B (14:22)
Check now time is my friend and not a pain in the neck and we've got a little cash to rebuild the old deck. Boring money moves make kind of lame songs but they sound pretty sweet to your wallet. PNC bank brilliantly boring since 1865 it's funny, I don't believe I thought about my toothache even once that night. I was too terrified and charged with adrenaline to think about anything other than survival. It was past midnight and the things outside were still circling our cabin like they were sizing us up or waiting for us, and we thought maybe we could wait them out too. The cabin walls were thick logs and we were all armed. Did the things out there know that? Did they think at all? Based on their behavior, I presumed as much. They began their attack slowly and intentionally. First they'd circle the cabin, then throw themselves against it. Then they'd pull back and we'd have a few minutes of quiet before they came again, each time with just a bit more force. Soon enough, the whole structure was shaking and we were desperately firing our rifles through the walls. The bullets scared them off for another few minutes, but they kept coming back, always coming back. Then they found the door. They pushed so hard against it that we had to brace it with a pole from the bunk bed. We even drove two spikes through the brace into the floor, and that gave us a little confidence. Then they climbed onto the roof and began hammering at it with rocks. We responded by firing round after round through the ceiling, hoping to drive them off. The sound of gunfire in that enclosed space was deafening, but we had no choice. If we stopped shooting, they break through. Rocks started raining down on us through the chimney. Good sized ones that could crack a man's skull if they hit right. We all huddled in the corner furthest from the fireplace, but we could hear them right above us, seemingly tearing the roof apart, trying to get in between the impacts and sounds of movement. I could hear them making noises, not speech, but clearly some form of communication. Soon one of them managed to get an arm through the gap in the chinking and grabbed our axe by the handle. The arm was massive, covered in dark hair, and had fingers far longer than any man's ought to be. I managed to turn the axe head sideways so it would catch on the logs, and at the same moment, Marion fired his rifle right at the thing outside. The creature let go with a sound that was part scream, part growl, and snatched its arm back. This went on for what felt like hours. Marion and I did most of the shooting while the others pressed themselves against the far wall, clutching their guns with white knuckles. Roy, bless him, looked like he might faint. Gabe muttered prayers and French. John stared at the door like he was waiting for death himself to knock. At some point, I don't know when exactly, Marion started singing. If you leave us alone, we'll leave you alone and we'll all go home in the morning. Over and over he sang it, his voice cracking with fear and exhaustion. But it didn't quell the attack. If anything, it only intensified it. They kept coming, wave after wave. The walls shook, the door splintered. We began running low on ammunition and worried we might not make it through the night. Then part of the roof caved and cold air rushed in, followed by a shadowy arm. Roy swung the axe like a man born to it, and Marian's Remington cracked the arm Recoiled, but rocks began to rain down through the hole. One of the big ones clipped me at the back of my head and took me down in a brief, ringing dark. When my witch returned, I was under the table with blood sticky in my hair. The others had gathered in close, shouldering their barrels up towards the roof's hole. Outside, I could see the first gray light of dawn stretching across the sky, and I prayed, possibly for the first time in my life, that it would all end soon. And then, as if God himself were answering my call, everything went quiet. The pounding stopped. The footsteps faded. We waited, hardly daring to breathe, listening for any sign they were still out there. But there was no sound to be heard. Slowly, Marion rose and pulled open what was left of our door. The morning mist hung heavy in the canyon, making it hard to see very far, and we crept out into the light, half expecting to be grabbed at any moment by those hairy hands. The area around our cabin looked like a war zone. The pile of roof shakes had been scattered everywhere. Rocks and chunks of wood lay strewn about. Deep scratches marked the logs where those things had tried to claw their way inside. But more disturbing than the physical damage was the footprints. They were huge and pressed everywhere into the earth. My own boot fit cleanly within all of them. We gathered what few supplies we could carry and left behind probably $200 of equipment and provisions. And as we began our long march back to the truck, I caught movement near the canyon rim. One of those creatures was there, staring at us. It made no attempt to hide or flee. It just stood there, as if evaluating whether we were still a threat. In the morning light, I could see its features more clearly than I wanted to. The massive chest, the powerful arms, the intelligent eyes beneath heavy, brooding brows. Without thinking, I raised my rifle and fired three quick shots. The creature toppled backward and disappeared over the edge of the cliff, falling some 400ft in into the gorge below. It took us three hours to reach Marion's truck, and I don't think any of us drew a full breath until we were bouncing down the road back to town. When we finally reached it, we stopped at the first tavern we found. We must have looked a sight. Five grown men, dirty and disheveled, our eyes wild with fear and exhaustion. We huddled around the back table, and after a few stiff drinks to calm our nerves, we made a pact. We wouldn't tell anyone what happened up there. People would think we were crazy or drunk or both. We'd make up some story about the claim not panning out and leave it at that but secrets like that don't keep. Especially when five men share them. So within a week, the story had leaked out. Someone had never found out who told their wife or their drinking buddy. And before we knew it, reporters were showing up at our doors asking about the Battle of Ape Canyon. If I'm being honest, I hate the name. Because those things weren't apes. No, sir. Park rangers went up to investigate our claims and found the cabin exactly as we left it. They even took plaster casts of some of the footprints and measured them carefully. 19 inches long, just as we'd said. But for all their investigations, they couldn't explain what made those tracks or attacked our cabin. But I know what those rangers were thinking. Same thing everyone else was thinking. That five grown men had let their imaginations run wild and turned an encounter with a bear or two into something fantastical. They figured we'd panicked and started shooting at shadows, then convinced ourselves we'd been fighting monsters. But the truth is, there's something in those mountains. I know it as surely as I know my own name. And I know that whatever they are, they don't belong in our world. I've never gone back into those mountains and I never will. Neither have the others, as far as I know. So go ahead and call us liars. Call me a fanatic. I've heard it all. And I always say the same thing. Believe what you will. But if you ever find yourself in those mountains and hear a strange whistling from the ridges, then, friend, you'd best head back the way you came. And whatever you do, don't wait until dark.
