The Legend of the haunted Spirit Mountain isn’t that old. Just a few decades.
And something to do with secret government experiments in hidden bases deep in the desert.
They must have thought no one would ever find out…
When strange weather patterns started affecting local crops in near-mystical ways, the Ghost Hunters got their assignment: find out if it was some sort of trapped spirit who was causing this disruption. Move them on if they could.
But the underlying conflict they found endangers lives of not just humans, but immortal spirit guides as well.
And any continued existence on this plane was caught in the middle…
The Spirit Mountain Mystery – New Writing Fiction by Marpel & Brower
“Seems quiet now.” Standing on the empty plains under a red-sky morning that rolled out away from a torn and fractured Nevada desert mountain, it seemed pretty obvious. Quiet.
Of course, I soon wished I hadn’t said anything. Something like Finagle’s law. Not just that things will go wrong if they can, but also at the worst possible moment. And in the worst possible way.
A dust cloud soon swallowed us. Sal and Jude together had to put up and hold a force shield around us. And that’s pretty much all they could do, as that dust came with the force of a terrible wind. Something like a hurricane’s – and it came up within seconds of my speaking.
But then a pain seared through my stomach and quickly spread to my veins. A massive headache started in the next moment. All I could do was to clutch my stomach and roll into a ball on the ground.
Sal and Jude saw me and were frantic with alarm, but could do nothing without lowering the shield and watching us all blow away.
The last thing I remember seeing was someone walking through that hurricane right toward us – as if it was a calm day in those Midwest pastures I’d left a thousand miles away. She came right up and walked through Sal and Jude’s force shield like it wasn’t there. Just waltzed in and crouched over to have a look at me. Not a single red hair surrounding her pretty face was even moving. Big, dark green eyes looking into my soul. Did I mention her pretty face? Thought so.
As she put her hand on my forehead, everything went black.
At least the pain stopped…
– – – –
When I woke, I didn’t feel any pain. In fact I felt just fine.
“Glad to see you awake, sleepyhead. You certainly gave us some alarm. About three days worth.” Sal was sitting in the single ladder-back chair across the narrow room and by the side of a paneled door.
I seemed to be in some upper level of an old wood-framed saloon. The flowered wallpaper and wainscoting, the standalone wardrobe and low-boy dresser – they all matched that period. Of course, that was my writer training showing up. We had the two characters for this scene and the setting was just another part of the mystery.
“Last I remember was getting a gut-wrenching pain and headache. And now I wake up here.” Of course, I had to peek beneath the sheet and quilt as something felt odd. A one piece nightshirt. Comfortable, but different.
I looked into her gorgeous face again, appreciating what I had come so close to losing. “Has it really been three days?”
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