Prologue
I grew up surrounded by the tale of the monsters that lived under Mt. Ebott. I'd heard all of the warnings and scares about those who climb the mountain never returning, and had the nightmares every kid has when older siblings twist the stories into their own personal gore fests. The legend was clung onto by the small town that resided in its shadows, the way all small towns cling onto all odd tales that might draw more people to them. Town festivals, school plays and even the little tourist trap souvenirs were all based around this story, even as the younger generations started to turn their nose away from this overplayed story.
My father was one such person, hailing from the nearby city he was a man of business down to the core and took no heed to fairy-tales. He opened up a shopping centre in the small town which was a huge success- going by the towns standards- and after a particularly rowdy staff Christmas party found himself engaged and a father-to-be.
My mother was -according to my dearly departed grandmother- a bit of a follower, never able to take the lead for herself she waited idly around for the next man to take control and tell her what to do. She would follow around her husband like a lost puppy until he told her what to do, and though that seemed like a terrible thing in a way it was the best thing for them.
My grandmother took great relish in complaining about her only child being such a tool and telling me wild stories about all of the things she had done which didn't require no man at all. She would ladle these tales with insults no child should hear and then laugh her loud, braying laugh whenever I told her I wasn't going to let any man tell me what to do when I grew up. It was perhaps this that caused many of the clashes between me and my father, who was never happy unless he was bossing someone about.
It was perhaps in one of these rebellious moments that I decided to do something that I thought would make grandmother happy, proving once and for all that I was nothing like my mother (Where my father had got that idea from I had no idea- I retained the belief that I was nothing like her). One golden weekend I decided that I would climb the perilous Mt Ebott and find the monsters that I imagined were hiding up there.
I chose my moment well, while my parents were engrossed in an argument (or as close to an argument as it got which was my father yelling and my mother saying nothing) and my older brother (the Christmas party baby they had decided in a rare twist of humour to name Nicholas-Claus) was busy showing off his latest action figures to his friends. He was at the age when girls started to become yucky, so our sibling bond had turned to rivalry, and I had been left to mope alone on the back porch after he refused to let me join him. My gaze wandered over to Mt. Ebott and for a brief moment determination gripped me, and it was that brief moment that gave me the motivation to begin putting one foot in front of the other. Before I knew it I was free of the confines of my backyard and on my way to the mountain.
The sights and sound of birds became more common as I moved away from civilisation and the sight of a distant deer excited me. How could anyone think this place was dangerous? It was so magical! A squirrel darted away up a nearby tree and in the distance a fox watched me with a vulpine curiousity- it had no reason to fear me. I continued to climb on undeterred, looking for the entrance to the home of the monsters. In the stories it was said to be a large hole that led down to a wicked place where all things evil lived. They said the people who never came down had fallen into the hole and been eaten by the monsters. But I knew that it was just a parents way of stopping kids from doing things- I'd show them that there was nothing to worry about. Besides, only an idiot wouldn't notice a giant hole in the ground.
It never occurred to me that maybe they hadn't fallen.
It took hours of climbing before I reached it, and though my determination began to sink alongside the sun I kept on trekking and soon found myself there. It was, for all intents and purposes, a hole. There didn't appear to be anything special about it, but just in case I laid down on my belly and crawled commando style to the edge and peered over. The hole, it seemed, went on forever, until I noticed there was in fact a bottom. It was highlighted by the dying red light of the day and as I peered into the depths I noticed a bed of flowers. No monsters, no nothing. Just flowers.
Except...
I leaned closer, wiggling further out so I could get a closer look. Hands against an outcropping of dirt to stop myself from plummeting and still it wasn't close enough.
I wiggled a bit further, almost my whole torso held up by that dirt.
Something grabbed my arm, and pulled.
I gave a startled shriek as I was pulled back from the edge with force, turning with fearful eyes to see who had dared grab me.
My brother stared back at me with eyes wide with fear, panting from the exertion of having chased me up this mountain.
"What were you thinking?" he whispered, still holding my arm tightly.
I lowered my gaze to the ground as it finally occurred to me that perhaps this hadn't been the best plan in the world.
He never let go of my arm on the way home, and I never tried to make him. The trek back down the mountain was far different from the one up there. The sky was dark and the animals that had once looked at me with curiosity now looked at me with hunger.
By the time we got home it was the early hours of the morning and my mother was in hysterics as our grandparents tried to comfort her. She broke down again at the sight of us and we had to endure the shouting of both parents as we stood there tired and exhausted. I remember at some point looking over to my grandmother and seeing the disappointment written clearly across her face. I think that stung more than any of the shouting did.
It was maybe that stupid venture which was the final draw for my father, who insisted we move to the city where we would be safer. Though I later learned he'd wanted to open up a shopping centre in the city and had been arguing with my grandparents over it for a while.
And so it was when school finally came to an end that year we found ourselves driving with the town and mountain in our rear view mirror, watching it until it disappeared from view and so- my parents hoped- from memory. But I couldn't shake the image of what I had seen from my head- and maybe it was that one thing that made me climb up it all those years later.
The image of the golden flower smiling back at me.