The Hiker
An eerie tale of a man, a mountain, and stranger in the fog...
I enjoy eerie tales from time to time, but none so much as the tale of the mysterious figure in the mist. Some stories are unsettling, others preying on the idea of stranger danger in the fog, while occasionally, they’re a humorous anecdote about letting our fears (and imaginations) get the better of us. I first read this story as a child in “Garfield’s Tales of Mystery”, but have heard other variants over the years. As a special treat for Halloween, here is my own take on the idea of the mysterious stranger in the fog.
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Many years ago, as I heard through a friend of a friend, a young doctoral student named Matt was admitted to a field fellowship program through the National Park Service. He was going to be stationed in a remote mountain wilderness, where the nearest ranger station to another was a number of miles away. He prepared himself with notes and research, books, notebooks, and other accouterment that would be of assistance in the course of completing his field work. There were some hiking trails, but for the most part, while he might see hikers occasionally, he would be spending most of his time by himself, with weekly check-ins from the ranger chief to see he was alright and keep tabs on his progress.
Matt was excited, but apprehensive about the program, for it was going to last six months, from the end of spring through the early fall. In early April, he set out with his dog, Fairfax, packed up his things, and drove three days out to West Virginia, where the appointed orientation would be. After countless hours of audiobooks, flipping through static to find radio stations that played anything, regardless of its being country music or talk radio, the young man got to the checkpoint to meet the station chief, Bill Boise. Boise was a quiet, thoughtful old chief, graying heavily up the sides of his buzzcut, who’d been helping lost hikers, arrange tours, take surveys and census data, and all manner of elements related to forestry and field service, for nearly 25 years. He’d seen it all, even a bear that had managed to get its head stuck in a pair of underwear, frustrated at its inability to shake the boxers off.
He reminded Matt that it would get pretty lonely at times while he was up in the mountains, but that while the SAT phone he was given wasn’t for social calls, he was always welcome to call Bill.
“I’ll come up once a week, or call, just to check on ya,” he told him warmly. “There’s a gas station, a grocery, and a couple market stalls out a few miles down the main road, once your away from the mountain. The town of Elk Creek is only about a few thousand people, so it’s small, but they’re friendly. Townsfolk may come up the mountain this time of year, but where you’re located is a little more isolated and difficult to get to,” Bill told him conversationally.
“Anything to be wary of outside of bears?” Matt joked.
“Well, it’s a good thing you have your dog, they’re good company and protection. There’s some things that may seem a little strange or odd to you, but usually it’s just some bird or critter sniffing around. There’s a rifle in the cabin outpost if anything gets too dangerous,” replied Bill. “However, you need to remember to be careful; because of the climate out here, there can be some of the worst fog you’ll ever see in your life. Be careful when your out on the trails, it’s real easy to take a tumble off a cliff or a wrong turn if you’re not watchin’ where you’re goin’.”
Matt swallowed nervously and mentally bookmarked the warning. He’d done a fair amount of hiking and camping, so he was generally sure-footed, but it was important to remember this wasn’t his normal locale, and it would take time to become familiar with the many paths and turns around this forested mountain. Despite its natural beauty, which Matt noted as he slowly navigated his green Grand Cherokee up the densely forested hairpin turns, there was danger on the mountain, and he was going to heed that warning.
April turned into May, and the weather remained chilly and a bit wetter that normal, unusual for that time of year, according to Bill in his weekly phone call. Matt would shrug this off, don a warm Aran and scarf, pack some gloves just in case, gather his field notes material and kit, and set off with Fairfax and a packed lunch in his sack for when they got hungry. Matt didn’t mind the isolation; he was fairly introverted, and he found the quiet solitude in nature refreshing from the busy city and university life he’d grown accustomed to over the last 10 months of his doctoral work back west. The forest on the mountain would occasionally break, revealing a stunning view of the world in slow rolling waves of maple and oaks, indistinguishable from each other at the distance he was viewing them. Below he could see the land stretch miles in each direction, the shadows of clouds creating a patchwork quilt across the dark green foliage and distant farmland below. Sitting on an outcropping with Fairfax, he’d relish how wide and grand the land was, an endless sea of hues of green, brown and yellow, stretching ever to an infinite blue sky. When it wasn’t raining, of course.
One morning in mid May, as he’d settled into his routines, the day broke particularly foggy, though Matt realized quickly through the smokey haze that a cloud had settled itself for a long rest on his little mountain. Remembering Bill’s warning, he and Fairfax set out for the day collecting and cataloging specimens along this stretch of the Monongahela National Forest. They traipsed their way down and through thick brush before breaking through on a higher part of the path with a clear opening that revealed a fog bank as thick as grey wool. Now, normally on this part of the path, it opened onto a long open view of the mountain and land below, but as everything was soupy due to the fog, Matt could only make out the barely distinct outline of the trees and rocks beyond him. He knew to keep to the left side of the path, since the right would lead to a steep drop.
Fairfax trotted ahead, sniffing here and there at the scrubby grass growing up high on the path. He came to a stop and paused, looking ahead toward the compact dirt beyond them. Small stones worn smooth with wind jutted up, like the tops of skulls poking through the earth after a heavy flood. A low growl issued from Fairfax, haunches raised. Matt hiked toward the dog, peering into the fog, but saw nothing except outlines of scrub and branch.
“Come on Fairfax, come on boy.” Matt snapped at the dog with authority and the dog hesitantly followed. Walking through the soup, Matt kept peering ahead as much as he could, but he and Fairfax came across nothing more than exposed stones and knotted tree roots that tripped them on their journey back to the cabin.
Matt forgot the episode as soon as they had returned; there were piles of paperwork and data to compile and sort. Several days followed the incident, Matt heard from Bill that he expected heavy rains and cloud cover to be sweeping in, so he best be prepared. And Matt was. He kept to the side of the path closest to the mountain when they went out (which was infrequent with the storms), and Fairfax, being superior in his instincts to his master, kept ahead to warn him of impending danger.
After a week of torrential rain that kept Matt in cozily next to the cast iron stove for warmth while sorting and organizing his data, the rain broke, though the clouds did not, remaining stubbornly atop the mountain. They took the opportunity for a walk. As they reached the section of the path that opened down over the mountain, Fairfax barked and ran ahead of Matt.
“Fairfax, get back here! Heel!” He called out again. He peered ahead where he could to where he saw the dog had got off to, making out the vague shape of another person.
“Hey, watch out for my dog!” he cried out. But the dark shape did not turn, or even seem to acknowledge it had been spoken to, disappearing into the swirling fog and chilly air. He heard Fairfax bark excitedly and jogged to catch up. When he caught up to the dog, the faint shape he had seen had disappeared, and he was left looking around at the empty air, high above the valley below.
Thus began an odd occurence for Matt; frequently enough to be noticed, but not often enough to be a pattern, when he and Fairfax took to that portion of the hiking trails, distantly they would both see a figure far ahead of them who always appeared to be too far to hear their calls. Fairfax would run ahead, and sometimes, he would stand near Matt and simply growl. Whatever the reason, Matt couldn’t discern the behavior of the dog, and was even more puzzled by the hiker ahead of him.
One afternoon in late May, as he and Fairfax rounded this particular path, he caught sight of a woman far ahead of him. She was about the same height as the figure in the fog he had seen, and he could clearly make out the ponytail bouncing behind her as she walked. She was the first person he’d seen, outside of Bill and his weekly visits, or the townsfolk down in the little town, save for that week with the torrential rain. Anxiously and with excitement, he felt the desire to call out to her and to say hello, but he thought better of it and let it be. With another thought in mind, Fairfax chased ahead, barking short, alert cries, trying to reach the hiker. Fortunately for her, she was far enough ahead and disappeared into the trees before Fairfax could reach her. The warm spring sun heated the mountain air, and Matt felt hopeful, as he felt the gloom of the overcast weather melt away from the past few weeks.
May rolled into June, and he began to see the female hike more frequently, though always ahead and always alone. Sometimes he would see her in the mornings and at others, during their afternoon stroll. The pair began to take the valley hiking path more often, with the hope that Matt might run into the woman. He did his best not to entertain the fantasy of how pretty she was, to stay focused on his work, but he did entertain having conversation with someone other than Bill. So far, there had been no other hikers or campers, despite the pretty view and steadily improving weather since May.
It was drawing toward the middle of June when he got his chance to have real conversation with another person.
Out on the walk with the view of the valley to their right, the sun scorched hot, and for once, there was a lack of breeze on the mountain to dispel the heat from above. Fairfax had gotten ahead of him. Matt wasn’t worried, as he knew Fairfax wouldn’t go too far. As he crested a hill, he saw below a young woman kneeling and petting his dog. Coming down in his dusty Ariats, she looked up and smiled.
“This your dog?” she asked playfully. He liked the way that the corners of her eyes crinkled as she smiled, her gray-green eyes twinkling under her torn baseball cap.
“Sure is. His name’s Fairfax, and I’m Matt.”
“Nice to meet you, I’m Nicole,” she said, wiping a dusty palm on her shorts before she extended her hand in a handshake. As his palm met hers, he shivered; she was cold to the touch.
“You’re hands are freezing,” he said.
“Ah yeah. I’ve had poor circulation my whole life,” she chuckled, twisting the toe of her camel colored boot into the dirt. “What brings you up the mountain?”
“Ah, I’m doing research for my dissertation on West Virginian migratory birds.”
“Very cool. I’ve been doing my own research for my masters, but it’s in the forestry service itself, not wildlife.”
“Really?” He stuffed his hands in his pockets and tried his best to act natural. She was the first sign of human life he’d seen here, outside of Bill; it didn’t hurt that she was very pretty, with her sparkling gray-green eyes and shiny chocolate brown hair.
She signaled him to keep walking down the path with her, where their conversation continued. Matt found himself liking her more and more, finding her witty and charming. He asked her if she had been on the mountain over the previous few weeks, to which she replied that she had, and he wondered aloud if she were the figure in the mist he had been seeing.
“Quite possibly. I thought I kept hearing a dog bark,” she laughed, “but I couldn’t figure out where it was coming from.”
As they got further down the mountain toward the fork, Nicole stated that she had to get going.
“Well, if you’re up here often for research, we should meet up again to go walking.”
“I would like that. It gets pretty boring at my campsite without other academics to bounce ideas off of. Let’s meet up again.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yes please!” And she waved as she took the path down and to the right.
Not always every day, but at least every other, Matt met Nicole on the path, with Fairfax following closely or taking the lead, depending on if some small critter in the brush caught his attention. June rolled into July, and the heat increased substantially as they strolled into August. Their conversations became more personal, with greater exchanges of information and personal stories deepening their growing friendship. He looked forward to their hikes, feeling the cold knot of dread twist in his stomach as he thought about the beginning of September and the start of his fall semester, and saying goodbye to the grey-green eyed woman who’s eyes twinkled knowingly beneath her ball cap when they parted ways for the afternoon.
One evening in August, with courage firmly in hand, he asked Nicole if she’d like to come by for dinner. She declined, stating that she couldn’t, but suggested another night.
“I don’t know, my social calendar is quite busy, you know. I’m entertaining some great horned owls the night before, and they’re a real hoot.”
“Oh that was so bad, so bad. Just why?” she teasingly asked, gently hitting his bicep with her fist.
“Tuesday?”
“I could do that. I’ll meet you here?”
“Yeah and we’ll head up together.”
Tuesday came and as promised, Matt met Nicole along their favorite path, leading her back to the cabin, where he entertained her with a homemade meal of hamburgers, coleslaw, beer, and packaged chocolate chip cookies, with a small bottle of wine he’d gotten from the general store in town.
“It is, quite gourmet.”
“I’m sure it is the finest this side of the mountain could offer,” she giggled, sipping at the wine Matt had just poured into her tin mug.
They talked late into the night, snuggled by the cast iron stove, and fell asleep on his couch, curled up and dreaming of all the walks they wanted to take together.
When Matt woke up the next morning, Nicole had gone, and a small handwritten note in his field notebook, filled the page. He read her letter, touched by how much their friendship and walks had meant to her.
“It’s been a long time since I had someone to share myself with, and you’ve made this summer easier to bear than it’s been for many years,” she wrote. “Thank you, for how much fun and life you’ve brought into my days.”
She had signed it, “With Love, Nicole”
Matt felt eager to meet up with Nicole, and ask her on a proper date outside of his remote cabin. He gathered up his papers to take down to Bill’s station, preparing them to get mailed and sent back out to the university lab for his monthly report.
As he entered Bill’s office, he saw the old man making a cup of coffee, and started chatting with him.
“Bet you’re glad to get going, now that summer is over and September is around the corner,” said Bill conversationally.
“Actually, I’m not,” replied Matt. “There was this woman I met out hiking. She’s been staying at the campsite on the mountain all summer doing her dissertation research. We’ve been meeting up a few times per week to hike together, and become very familiar with each other.”
“Campsite on the mountain?” said Bill, turning to look skeptically at Matt. “The old camp that used to operate here has been closed down for about 15 years. Unless she’s staying there without telling anyone.”
Matt scratched his head, confusion filling every inch of his face. As he looked around Bill’s office, he saw a photo on the wall of a small group of smiling students, dressed in shorts and t-shirts, holding a sign up that said, “Marisca College Forestry Department”. There, toward the center of the group, was a smiling Nicole, her gray-green eyes shining brightly as they crinkled, her dark hair braided and hanging down the side of her chest.
“Hey, there she is. Thats’s her! In the photo!”
Bill put down his coffee and came around the wide oak desk to peer closely at the faces in the 11x14 photo. The glass was a little dusty with a few splotches of dirt for good measure.
“Aw kid that can’t be.”
“It’s her, I swear, it’s her. Do you know her?”
“I did, about 20 years back.”
Matt stared at Bill, his eyebrows furrowed, before he raised one in skepticism.
“Twenty years? No. This woman was my age. She’d have to be …” He did the math. “…In her 40s by now.”
“That’s Nicole Alvarez. She was a masters-level student doing her work on the forestry service. Toward the end of field research, she died. Went out walking in the afternoon and an evening storm rolled in. It was such a tragedy; the coroner and police figured she got lost in the rain and dark and slipped off the edge of the mountain. It’s the reason why I kept warning you through the summer to be careful about the cliff’s edge out here. Her and plenty of other hikers have died not being careful where they were walking.”
“Bill she can’t be dead. I’ve seen her. I fell asleep with that woman in my arms last night.” He stormed over to his bag laying in the ranger’s office chair, a folding piece patched with fraying duct tape on all four corners. “Here, look at this.”
Matt thrust the notebook with Nicole’s note in it at Bill’s face. Slowly, he took the notebook from Matt and briefly scanned it, eyes lingering on the signature.
“She left without saying a word this morning, and I found this from her waiting for me.”
“Matt, Nicole Alvarez has been dead for 20 years. I was part of the search and rescue crew that found her, and I was there at her funeral to pay respects to her family when she was buried.”
Suddenly light-headed, Matt sat down on the patched chair, staring at the floor, his eyes searching the woodgrain, though there were no answers that came to clear his confusion.
“But she was real Bill. She was here. She was here last night.”
“Well, she’s not here now,” said Bill gently. “I suppose,” he said with a thoughtful chuckle, “you could say that she ghosted you.”
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