Return to Dyatlov Pass

~ Chapter One ~

Nat longed for the days when trolls were grotesque creatures who lurked under bridges in Norway. Sadly, trolls lurked in one’s inbox now, and there was no getting rid of them until they grew bored and moved on. If she could have sent this particular one to the fjords, she would have in a heartbeat.

“Another death threat?”

“Huh?” Nat tore her attention away from her screen long enough to see Andrew grin at her.

“I’ve worked with you long enough to know that sigh. What was it this time? Death threat? Sexual harassment? Some good old-fashioned stalking?”

“None of the above. Good old-fashioned baiting.”

As the host of Nat’s Mysterious World, the US’s most popular podcast dealing with the supernatural and unsolved mysteries, Nat was used to hearing from whackos. But this guy was different. He’d been writing her for the past three weeks, the tone of his emails just shy of incendiary. Worst of all, he’d been hitting her where it hurt. She should delete his messages unread and block him before he stole another minute of her precious time, but he was like a car accident she couldn’t look away from.

This troll wasn’t like other trolls. The guy knew his stuff.

“Cliff again?”

“Yeah,” she admitted, bracing herself for a lecture. The road was a well-traveled one.

“I don’t understand why you haven’t blocked him yet. Why are you wasting your time on that asshole?”

“I should; you’re right.” Nat ran her fingers through her platinum crop, tugging at the roots. No matter what, she couldn’t take her bad mood out on Andrew, who was her producer, as well as the closest thing she had to a friend. “I guess I haven’t been willing to give him the satisfaction. I’m sure that’s exactly what he wants, proof that he’s gotten to me.”

“But he has gotten to you. Pretending he hasn’t is costing you more than giving in. Once he’s blocked, it’s over. You’ll move on and forget you ever heard from him.”

If only it were that easy. “He’ll probably set up another account.”

“Those creeps never do. You know that. They have their fun, and once it’s over, they move on and torment someone else.”

“You really don’t think he has a point?” Nat studied Andrew’s face, fancying she’d be able to tell if he lied to her. Though he’d recently celebrated his thirtieth birthday, her producer could pass for a high school kid, and thankfully, he still had the energy of one.

“No,” he said, his bottle-green eyes meeting hers without flinching. “I really don’t. I think he’s full of shit, and the fact this jerk is getting to you pisses me off.”

“Thanks.” To humor him, she deleted the email, but it didn’t matter. Cliff’s words would run through her mind for at least the next hour or three, torturing her. “But maybe he’s right. Maybe this show has become all talk. It’s been a long while since I’ve done anything noteworthy.”

“And what’s he done, besides jerk off and spew hatred from behind his computer? Probably lives in his mom’s basement, eating Cheetos and swigging Mountain Dew.”

A ghost of a smile played over her lips. That was exactly how she pictured Cliff. But Cheetos or no Cheetos, it didn’t mean the guy was wrong. In years past, no adventure had been too dangerous or too difficult. She’d braved Poveglia, otherwise known as the most haunted island in the world. She’d spent the night in the Winchester Mystery House, explored the bowels of the Queen Mary with only a flashlight, and puked her guts out in Romania’s Hoia Baciu.

Lately, though, she’d become complacent. Sure, she’d go on the odd ghost tour or hunt for Bigfoot in a national park, but there hadn’t been anything remotely risky in far too long. Troll or no troll, Cliff was right. She talked the talk without walking the walk. She’d lost her authenticity, the very thing that had made her cast popular in the first place.

“Look, he’s a freak. He’s obsessed. You need to let it go. You don’t have time to worry about the Cliffs of the world and their deranged opinions.”

It was true; she didn’t. But still…

“It would be one hell of a challenge though, wouldn’t it? That story has always bugged me. Did you know it’s been almost sixty years, and they still have no idea what happened to those people?”

Andrew rolled his eyes. “And they never will. It’s a loser, Nat. Not to mention suicide.”

She bristled, as he’d no doubt expected. In his own way, Andrew was pretty damn good at baiting her too. “You forget I’m Canadian. I’m not soft like you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Spare me your stories of growing up in an igloo and getting to school on a dogsled. You were raised in Vancouver, which is hardly the Russian mountains.”

“Vancouver is where I went to college, not where I was raised. Shows how little you know. We may not have had igloos in my hometown, but the Iditarod champion lived just down the block.”

“Whatever. Is that really how you want to spend your vacation, freezing your ass off on some godforsaken Russian mountain, attempting to solve a mystery that’s almost six decades old?”

“You have to admit, it sounds like fun, doesn’t it?” Cliff’s latest taunt-fest forgotten, her mind was already packing. “Gets the blood racing again.”

“Schlepping around on a suicide mission is the opposite of fun. Not to mention it’s been done—if you’ll forgive the expression—to death.”

Calling Nat unoriginal was almost as bad as calling her a coward. “By whom? When?”

“Come on, Nat. Everyone and their uncle’s BuzzFeed has written about the Dyatlov Pass incident. It’s hardly groundbreaking. If you’re going to risk your life, at least find some nice possessed girl no one else has discovered yet.”

She snorted, hoping to convey an appropriate amount of disdain. “Those listicles? They don’t come close to doing it justice. All they do is recycle the same Wikipedia content and slap a new byline on it. If I were to do this, I’d do it right. Get a team together and investigate what really happened out there. Who knows, maybe we’d come up with some answers. Or at least an interesting theory.”

“Gee, that’s never been done. No one’s ever made a movie about it.”

“That was fiction, Andrew. And I’m hardly a wet-behind-the-ears film student with delusions of grandeur.”

“No, you’re an experienced journalist. Which is why I’m shocked you’re even considering this. What makes you think the Russian government would cooperate? Trust me, it’s a waste of time. You’re letting this guy bait you into an early grave.”

“Have you no mystery in your soul? Doesn’t it intrigue you, even a little?” The more he argued against it, the more excited she got. All her best ideas had begun with people insisting she was insane. It wasn’t like wandering a deserted island infested with the bubonic plague had been the wisest course of action, but people loved that shit. Her ratings had skyrocketed, and the sponsors had followed. “Let me put it this way—would a nice big raise intrigue you?”

The corner of Andrew’s mouth twitched. Just for a second, but it was enough. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll call the Russian embassy this afternoon.”

“You’re awesome.”

“And you’re insane.”

“Thanks.” Slipping on her earphones, she hummed along to the music.

It had been too long since someone had called her that. And damn, it felt good.