The Legend of the Invisible Mountain Monster
A Grindstone-themed Halloween story for everyone.
There once was a horrible monster sighting near Grindstone Mountain. More horrible than Creeps, more horrible than Jerks, and more horrible even than MeatBjöll and his slaughterhouse of horrors. The monster was said to make this sickly wheezing noise, like Helga crawling back to her basement after too many fizzy eyes of newt. The monster was invisible but shook the trees around it with a great force, snapping branches as it walked. And it glowed, a tiny little pulsating ball of light. That tiny little light, presumably smack dab in the middle of the hulking monster, was said to be its soul.
Or so the rumours go. And by rumours I mean the stories HjellHjole teens tell each other around campfires at night. Campfires I host in the back of my bone hut, of course. Gotta keep the kiddos safe when they’re getting the heebies and the jeebies. Usually their stories aren’t good. Honestly. Those kids wouldn’t know tension or setups and payoffs if they were formally introduced and forced to be lab partners for a year. I don’t tell them this, of course. Want to encourage their young minds and creativity. I can’t be the only storyteller around here forever, you know. Well, I could, but that’s besides the point. I want a protégé! I want to be a mentor!
Anyways, I’m getting distracted. These kids suck at scary stories is what I was saying (they clearly need my tutelage), but that’s not the point. Those kids putting on bad voices and telling each other jumpscare fests is how I knew that this one particular story about the horrible, invisible monster was true. I knew it was true because it was good. It was intriguing. It was shocking. And nobody giggled during it. Everyone was scared. Even my poor little Meemo didn’t bark during it (he hates when they giggle–teens make him nervous). So I told them. That’s a good story, I said.
And then you know what? They got mad at me! Real mad at me! They told me it wasn’t a story. They told me it was real. And I said, sure, yeah, I know. But it can be both real and a good story. They didn’t like that either. But like I said, I wanted to encourage them, even if they don’t know what “creative nonfiction” is. But if recounting a real event was going to teach them how to tell a good story, then I wasn’t going to stand in their way. No. I was definitely going to encourage them.
So a tradition was born! Every year at Halloween they’d tell this story–sorry, their totally true account of very real events. Because it was scary and they liked being scared. But eventually they got a bit older and they stopped being as scared by the invisible monster they never saw again. And then their storytelling got lazy. It wasn’t fresh anymore. So they did what every group of teens do: they got brain worms. Not the dignified type of brain worms you get from being a corpse or from cannibalism. No. The type of brain worms that convinces you you’re a verified cryptid hunter and can get evidence of the monster that lurks in the nearby mountains.
They wanted to catch the monster. Or at least get irrefutable evidence of its existence. And I wanted them to get some new material. So I let them think I was asleep so they could sneak away from the bone hut to try and catch their monster. And then I followed them. I still wanted to protect them, you see. Grindstone Mountain isn’t safe and after all, this invisible mountain monster probably was real.
So to the Mountain they went.
I gotta admit, the teens were the best wannabe ghost hunters you’ve ever seen in your life. I was actually kind of proud of them. Doo-dads to check for “energies”. Salt for “protection”. Sacred symbols written on their body in washable ink. A parrot one of them insists is a medium and can channel ghosts. I don’t know where they got their instructions from, but it was thorough (even if totally not real).
At first they heard nothing. Like nothing at all, not even a sneeze from a Creep (which is good, these kids were not stonegrinders). And then it started. Slowly at first. A few snapped branches, a few ominous whistles and strange breathing. Rustling of trees. The teens were getting real good and spooked already. Not being able to see the monster but knowing it’s there? Mwah, perfect for being scared. Your imagination is going wild, your adrenaline is pumping. So the invisible monster decided to keep this up for a little bit. Making spooky sounds, rustling leaves, wheezing that unsettling wheeze.
Then one of the teens screams. Not like a little yelp or a joke scream. A legit scream, full throated, using the diaphragm, screaming to save your life type of scream. And then they point. And in the direction the teen is pointing, the trees are rustling like whoa. Just shaking so hard it looks like they could topple over.
And then from within the tree two things at once. The heavy wheezing intensified at the same time that a voice shouted:
“LEAVE THIS PLACE.”
Those teens, I tell ya. They screamed. Real loud and real scared like. But to their credit, none of them ran (they are the kids of stonegrinders, even if they aren’t stonegrinders themselves). They stood steadfast in their fear. Real heroes, even if I knew in their heads they were all deciding the order in which the monster would eat them first. So they huddled together, knowing they were stronger together. They didn’t use any of their equipment they brought, but they stood together facing the shaking trees, ready to see once and for all what this invisible monster really was made of.
And that’s when the trees shook one last time like an angry beast before becoming perfectly still. Then in that stillness, the tiny little light emerged, twinkling in the darkness of the mountain. And along with that tiny little light was the horrific wheezing sound again. Before anybody’s eyes could fully adjust, a tiny little bone dropped onto the ground, its polished surface illuminated in the monster’s bioluminescent light.
The wheezing stopped and after a moment of utter horror, a light bark sputtered out from below the tiny soul light. One little bark followed by another little bark. And then one of the teens, the first one who screamed, shouted:
“Meemo?”
Now with everyone’s eyes adjusted, the teens all saw the truth: there was no invisible monster. There was one little Meemo who could make quiet the racket when he wanted to (and who had a harder time breathing when he was walking around carrying his favourite toy bone in his mouth).
When Meemo trotted out from underneath the bush, the screams! Those kids screamed so loud! And then they started giggling. And giggles turned to full on rollicking laughter. Meemo dropped the bone it was holding so it could breathe better and the terrifying wheezing stopped.
And as Meemo trotted toward the kids and their lanterns, the bioluminescent fungi on its head dimmed. The little ball of light everyone thought was the monster’s soul? Just a mushroom! A little Meemo mushroom, to help him see in the dark. The grass quivered as Meemo kicked at the stalks and crunched twigs. For a little guy, he sure can make a lot of noise. I taught him that.
Then when everybody was done laughing and petting Meemo, I lumbered out of my own hiding spot behind some trees. The kids were all grinning. Man, they had been so scared! But the secret to good spooky stories is the stress relief. You gotta release that tension or else ya break. The other secret is picking and choosing when to reveal key motivations to your audience. Anyways, when they saw me and they saw Meemo, they put it all together. Knew that we were behind the invisible monster and it was all a hoax! Smart kids, really. And you know what else? They weren’t even mad at me! They wanted to be scared they said. And who better to scare them than the best spooky storytelling Grindstone Mountain has to offer?
Nobody, that’s who.
Happy Halloween, stonegrinders, stoneghouls, and stoneghosties.
