The Day After

I sit at my grandmother’s knee, listening to haunting stories from her childhood, as I have done so many.  This isn’t the first time her quivering voice whispered this particular haunting tale. I’ve heard it many times before, and it always sends shivers down my spine. This one is more frightening than all her stories put together, and in her ninety-six years; grandmother has collected quite a few stories bordering on the supernatural.  Grandmother began her story about the lovers lost in the mist just as she always did. 

 

“Deary, have I ever told you the haunting tale of the mountain climbers who disappeared on the mountain that looms over New River Gorge?” 

 

“No grandma,” I said, because I always looked forward to her telling of the tale of lovers lost in the mist. 

 

“Well deary it happened the day after my tenth birthday May 22 1914.  The morning began as a beautiful spring day, but rain clouds began forming around noon.  I watch as the sun played peek-a-boo with two angry rain clouds.  Just as the first raindrops fell; I saw them in the distance through the mist, a boy and a girl climbing up the mountain over the gorge.  Some distance in front of them I saw another figure, and I immediately got an eerie feeling in the pit of my stomach.  This new climber should not be there, and then suddenly he was gone.  I focused in on the two young climbers. They scurried like mountain goats, and I had to smile at the fun they were having, but in a moment, in the twinkling of my eye, the girl just disappeared from sight.”

 

Grandma’s eyes glazed over as if she had traveled back in time to that very moment. 

 

“I wondered at the time if she had fallen, but the boy didn’t give any indication that she had.  In the distance I could tell by his body language that he was as confused as I.  Instinctively I looked for the third climber, but he was nowhere to be seen.  I watch the boy search for her, from way down below.  Finely he climbed down and ran into town for help.  For many days searchers combed the mountainside for the broken body of the young girl, but she was never found. There was no mention of the third climber; it was if I was the only one to see him.” 

 

I looked at grandma, and noticed that chill bumps had popped up on her arm at the mere mention of her vision embedded in her mind.

 

“To this day I have not taken that shortcut through the Gorge.  I fear another encounter with the sinister third climber, only visible to me.  From that rainy afternoon to this day it is said that on rainy days in the mist; you’ll see the Climbers of the Gorge.  Beware the Climbers’ stare.  Gaze into their eyes if you dare and stumble into oblivion, and be forever lost in the mist.

Reviews

[Bette]

spooky!! well done! i look forward to hearing some more of grandmothers tales! well done!