The Mountain Lives

Written: 12-10-2025 Shared: 10-20-2026             It’s been 3 months since I last heard from Eddie. Eddie and I don’t normally have radio silence like this. Three months since he started the climb up that mountain, and he hasn’t come back since. I’ve spoken to every local and sherpa in the taverns for help, but each one has told me the same story.

            “Your brother is dead, eaten by the mountain.”

I don’t want to believe them. Eddie’s no novice; he’s climbed dozens of mountains and came prepared for the harshest of weather conditions. One time, he told me he climbed Annapurna in Nepal during a blizzard. He survived K2 and Everest’s peaks because he always came prepared. This mountain isn’t even on a climber’s radar, so it’s impossible to think it would take him. He’s too careful for that. But I have to find out.

            Despite the local guides turning me down, I keep telling them my story. “Hello. My name is Adler, and I’m looking for my brother. His name is Edward Iggan. He came to this village 3 months ago to climb the nearby mountain, and he’s gone missing. Please, guide me up the mountain, and I will gladly pay whatever fee you charge, plus extra if we can rescue him.”

            I say the same words again and again. Each time, I get a no. I admit, I’m not an expert like Eddie, but I’m not a complete novice. I think the sherpas can sense that and don’t trust me. Each time, they turn away the moment I mention the mountain. Regardless, I keep asking.

            “Okay,” a thick, fur-coated sherpa nods, taking a sip from his beer bottle.

            “Wait, you will?” I gasp in surprise. Admittedly, it was hard to understand him with his thick local European accent. But an okay is pretty universal. “Barkeep, please. Another round for my friend here.”

            The lovely maiden working behind the bar had that rugged fire that showed she knew how to handle the drunkards in the tavern. Everyone who walked in gave her a hearty hello, as if it was mandatory to pay her respect before sitting down. I bet she could outdrink any one of these burly boars that engorge themselves at this place. She nods and hands the sherpa a shot of something clear and so pungent that it burned my nose hairs and made me tear up even when I was standing a good 3 feet away from the glass.

            The sherpa grumbles something about “traveling to the mouth” or “the jaws?” before gulping the unknown alcohol down without a hint of reaction. Unsure, I asked the barkeep for a clearer translation.

            “He says he’ll only bring ya as far as the Maw,” she translated. “Afta that, ya on yas own.”

            “Okay, so I wasn’t too far off. What’s the Maw?”

            “It’s too dark ta sees it now. But in ta morning, there’s a clearin wit a large crevice. Legend has it ta mountain eats climbas who walk past it.”

            “Interesting. Is that a local legend about it?”

            “No legend. That mountain is alive, and it don’t like people walkin on her.”

            The sherpa adds to the conversation, his broken English sharing of being kissed by the winds, and frozen bodies found holding emptiness. I’m not sure if he was being poetic, but I have to stay strong. Eddie would go up there to save me. I have to do it for him.

            “Here, another shot for ta two of yas,” the barkeep sighs, placing 2 shots of what I suppose is gasoline that burned my sinuses. “Yas will need the rest.”

            The sherpa and I raise our respective glasses, clink, and gulp the shot down. He clears his throat slightly while I struggle to process the poison I’ve just subjected my liver to.

            I meet with the sherpa before dawn. The wind is crisp and fresh; so clean compared to the city air I’m familiar with. That good quality oxygen that the lungs really need to breathe lighter and easier. Streets and roadways are silent and empty, with the street lamps systematically turning off as the sun gently peeks over the mountain range to the East, bathing the lovely town in an orange glow. A beautiful sight that I will remember for the rest of my days. Maybe Eddie decided to go live on top of the mountain to enjoy this gorgeous view every day.

            Sherpa pokes my shoulder and points up to a large clearing several miles up. Peculiarly, the mountain is covered in lush trees before a snowy peak, but a section of the trees is completely cleared with a massive gaping crevice in the middle. It’s so wide that from a certain angle, it looks like the mountain has a mouth, yawning in the daylight. Context clues tell me that’s The Maw and that’s as far as the sherpa’s willing to go. Honestly, it doesn’t look that far away, and it doesn’t appear that steep. It confuses me more how Eddie could have trouble with this mountain. But questions until after I find him.

            The ascent is fairly routine. We take scheduled breaks to maintain our stamina. We eat, hydrate, adjust to the gradually decreasing oxygen. Thankfully, I have two small canisters of oxygen in case we need it, but so far all is going well. If my brother wasn’t in dire straits, this would be a lovely hike.

            It takes us a few hours to reach the clearing and the Maw. Up close, it’s even more impressive and more perilous than I would have imagined. Jagged rocks line both sides of the crevice, with a tinge of ice on each of the edges. Slightly up the hill is a solid ice wall, preventing further ascent without finding a way to the other side. A novice hiker or mountaineer lost in a snowstorm has no chance of survival if they fall into it. If they aren’t impaled by the jagged rocks, then the impact from the seemingly bottomless pit would finish them.

            I pull out a signal light, dropping it down the maw to see how far it goes. Unfortunately, the flare vanishes in the dark before it hits the bottom. Could Eddie have fallen in? How could he? You can’t stumble into something this wide. Looking back, we can clearly see the village from below. Small smoke trails billow from fireplaces, with cars strolling down the roads like ants moving through their colony. No, I have to believe Eddie is beyond this point.

            The sherpa pulls my coat, crossing his arms and pointing back toward the village.

            “I understand; you won’t cross. But please, my brother has to be beyond this. Is there any way to get across?”

            The sherpa crosses his arms harder, glaring at me with the stern anger of a parent to a rebellious child. He pulls my sleeve again, pointing back toward the village with emphasis on the word “return.”

            “Please. Just a little farther. I have to try. You don’t have to cross. Just show me how to get to the other side.”

            The sherpa sighs and releases me. He walks near the edge of the Maw (in the figurative sense, where the upper lip would be). He sticks his walking cane down, tamping the ground and patting the ice wall, clinging to it like a spider on a web. Inspecting the path, a small, thin layer of ground appears sturdy enough to hold some weight to get across. Looking down, thick trees prevent passing from the opposite end, meaning this is the only path across. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath, hold the crisp cold air in my lungs for a few seconds, before exhaling; tingles of warmth washing over me.

            “Thank you,” I pat the sherpa’s shoulder before slowly inching myself onto the small path. Sherpa says something similar to goodbye before trekking down the mountain.

            Carefully, I inch my way across the path, clinging to the icy wall for dear life. Again, surprisingly, the path is not that difficult, and I make it across nicely. I don’t understand the big fuss. Granted, the Maw is really scary to cross, but I’m an intermediate climber at best, and I made it. Surely other climbers can handle that with ease. Regardless, the other side of the Maw is a calm, snowy clearing where I have a moment to gather myself and continue up the mountain.

            Suddenly, mere moments after I step into the tree line, the wind picks up and knocks me to one knee. The weather was calm and serene all day, but now it gusts as if it’s trying to stop me from going further. It howls so loudly, my ears freeze through my ear warmers. I can barely hear my own footsteps crunch the snow. Every step feels like I’m fighting a tornado until, again, I’m knocked to the ground. Did I enter a different side of the mountain? What is this? Doesn’t matter; I need to find shelter, or else I could be blown right off this mountain.

            Huddling close to a tree, I use the large trunk for cover, allowing me a moment of reprieve to catch my breath and gather my thoughts. It has to die down at some point, but I can’t huddle behind this tree all day. Temperatures will plummet at night, and this wind will freeze me alive before midnight.

            Wait, what’s that sound? The howling from the wind, is moaning, as if grieving? I must be hearing things, but I swear it sounds like a person crying for help. Maybe someone does live up here! They might know where my brother is.

            Peeking around the massive trunk, the moans get louder. The tune is so enchanting with its simple melody; it rips right through me where I barely feel the wind anymore. I follow it up the mountain a bit farther until I see a humanoid figure in the storm. A woman? She’s huddled near a tree like I was. She must be in trouble too and got caught in the storm.

            “Hello! Can you hear me?” I try shouting, but her moans drown me out. I push through the thick snow, collapsing again as if my body were crushed by a sudden weight. Struggling to get up, I crawl through the snow, covering my face to reach her.

            “Miss, are you okay? We need to find shelter from this storm!” I shout, inching closer to her.

            Her moans slowly subside, spotting me crawling in the snow. She nimbly glides through the snow, reaching me in seconds as if the wind were carrying her. I must be losing my mind, but she’s dressed in a blue-white gown, barefoot, with long white-silvery hair and soft skin with a tinge of red.

            “Miss, please. This storm is dangerous. We need to find shelter. Do you live around here?”

            “What are you doing here? Strangers don’t come this far out.”

            “Miss, please. We have to find shelter. I’ll tell you everything once we’re safe.”

            “Aw, you’re sweet.” She leans over, stroking the loose hair from my hood.

            Within seconds of touching my hair, the follicles completely freeze, and she chips them off like an icicle. She sits next to me, sliding the back of her hand against my cheek. My cheek instantly freezes, burning my skin as I shout from the excruciating pain. Rolling away, I drag myself to my feet and grab a small hand axe from my bag.

            “Stay away, don’t touch me!”

            “That’s not nice. You came to see me.” She moans, and the wind picks up again, knocking me back several feet, dropping my axe.

            That’s it. Eddie’s dead. I’m dead. This mountain is evil. I have to get outta here, now!

Throwing myself onto my feet, I turn around and use the wind to guide me back toward the Maw. But it’s gone?! I swear it was right here. I went from the tree line to the clearing, then to the Maw. Where is it?! Even with the snow, I can still see a bit ahead. It should be here! It has to be here! Where is it?!

            The moaning from the woman’s cries gets louder. She’s coming. She’s going to find me. I can’t rush forward; I’ll die falling in. But where is it?!

            No choice, I trudge ahead, carefully inching with every step, trying to clear a small path so I don’t accidentally fall in. But it’s all wrong. I didn’t walk that far away. It has to be here!

            “You’re tough, I bet you’ll taste good.”

            “Wha?!”

            The Maw opens, the ground gives way beneath my feet, and in a dead silence, the wind and moaning stop as I plummet into the darkness below, with the Maw’s crevice sealing itself from above.