James Parker was fed up with everything. A shitty job, shitty pay, and a shitty apartment on the equally shitty outskirts of shitty Denver, Colorado. If it weren’t for his love of the mountains, you could easily say his life was like a ball of filth he had been carefully shaping for 33 years. Denver felt like his drunk ex-fiancée Caroline — small, loud, and unbelievably irritating. The only thing keeping him there was the beauty of the Rocky Mountains, especially his beloved peak, Mount Elbert. As a child, he dreamed of becoming an explorer. Reality turned out to be much greyer and, as always, shitty, but Elbert still remained a mystery to him. “The local Mount Everest” was a phrase he often used, especially after a few drinks. “Jesus, James, shut up already, it’s getting annoying,” his friends would usually respond, which often led to uneven arguments between a tipsy James and the rest of the group. Those arguments usually started at the “Pink Ice” bar on 17th Street and ended somewhere behind the burger stand “John’s.” That sign was like a finish line, after which everyone would stumble back home.

That was usually how it went. But the evening of July 21st was unbearably hot and suffocating. It felt as if the weather had turned up the heat and ripped the knob off. Sweat ran down everyone’s temples as they walked. “For fuck’s sake, does it have to be this hot even at night?” Steve asked, but no one answered. They were too tired to talk. Even Susanne, the most talkative one, stayed quiet, chewing mint gum and hoping to mask the sweet smell of alcohol on her breath. “You know it, but you still lie to yourself,” she would repeat like a mantra. The group thought it was pointless. Her partner knew exactly where she spent her Saturdays, but after countless failed attempts to explain that “I’m totally sober, honey, I only had two beers” sounded ridiculous, they gave up.

James preferred to walk a few steps behind, talking to Jessica, his former love, about his plans for a trip. “So yeah… next week I’m going. It’s gonna be amazing,” he said, blowing smoke from his cigarette. “James, are you out of your mind? July, the Rockies, a trip? You might as well lock yourself in a sauna full of sumo wrestlers,” she replied. He liked her. Maybe more than just liked. They had known each other since childhood. He remembered their first date, their first kiss. But their love never bloomed. “Listen, I don’t think it’s a good idea,” she added, brushing her hair aside. “You’ll cook alive there. And those damn snakes.” “Jess, come on, it’ll be fun. Just you and me, nothing but nature. Three days, tops.” She smiled slightly. “If I agree, will you finally stop whining about the mountains?” He loved that smile. “Scout’s honor,” he said, saluting, making her laugh.

The following week dragged on forever. He couldn’t focus at work, waiting only for the moment it would end. He almost ruined a project he had worked on for six months. His boss noticed, but James didn’t care anymore. All he thought about was his vacation. Away from the city, the job, the boss. On Friday, he called Jessica. “Ready for the trip of your life?” he asked. “Honestly? I’d tell you to fuck off, but I’m already packed,” she replied.

They hit the road. By evening, he pulled up in front of her house. The quiet suburban neighborhood improved his mood. He honked, turned up the radio. Maggie Reilly played. It reminded him of better days. “Since when do you listen to this instead of rap?” she asked. “She’s got better flow than most of today’s rappers. Ready?” She laughed and got in.

They drove through the night. Stopped in Saratoga. Ate, rested, wasted time in overpriced shops Jessica loved. They spent the night in a cheap motel. She brought back a small book called “Off the Trail.” He read about old tribes. About a flower used in rituals. It caused visions, let people speak to spirits. Then they were beaten to drive the spirits out. Supposedly, they felt no pain. They drank whiskey. Laughed. Fell asleep.

That night, James had a dream. No, something more real than a dream. He saw himself killing Jessica. Slowly. With intent. He woke up sweating. A voice echoed in his head. “Wake up, James. It’s time. Come to us.”

Morning came. He said nothing. They reached the mountains. Empty, wild, perfect. They walked for hours. Too long. Jessica grew tired. “James, how much longer?” she asked. “Not far,” he replied, even though he didn’t know. Something was pulling him. A cold voice he couldn’t resist.

They reached a pass. The view was breathtaking. She sat down, eating, smiling. He stared into the distance. “I’ll check something ahead,” he said and walked off. The voice grew louder. He found a cave. Cold air flowed from inside. Darkness called to him.

When he returned, she was furious. He apologized, told her he found something incredible. Against her better judgment, she followed him. Inside, the cave felt wrong. Too silent. Too alive. Strange white flowers grew from the rock. She noticed them, fascinated and disturbed. The deeper she went, the stronger the feeling of dread became. She called his name, but only silence answered. Then she saw something move. A shadow, crawling along the walls. She ran.

Then she saw the eyes. Hundreds. Thousands. Covering the cave. Watching her. She screamed and collapsed.

James stood deeper inside, no longer alone. The voice spoke clearly now. It told him what to do. It told him she was necessary. That her blood would free them. That love made her the perfect sacrifice. He agreed.

She woke up in the car. He told her they were going to the hospital. She looked at him. Something was wrong. In the rearview mirror, she saw a second figure. It looked like James, but rotten, with one empty eye socket. It smiled the same way. “Now,” it whispered. The last thing she saw was a truck rushing toward them.

Later, in the hospital, she survived. Barely. Missing an eye. A nurse placed flowers beside her bed. White petals. Brown center. Watching. Waiting.