, but after that woman who wrote the article. The note states that they found this article in a box of things in their attic...” I glanced up. “In
this
attic.”

Logan gasped. “So, read the article that the lady wrote.”

I cleared my throat, fighting the eerie feeling swelling inside me. “I write to tell you about my brother. His story has been buried in a lifetime of foolish folklore, but I’m too old now and cannot see him the way I used to. I ask that you put this article in your paper, so that he may have closure.” A chill ran down my spine.

“What else does it say?” Logan asked.

I slowly lifted my head from the weathered article to the boy in front of me, tears at the rims of my eyes threatening to flood my face. “The poor boy was murdered by the townspeople.”