In the hazy predawn light, a maroon SUV ascended a gently sloping dirt road towards Vermont's yellow, green and gold Piedmont mountains. Mid-spring and there was still snow pack icing the frosted peaks. Experienced hikers knew the weather in these mountains could swing nearly sixty degrees in one day and packed shorts next to layers of fleece pullovers and nylon jackets.

Seated in the passenger seat, an attractive dark-haired girl perused her phone screen. No matter the temperature, she cocooned herself in oversized hoodies and loose cargo pants shrouding her dark goth beauty. Today she opted for black skinny jeans under leggings and a fitted jacket. Her raven hair was in sharp contrast to her milky-white skin and cherry-red lips. At school she kept her gaze downcast when she spoke. Not many people noticed her eyes were violet.

As the vehicle approached the mountain's southern base, the second-growth forest merged into thickly wooded hills that comprised the craggy peak's gently rolling foothills.

Through a break in the gossamer mist that shrouded the land, two overgrown acres abruptly came into view. In the nineteen fifties, a well-tended two-story farmhouse with a small red barn had formerly resided on the lot. In the early seventies, the main house had been torn down and replaced with an off the grid handmade log cabin. After a heavy snowstorm, what was left of the faded and peeling barn's roof had caved in several years ago. The granite blocks of the farmhouse's rectangular foundation had been repurposed into a primitive three-foot stone wall that reinforced the cabin's perimeter like worn down teeth.

Beyond the broken split rail fencing, the deserted one-story cabin leaned into the foothills as if it was too tired to stand erect. The darkened structure exuded the worrisome signs of neglect and damp rot. Tattered and faded NO TRESSPASS signs dotted solid tree trunks along the access road like crucified ghosts.

The SUV slowed. Gravel crunched under the vehicle's all-season tires as it slid to a stop on the side of the dirt road. The four door vehicle leaned precariously into the drainage ditch which had eroded during the last rainstorm.

"Why didn't you just park in the trench, Jaxxon?" The lanky Goth girl craned her neck out the window and stared at the wheels that were perched inches from the crumbling edge.

Her blue black hair, crowned with a slouchy charcoal colored hat, hung out the window at a forty five degree angle and draped over her shoulder in a glossy curtain. She braced her legs, sporting black leg warmers that came up to the knees and tucked into fold down lace up black boots, against the door.

"Don't be paranoid, Mal. The road's solid." The handsome, broad-shouldered driver exited the SUV and momentarily disappeared from her view. Mallory Bright winced when the heavy door swung shut with enough force to make the vehicle shudder.

"Dammit, Jaxx!"

Dressed in a chestnut-colored cargo jacket that matched his Timberland oiled work boots, dark jeans, and an olive-colored wool cap, Jaxxon Mitchell walked around to the back of the vehicle. He pulled out two bulky back packs from the cargo area.

With his athletic build, he easily hefted the overstuffed bags. He slipped one onto his shoulder and then leaned through the backseat window to hand the other back pack to a seventeen-year-old teen with slanting cheekbones in a warm brown face. The young man wore a pine green jacket that accented his greenish-blue eyes. He grunted as he accepted the heavy-duty ballistic nylon bag.

"That too heavy Pete?" Mitchell's grey eyes twinkled.

Peter Jones exited the Toyota and staggered under the backpack's weight. His feet skidded on the gravel and he fell back against the SUV, but quickly regained his balance. "What have you got in here, rocks?"

Jaxxon moved to retrieve the bag from his diminutive friend, but Peter chuckled as he braced his shoulders. "You know I like to work out, bro. I can handle it."

The other girl, a blonde with fine hair cut in a short pixie cut, was dressed in lighter colored clothes than Mallory which matched her fey personality. "What are you talking about, Pete? You never exercise." She scanned the wooded area with a bird's nervous energy. "Where's Creed?"

"Come on, let's find him. It's nearly daybreak." The  gravel on the road crunched under Jaxxon's heavy boots. As one, the group silently followed him towards the cabin. They shared a common goal.  Each of them had each opted out of dissecting a living frog in their science classes. They needed the extra credit from this extra-curricular activity to graduate.

The four teens scrambled down into the ditch and then worked their way up the opposite bank onto the properties' overgrown agricultural field. A raven's piercing cry broke the eerie silence and echoed through the mist.

They crossed the knee-high green and straw colored Bermuda grass, dotted with clusters of of purple thistle weed, and headed towards the foothills behind the house. Broken pole fences that had once held herds of black and white dairy cows, now lay flattened under the grass. NO TRESSPASS signs tacked onto posts grew more frequent as they approached the cabin. Mallory looked at the opaque sky and hoped that the gossamer veil would lift in a few minutes.

Always the optimist, Gemma Dixon fell into step behind the others and trudged with a bounce in the heels of her lavender Converse. Hand knitted pastel-colored thick wool socks kept her feet dry. The slender blonde wasn't much for exercise, but her body was naturally wired to nature. The oxygen rich fresh April air was giving her an energy high.

As they approached the cabin, the gurgling of an adjacent stream that sliced through the foothills became an ever present ffffwwwwwhhhhoooooohhhhhhaaaaa as a powerful current rushed through a long and narrow upriver gorge.

"I think the homesteader who lived here off the grid is long gone," she raised her voice to be heard the white noise of the water.

Peter examined the property line. "I disagree. This stone wall looks like it was done recently." He was careful not to disturb the crude rock formation. He shuddered slightly. "This place reminds me of the Blair witch's hideout."

"Then it would 'av to been a ghost," Gemma teased.

"Look at this." A handwritten sign was attached to a broken post. Trespassers will be shot.

"That is so aggro," Mallory frowned and two perfect dimples indented her cheeks.

"I'm not sticking around to meet the apoplectic author." Out of breath, Peter trudged with the heavy pack, holding both the straps with his hands. "Wait up."

The group laboriously tramped through the overgrown field towards a line of three trunks visible in the sheer fog. Their legs were soon dampened by the thick, clinging grass. Within the mist, they sensed the hilltops sitting at the base of the mountains that rose above the abandoned cabin infused with energy that had existed for many millennium.

A hawk cried as the dampened breeze caressed Jaxxon's face. He brushed streaked, blond hair from his forehead and pulled his tight-fitting tuque lower over his ears. "How're you doing, Mal?"

"My boots are soaked from dew." She walked stiff-legged with her shoulders hunched forward like a long-legged, coal black stork.

He looked at her feet. "Don't you have any mud boots?"

"Why would I own a pair of duck boots?"

He shrugged. "They're practical."

"And hideous."

He fell in step beside her. "I've been meaning to ask you," he brushed a hand behind his neck, "do you want to go to the homecoming dance?"

She gave him an intent stare. "Ripping out my fingernails would be less painful."

Behind them, Peter winced. "Please."

"Sorry, Pete." Mallory pulled the hood of her black goth jacket over her head and shrouded her face. Her voice softened. "You know why I don't want to go to the dance, Jaxx."

"Ok, I get it. Sorry." He and the others halted when they reached the edge of the woods. Seeing the vacant knoll, he exhaled. "Where's Creed? This was his idea."

"He said he'd be here by six." Mallory shrugged.

Gemma sipped her aluminum thermos of green tea. Loosening the drawstring on her sky-blue hoodie, she uncovered her head. "He'll be here. He can't stand his parents." She bent over and started collecting green pinecones. "He seizes any excuse to get away from them."

Mist billowed across the leaf-strewn footpath that led from the cabin and into the woods. They'd followed it as far as they could in the low visibility.

"Going further would be risky." Jaxxon dropped his backpack on the damp ground and sat down crossing his legs. Peter followed suite and seated himself on the ground next to him. Gemma found a granite rock protruding from the ground to lean her slender form against.

"Once the sunlight burns off the haze, then we'll be able to see better," he added.

Their jackets had a thin layer of dampness from the humid air. Closer now, they could hear the whoosh of rushing waters, gurgling as it sluiced through the Huntington Gorge that had claimed thirteen lives. Unsettled, Mallory paced and rubbed her arms. "Whoever built that stone wall could still be here." She scanned the woods.

"Don't be ridiculous." Jaxxon said.  "The property's been abandoned for years. There's no one here for miles. The Internet forums would have mentioned if there was."

"That's why it looks like shit. Maybe it was a squatter making moonshine." Peter raised both hands and pretended to upend a bottle of liquor into his mouth.

"Squatters don't improve properties." Mallory insisted. "They trash them."

"Maybe Bigfoot is squatting here with his family." Gemma kicked a pinecone and grinned. "With Mrs. Bigfoot."

"Ok, enough joking." Mallory slowed her breathing until her anxiety eased. "Maybe, I was overreacting about the fence," She crossed her arms, "but I think we should leave."

"Do you want to go to summer school?" Jaxxon stood up.

"Hell no. Brad Davis is going to repeat and he'd love to beat the shit out of me because I won't write his lit papers." Peter grabbed his throat and pretended to choke himself making Gemma laugh.

"If he came after me, I'd kick him in the balls. I'd rather squat here with Bigfoot," she said. "What about you, Jaxx? Are you a Sasquatch fan?" Gemma threw a pine cone at him.

He looked off into the distance and became serious. "I should have remembered to bring a pair of gloves."

"It's damp, not cold." Peter raised his chin and looked up at him. "This place kind of give me the creeps

"Jaxxon nodded. "Thirteen people died here. Not locals. College students who'd been drinking. One was murdered, the other twelve drowned. Do you know one victim stayed submerged for a week until the snow melted and water levels receded?" His gray eyes darted between them. "I don't want to feel that residual energy." He was a psychometric empath, sensitive to touch. Just by feeling an object, he could sense the energy of the previous person. He shuddered. "It's different being here in person."

"They posted a warning about the dangerous current with a list of everyone who died, but it ended up attracting more people."

"Where's the memorial sign?"

"A few hundred yards up the road where the gorge is deepest. We're not going there. The anamoly is on the land below those pools. No one's died in this part of the gorge."

"Yet," Gemma said.

"I don't want to feel any lingering drowned spirits either," Peter said. "At least you can block the energy by covering your skin."

Mallory pulled a pair of black Isotoner gloves out of her pocket. "Here, you can use mine, Jaxx."

He smiled at her and flexed his hands. "Thanks, but your gloves are too small. I'll be careful where I put my hands."

She lifted her chin and scanned the tree line. "This thick mist is dangerous. It would be dangerous to go further."

"More like suicide." Creed Lewis' handsome, dark brooding face appeared beside an ancient pine tree as he stepped out from the perforated mist.

(*Picture is from WorldAtlas)