The Guide

Part 1: Four Brothers of the Trail

The pre-dawn air in Kota Kinabalu was thick with humidity and anticipation as four teenage boys made their final preparations in the SMK Tanjung Aru parking lot. Mickey Lim, seventeen and the appointed leader of their small expedition, checked his watch nervously. They had been planning this Scout expedition to St. Veronica's Hill for months, and today everything had to go perfectly.

"Final equipment check!" Mickey called out, his voice carrying the authority that had made him patrol leader. "Remember, this isn't just a hike—it's our final test before we graduate from Scouts."

The other three boys gathered around him in the gray morning light. Darren Wong, the group's navigator, spread his waterproof map across the hood of Mickey's father's borrowed car. At sixteen, he was meticulous about details and had spent weeks studying the trail routes and elevation charts.

"According to my research," Darren said, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses, "Bukit Perahu should take us about six to seven hours to reach the summit camping area. The trail is moderate difficulty, but we need to watch the weather."

"Weather forecast is clear," announced Jin Tan, their designated photographer and the youngest of the group at fifteen. Despite his youth, Jin had an artist's eye and had been looking forward to capturing the famous sunrise views from the summit. His expensive camera equipment was carefully wrapped in multiple layers of plastic protection.

The fourth member of their group, Wei Ming Khoo, was struggling with his oversized backpack, trying to adjust straps that seemed determined to cut off circulation to his arms. At sixteen, he was the strongest of the group but also the most prone to complaining.

"Aiya, Mickey," Wei Ming groaned, shifting his pack for the tenth time. "You sure we need to bring so much stuff? This thing weighs more than my little sister!"

"Better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it," Mickey replied, though privately he suspected Wei Ming had packed far more than necessary. "What did you put in there anyway?"

"Just the essentials," Wei Ming said defensively. "Extra food, extra clothes, extra water, extra—"

"Extra everything," Darren interrupted with a grin. "Relax, Wei Ming. Once we start walking, you'll forget about the weight."

The four boys had been friends since primary school and had joined Scouts together in Form One. Over the years, they had completed numerous camping trips and training exercises, but this was their first major expedition without adult supervision. The sense of independence and adventure was intoxicating.

"Remember what En. Rahman told us," Mickey said as they performed their final gear check. "Stay together, stick to the marked trails, and if the weather turns bad, we head back immediately. Safety first, adventure second."

"Yes, sir!" the other three chorused in mock military fashion, causing Mickey to shake his head with amusement.

The drive to Tamparuli took just over an hour through rural roads that wound past sleepy kampongs and sprawling palm oil plantations. As the sun rose higher, the landscape transformed from gray shadows to vibrant greens and blues. The boys sang old camp songs, shared terrible jokes, and speculated about what they would see from the summit.

"My cousin climbed this mountain last year," Jin said, checking his camera settings for the twentieth time. "He said on a clear day, you can see all the way to Mount Kinabalu and even the ocean near KK."

"If the weather cooperates," added Darren, consulting his phone for the latest forecast. "Looks like we might get some afternoon clouds, but nothing too serious."

They reached the Tamparuli trailhead just as the morning was hitting full stride. The parking area was simple—just a cleared space beside the road with a weathered wooden sign indicating the start of the trail to St. Veronica's Hill. A few other cars were already there, suggesting they weren't the only adventurers planning to tackle the mountain that day.

"Trail registration," Mickey announced, pulling out a logbook from a metal box mounted on a post. "Four scouts from SMK Tanjung Aru, estimated return time tomorrow afternoon."

As they shouldered their packs and approached the trailhead, the boys felt the familiar mixture of excitement and nervousness that came with beginning a new adventure. The forest beckoned ahead of them, green and mysterious in the morning light.

"Last chance to back out," Mickey said with a grin, though he knew none of them would even consider it.

"Are you kidding?" Wei Ming replied, having finally adjusted his pack to something resembling comfort. "I've been carrying this thing for an hour already. I'm not turning back now!"

The trail began with a series of concrete steps leading into the forest, part of the Catholic pilgrimage route that marked the fourteen Stations of the Cross. Each station was represented by a concrete cross with a plaque describing Christ's journey to crucifixion.

"Bit spooky, these crosses," observed Jin, pausing to photograph the intricate carvings on the first station. "Imagine walking this path at night."

"Don't give me ideas," Wei Ming shuddered dramatically. "Bad enough we have to sleep on the mountain. At least it'll be in tents, not under these creepy religious monuments."

"Show some respect," Mickey chided gently. "These crosses are important to the local Catholic community. Every year they do a pilgrimage up here during Easter."

The early morning hiking was pure pleasure. The trail was well-maintained and clearly marked, winding through lush tropical rainforest that filtered the sunlight into dancing patterns on the forest floor. The boys maintained a steady pace, stopping every thirty minutes to hydrate and check their progress on Darren's GPS device.

"This is the life," sighed Jin, capturing photographs of exotic flowers and interesting rock formations. "Why don't we do this more often?"

"Because usually we're stuck in school learning about other people's adventures instead of having our own," replied Darren philosophically.

The forest around them was alive with the sounds of tropical wildlife. Hornbills called from the canopy above, while smaller birds created a constant chatter in the underbrush. Occasionally they would spot a squirrel or catch a glimpse of more exotic creatures moving through the trees.

"According to the map, we should hit the first major rest point around noon," Darren announced, consulting his GPS. "That's where the trail starts getting more challenging."

"Define challenging," Wei Ming asked suspiciously.

"Steeper," Darren replied cheerfully. "Much steeper."

As they climbed higher, the trail did indeed become more demanding. The concrete steps gave way to natural rock and earth paths that required more careful foot placement. Tree roots created natural stairs in some sections, while other areas demanded scrambling over boulders or navigating around fallen logs.

"Still think this is easier than studying for SPM," panted Wei Ming during one of their rest breaks.

"Speak for yourself," Jin laughed. "I'd rather memorize a hundred Biology diagrams than carry this camera equipment up a mountain."

"But think of the photos you'll get," Mickey encouraged. "Sunrise from the summit of Bukit Perahu? That's once-in-a-lifetime stuff."

The boys were making good time and were in excellent spirits when the first ominous rumbles of thunder began echoing through the forest. It was just past 11 AM, and according to all their weather forecasts, they should have had clear skies until at least mid-afternoon.

"That doesn't sound good," Darren said, looking up through the forest canopy toward a sky that was rapidly darkening.

"Probably just a passing shower," Mickey said with more confidence than he felt. "We brought rain gear. We'll be fine."

But even as he spoke, the first fat raindrops began to fall, pattering against the leaves above them with increasing intensity. Within minutes, those scattered drops had become a steady downpour that penetrated even the thick forest canopy.

"So much for the weather forecast," muttered Wei Ming, struggling to put on his rain poncho while keeping his pack balanced.

The boys quickly donned their rain gear and continued climbing, but the storm was just beginning. What had started as a manageable shower was rapidly escalating into something much more serious—a tropical downpour that would test their skills, their equipment, and their friendship in ways they had never imagined.

As lightning began to flash through the trees and thunder shook the very mountains, the four friends realized their peaceful hiking expedition had suddenly become a survival challenge. But they were Scouts, trained for adversity, and they were determined to see their adventure through to the end.

None of them could have imagined what was waiting for them higher up the mountain, or the dark secret that would be revealed before their journey was over.

***

Part 2: When Heaven Weeps

The transformation was swift and merciless. What had begun as scattered raindrops escalated within minutes into a torrential downpour that turned the mountain trail into a treacherous maze of flowing water and slippery mud. The boys found themselves caught in the kind of tropical storm that could transform familiar paths into death traps.

"This is insane!" shouted Wei Ming over the drumming of rain on leaves. "The weather forecast said clear skies!"

Mickey squinted through the water streaming down his face, trying to keep track of his three friends in the gray chaos that had suddenly engulfed them. The cheerful forest of the morning had become a dark, threatening place where every step had to be carefully considered.

"Stay close together!" Mickey called out, his voice barely audible over the storm. "Form a line and hold onto each other's packs!"

The boys shuffled into position: Mickey leading, followed by Darren clutching his GPS device in a waterproof case, then Jin desperately trying to protect his camera equipment, and Wei Ming bringing up the rear. Their bright rain ponchos made them look like a train of tropical fruit moving through the green twilight of the storm-darkened forest.

"The trail's washing away!" Darren shouted, pointing ahead where what had been a clear path just minutes earlier was now a rushing stream carrying soil, leaves, and debris down the mountainside.

Indeed, the carefully maintained trail had been transformed into a series of impromptu waterfalls. The concrete steps near the crosses were now invisible beneath rushing brown water, and every tree root had become a potential hazard that could send an unwary hiker tumbling into the rocky ravines that flanked the path.

"GPS signal is gone," Darren announced grimly, shaking his device as water dripped from his glasses. "All this storm interference is blocking the satellites."

"What do you mean gone?" Wei Ming's voice cracked with the first note of real fear. "How are we supposed to know where we are?"

"We follow the trail markers," Mickey replied, trying to project confidence he didn't entirely feel. "The plastic ribbons and cross markers. They'll guide us to the rest station."

But following the trail markers was proving increasingly difficult as visibility dropped to just a few meters in any direction. The forest had become a maze of gray shadows, with massive tree trunks looming out of the mist like ancient guardians. Every few seconds, lightning would illuminate the landscape in stark black and white, followed by thunder that seemed to shake the very foundations of the mountain.

"There's supposed to be a stream crossing up ahead," Darren said, consulting his waterproof map. "But with all this rain..."

When they reached what should have been a simple stream crossing, they found instead a raging torrent about six feet wide, carrying everything from branches to small boulders in its chocolate-brown flow. The gentle brook that was marked on their map had become a dangerous river.

"I'll go first," Mickey decided, testing the water depth with his hiking pole. The current was much stronger than expected, and the water came up to his knees. "Everyone cross one at a time. Use your poles for balance."

One by one, the boys crossed the swollen stream, slipping and sliding on the submerged rocks but managing to stay upright. Wei Ming, crossing last, lost his footing completely and would have been swept downstream if not for Jin's quick reflexes in grabbing his pack.

"Thanks, bro," Wei Ming gasped, his face pale beneath the mud and water streaming down it. "Thought I was going to become fish food."

"Everyone still here?" Mickey did a quick headcount as they regrouped on the far side. "Mickey, Darren, Jin, Wei Ming. Good, still four of us."

But their troubles were far from over. The trail beyond the crossing was in even worse condition—a steep section that had essentially become a muddy waterfall. Tree roots provided the only reliable handholds, and several sections required them to use their hiking poles like mountaineering axes, stabbing them into the soft earth for purchase.

"This is taking forever," groaned Jin, checking his watch through the plastic protecting his gear. "It's already 1 PM and we're not even halfway to the rest station."

"At this rate, we'll be hiking in the dark," added Wei Ming, voicing what they were all thinking.

The worst moment came when Darren, trying to check their position on his compass, stepped backward without looking and nearly fell off what turned out to be a steep drop hidden by the vegetation. Only Mickey's quick grab of his arm saved him from a potentially fatal fall.

"No more navigation checks until we reach shelter!" Mickey ordered, his patrol leader authority overriding his usual friendly demeanor. "Everyone focus on just getting to the next trail marker."

The rain continued without mercy, transforming their lightweight hiking boots into waterlogged anchors and turning their carefully packed gear into heavy, sodden burdens. Conversation dwindled to essential communications as each boy focused on the immediate challenge of staying upright and moving forward.

It was during one of their brief rest stops under the partial shelter of a massive tree that Darren made the observation that chilled them all.

"Mickey," he said quietly, "when was the last time we saw one of those trail markers?"

Mickey wiped water from his eyes and looked back down the path they had climbed. In the gray, streaming landscape, everything looked the same—endless green vegetation, brown mud, and white water cascading down every surface.

"There was one about... half an hour ago?" he said uncertainly.

"Longer than that," Darren corrected, studying his compass with growing concern. "And according to this, we've been heading northeast for the last hour. We should be going more northwest to reach the rest station."

The implications of this hit them all at once. They were four teenage boys, caught in a serious storm on an unfamiliar mountain, and they were lost.

"Okay, don't panic," Mickey said, though his own voice betrayed his growing uncertainty. "We'll backtrack to the last marker we remember and start again."

"In this weather?" Wei Ming looked around at the torrential downpour that showed no signs of lessening. "We can barely see ten feet in any direction."

"Mickey," Jin said quietly, "maybe we should consider finding shelter and waiting out the storm. If we're really lost..."

"No," Mickey replied firmly. "We keep moving. We're probably closer to the rest station than to where we started. We just need to be more careful about following the right path."

It was a decision born of teenage pride and determination, but it would prove to have consequences none of them could have imagined.

They pressed on, following what appeared to be a trail but might have been just a natural erosion channel carved by decades of monsoon rains. The forest grew thicker and wilder around them, older and more primordial than the managed paths they had been on earlier. Here, the trees were giants that might have stood for centuries, their massive trunks disappearing into the misty darkness above.

"This place feels different," Jin whispered, his voice barely audible over the rain.

He was right. Despite the storm, there was a quality of watchful silence here that seemed unnatural. No bird calls, no rustling of small animals in the underbrush. Even the insects seemed to have vanished, leaving only the sound of falling water and their own labored breathing.

"Just the storm," Mickey said, but he felt it too—a presence that seemed to observe them from the shadows between the ancient trees.

They had been climbing for nearly two hours through increasingly difficult terrain when Wei Ming first noticed they were being followed.

"Eh, Mickey," he called out during a brief rest, "there's someone behind us."

The other boys turned to look back down the misty trail, but visibility was so poor they could barely make out shapes more than a few meters away.

"You sure?" Mickey asked, straining his eyes to penetrate the gray void behind them.

"I keep seeing movement," Wei Ming insisted. "Like someone's matching our pace, staying just out of sight."

"Probably just another hiker caught in the same storm," Darren suggested, though his voice lacked conviction.

"In this weather?" Jin shook his head. "Anyone with sense would have turned back hours ago."

They waited for several minutes, calling out occasionally, but heard no response. If someone was following them, they either couldn't hear the boys' calls over the storm or chose not to answer.

"Let's keep moving," Mickey finally decided. "If it's another hiker, they'll catch up eventually. If not..." He shrugged, not wanting to voice the alternatives that were running through his mind.

But as they resumed their climb through the increasingly treacherous terrain, each of the boys couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched, that something—or someone—was moving through the gray mist behind them, matching their pace step for step.

The mountain, it seemed, had its own secrets, and the storm was just the beginning of the challenges they would face before their adventure was over.

***

Part 3: The Guide from Nowhere

It was nearly 4 PM when the boys finally spotted buildings through the curtain of rain and mist ahead. The collection of simple wooden structures with corrugated metal roofs appeared like a mirage after hours of struggling through the storm-lashed forest.

"Thank God," breathed Jin, nearly stumbling in his relief. "I was starting to think we'd be sleeping under trees tonight."

The rest station was exactly what they needed—a basic but welcome shelter where they could dry off, reorganize their gear, and plan their next move. The largest building appeared to be a simple accommodation house with a covered verandah that promised blessed relief from the relentless downpour.

"Hello!" Mickey called out as they climbed the wooden steps, water streaming from their ponchos. "Anyone there?"

The response came immediately—an elderly Malay man emerged from inside the building, followed by a woman who was clearly his wife. Both looked genuinely surprised and concerned to see four bedraggled teenagers appearing out of the storm.

"Aduh, you boys!" the woman exclaimed in accented but clear English. "What are you doing up here in weather like this? Very dangerous!"

"We're doing our Scout expedition," Mickey explained, grateful to be speaking to adults who might have advice about their situation. "From SMK Tanjung Aru. We got caught in the storm and I think we took a wrong turn somewhere."

The man, who introduced himself as Pak Karim, shook his head with obvious concern. "Very bad weather today. Storm came earlier than predicted. You boys are lucky to find this place."

His wife, Mak Siti, was already bringing them hot tea and simple biscuits, fussing over them like a concerned grandmother. "Sit, sit! You boys are soaked through. Must get warm and dry before you catch pneumonia."

The rest station was spartanly furnished but comfortable—just a few rooms with sleeping platforms and a common area where hikers could rest and recover. The boys gratefully accepted the hospitality, stripping off their wet outer layers and organizing their gear to dry.

"You boys are only ones here today," Pak Karim told them as they settled around a small table with their tea. "All other hikers turned back when storm started. Very unusual weather for this time of year."

"We're Scouts," Mickey said with pride that was only slightly diminished by their bedraggled appearance. "We're trained for challenging conditions."

"Training is good," Mak Siti nodded approvingly. "But mountain doesn't care about training when it's really angry. You boys should consider going back down tomorrow instead of continuing up."

Through the open windows, they could see the rain continuing to fall steadily, turning the world beyond the rest station into a gray blur of water and mist. The storm showed no signs of abating, and the temperature had dropped noticeably as afternoon faded toward evening.

"How much further to the summit camping area?" Darren asked, consulting his soggy map.

"In good weather, maybe two hours," Pak Karim replied. "But in this..." He gestured toward the windows where rain was still falling heavily. "Could take much longer. And very dangerous if visibility stays poor."

The boys huddled together to discuss their options. They had come so far, endured so much, that the idea of turning back was almost unbearable. But they also recognized that continuing in these conditions would be risky.

"We'll wait here until the rain lessens," Mickey decided. "Then push on to the summit. We've got good gear and plenty of experience. We can handle it."

It was nearly 6 PM when they finally decided to continue their ascent. The rain had lessened to a steady drizzle, though visibility remained poor and the trails were still treacherous with mud and flowing water.

"You boys be very careful," Pak Karim warned as they prepared to leave the warm, dry sanctuary of the rest station. "Stay on the marked trail, and if you get into trouble, come back here immediately."

"Trail can be confusing in mist," added Mak Siti. "Sometimes people get lost, even experienced hikers."

The boys shouldered their packs and headed back into the gray, dripping world beyond the rest station. The trail was even more challenging now, slippery with mud and obscured by mist that reduced visibility to just a few meters.

They had been climbing for about thirty minutes when they encountered the fork in the trail that would change everything.

"Which way?" asked Darren, peering through the mist at two paths that disappeared into the gray void ahead.

"Left looks more traveled," observed Jin, pointing to what appeared to be a slightly more worn track.

"But right has trail markers," Wei Ming countered, indicating some faded plastic ribbons tied to branches.

As they stood debating their options, a voice called out from the mist behind them.

"You boys need help?"

They turned in surprise to see a figure emerging from the gray curtain of rain—a young man, apparently around their own age, wearing a simple rain jacket and carrying a small pack. He moved with the easy confidence of someone thoroughly familiar with the mountain.

"We're trying to get to the summit camping area," Mickey replied, grateful to encounter someone who might know the trails. "Do you know which path to take?"

The young man smiled, pushing back his hood to reveal friendly features. "I'm Jaqim," he said. "I know this mountain very well. Left path is more direct, but right path is safer in this weather."

"You're climbing alone?" asked Darren, looking impressed.

"I often climb alone," Jaqim replied. "Been coming to this mountain since I was very young. My family... they understand this place."

There was something slightly odd about his phrasing, but the boys were too grateful for guidance to question it closely.

"Which path would you recommend?" Mickey asked.

"Safer path," Jaqim said without hesitation. "In weather like this, better to take longer route than risk accident on steep sections."

"You want to climb with us?" offered Jin. "Always safer to travel in groups."

Jaqim seemed to consider this for a moment before nodding. "Yes, I think that would be good. Mountain can be lonely, especially in weather like this."

As they began climbing again with their new companion leading the way, Mickey couldn't help but feel grateful for this stroke of luck. Jaqim moved through the difficult terrain with remarkable confidence, seeming to know exactly where to step even in the poor visibility. He pointed out hazards before they became problems and guided them along paths that, while longer, were significantly safer than the routes they might have chosen on their own.

"You really know this mountain well," observed Wei Ming as they navigated a particularly tricky section of slippery rocks.

"Grew up around here," Jaqim replied. "My parents, they work on the mountain. I've been climbing these trails since I was a child."

"Your parents work on the mountain?" asked Darren with interest.

"At the rest station you just visited," Jaqim said. "Pak Karim and Mak Siti. They take care of hikers, make sure everyone is safe."

This information puzzled the boys. Pak Karim and Mak Siti hadn't mentioned having a son, and Jaqim certainly hadn't been at the rest station when they were there. But in the confusion of the storm and their relief at finding shelter, they might easily have missed seeing him.

"Why didn't we see you at the rest station?" Jin asked.

"I was sleeping," Jaqim replied simply. "Had been climbing since very early morning. When I heard you boys talking about continuing to summit, I decided to follow and help if needed."

His explanation seemed reasonable, and the boys were too focused on the challenging climb to think much more about it. Jaqim's guidance was proving invaluable—he led them along routes that avoided the worst of the muddy slopes and pointed out handholds that weren't immediately obvious in the poor visibility.

"Almost there," Jaqim announced as they climbed through what seemed like their hundredth switchback. "Summit camping area just ahead."

True to his word, they soon emerged into a small clearing where several other groups had already set up camp. Electric lanterns cast welcome pools of light in the gathering darkness, and the smell of cooking food made the boys realize just how hungry they had become.

"We made it!" exclaimed Wei Ming, dropping his pack with obvious relief.

"Thanks to our guide," added Mickey, turning to thank Jaqim properly.

But Jaqim was nowhere to be seen. In the few seconds it had taken them to drop their packs and look around the camping area, their guide had simply vanished.

"Where did he go?" asked Jin, scanning the misty edges of the clearing.

"Probably went to find his own camping spot," suggested Darren, though he sounded puzzled.

"Without saying goodbye?" Wei Ming shook his head. "That's weird."

"Maybe he's shy," Mickey said, though privately he found Jaqim's sudden disappearance strange. "We can thank him in the morning."

The boys set up their camp and prepared a simple dinner, but they couldn't shake the feeling that something odd had happened. Their guide had been with them for over two hours, helping them navigate treacherous terrain in dangerous conditions, and then had simply vanished the moment they reached safety.

"Do you think he was real?" Jin asked quietly as they settled into their sleeping bags.

"Of course he was real," scoffed Wei Ming. "We all saw him, talked to him. He knew the trail perfectly."

"Then where did he go?" persisted Jin.

"Probably camped somewhere else in the area," Mickey said firmly, though he was beginning to have his own doubts. "We'll see him in the morning."

But morning would bring revelations that none of them were prepared for, and the truth about their mysterious guide would prove more disturbing than anything they could have imagined.

***

Part 4: The Summit's Secret

Dawn came gray and reluctant, seeping through the persistent mist that still shrouded the mountaintop. The boys woke to find their sleeping bags damp with condensation and their gear scattered with droplets from the overhanging trees. The storm had finally passed, but it had left the mountain wrapped in a thick blanket of fog that reduced visibility to just a few meters in any direction.

"Morning, mountaineers," Mickey croaked, trying to inject some enthusiasm into his voice as he emerged from his tent. Every muscle in his body ached from the previous day's ordeal, and his clothes felt perpetually damp despite having spent the night in a supposedly waterproof sleeping bag.

Around their small campsite, the other hikers who had weathered the storm were already breaking camp. An older Chinese man was methodically packing his gear with the practiced efficiency of someone who had done this many times before.

"You boys sleep okay?" he asked Mickey with genuine concern. "First time camping in weather like this can be quite challenging."

"We managed," Mickey replied, though the dark circles under his friends' eyes told a different story. "Thanks for letting us share the camping area."

"No problem. We hikers must look out for each other, especially after storms like yesterday." The man gestured toward the gray void that surrounded their small island of visibility. "You boys planning to continue to the actual summit this morning?"

"That's the plan," Mickey said, though privately he was beginning to question the wisdom of their expedition. The visibility was still terrible, they were all exhausted from the previous day's struggles, and the thought of navigating more treacherous terrain in these conditions was daunting.

"Be very careful," the older hiker advised. "Mist this thick, very easy to get lost even on marked trails. Maybe better to head back down once it clears a bit."

As the other campers departed into the gray morning, Mickey gathered his three friends for a final decision about whether to continue their expedition or call it complete and head back down the mountain.

"Honestly," said Wei Ming, struggling to stuff his damp sleeping bag into his pack, "I'm ready to go home. This mist is creepy, everything's wet, and I can't feel my toes."

"We've come this far," argued Jin, checking his camera equipment hopefully. "The summit is only another hour or so. Maybe the mist will clear and we'll get those sunrise shots after all."

"Weather forecast says it should clear by mid-morning," added Darren, consulting his phone which had finally regained a weak signal. "We could reach the summit, take some photos, and be back here before noon."

Mickey looked around at his tired, bedraggled friends and made the decision that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

"We continue to the summit," he announced. "We've endured too much to quit now. But we stick together, no matter what."

The final ascent to the summit of Bukit Perahu was anticlimactic after their trials of the previous day. The trail was clearly marked with both traditional crosses and modern plastic ribbons, and while steep, it was nowhere near as treacherous as the paths they had followed during the storm.

"This is definitely the standard route," Darren confirmed, consulting his GPS which was finally working properly in the clearer air above the tree line. "Makes me wonder where exactly we went yesterday during the storm."

"Maybe our friend Jaqim knew some shortcuts," suggested Jin, though he sounded puzzled.

The mention of their mysterious guide reminded them all of the strange circumstances of his disappearance. In the gray light of morning, his sudden vanishing seemed even more inexplicable.

"Speaking of Jaqim," said Wei Ming, "shouldn't we look for him? He was incredibly helpful yesterday. Least we can do is say thank you properly."

They called out as they climbed, hoping to spot their guide from the previous day, but saw no sign of him. The mountain seemed deserted except for their small group, wrapped in mist so thick it was like climbing through clouds.

The summit itself was a disappointment—a small clearing with a concrete marker and a metal box containing a visitor's logbook, all shrouded in fog so dense they could barely see the marker from ten feet away. The spectacular views they had been promised were completely obscured.

"Well, this is underwhelming," commented Wei Ming, dropping his pack near the summit marker. "Where are those famous sunrise views?"

"Weather just isn't cooperating," Mickey replied philosophically. "At least we made it. That's what counts."

They spent about twenty minutes at the summit, taking obligatory photos with the marker and signing the logbook with appropriately heroic comments about conquering the mountain despite adverse conditions. The mist showed no signs of clearing, and Jin's hopes for spectacular photography were clearly not going to be fulfilled.

"Okay," Mickey finally announced, "let's head back. No point staying up here if we can't see anything."

As they prepared to begin their descent, a voice called out from somewhere in the mist beyond the summit clearing:

"You boys enjoyed the climb?"

They turned toward the voice and saw a familiar figure emerging from the gray void—Jaqim, their guide from the previous day, appearing as suddenly as he had vanished.

"Jaqim!" exclaimed Mickey with relief. "We were looking for you. Where did you go last night?"

"Had to take care of some things," Jaqim replied with his characteristic slight smile. "But I wanted to make sure you boys reached the summit safely."

"Thanks to you," said Darren gratefully. "We never would have made it through that storm without your help."

"My pleasure," Jaqim said. "Always happy to help young climbers. Mountain can be dangerous for those who don't know the hidden paths."

There was something in his phrasing that struck Mickey as odd, but he was too relieved to see their guide again to think about it carefully.

"You heading back down now?" asked Wei Ming.

"Soon," Jaqim replied. "But first, want to show you something special. Real summit view, not just this cloudy place."

"There's a better view?" Jin perked up immediately, his photographer's instincts overriding his fatigue.

"Secret place," Jaqim nodded. "Local climbers know it, but not marked on tourist maps. Much better for photos, especially in mist like this."

The boys exchanged glances. They were tired, the visibility was poor, and common sense suggested they should head straight back to safety. But the promise of getting something special from their expedition, something to justify all their struggles, was tempting.

"How far?" asked Mickey cautiously.

"Not far," Jaqim assured them. "Maybe twenty minutes. But must be careful—path is steep in places."

"I don't know," said Darren, checking his watch. "We should probably get back to camp and start heading down the mountain."

"Just a quick look," pleaded Jin. "Come on, guys. We've come this far."

Mickey looked at his friends—tired but still adventurous, disappointed by the lack of views from the official summit, eager to salvage something memorable from their expedition.

"Twenty minutes," he decided. "But we stick close together."

Jaqim led them away from the official summit marker, along a path that was barely visible in the thick mist. The route was indeed steep and treacherous, requiring careful foot placement on rocks that were slippery with moisture from the fog.

"Are you sure this is safe?" asked Wei Ming nervously as they picked their way along what seemed more like a game trail than a hiking path.

"Very safe if you follow exactly where I step," Jaqim assured him. "I know every rock on this mountain."

They climbed for what felt like much longer than twenty minutes, following their guide through increasingly difficult terrain. The mist seemed to grow thicker rather than thinner, and Mickey was beginning to seriously regret his decision to follow Jaqim away from the marked trails.

"How much further?" he called ahead to their guide.

"Almost there," came the reply from somewhere in the gray void ahead of them. "Just around next bend."

But around the next bend was another steep section, and another after that. Mickey was about to call a halt to their detour when Jaqim finally stopped at what appeared to be a small rocky outcrop.

"Here," he announced. "Best view on whole mountain."

The boys gathered around him, peering through the mist hopefully, but could see nothing except gray fog in every direction.

"I don't see any view," said Jin disappointedly.

"Must wait," Jaqim replied patiently. "Mist moves, changes. Sometimes clear for just a moment, but when it does—spectacular."

They waited, shivering in the cold mist, hoping for a break in the fog that would reveal the promised spectacular views. Mickey was about to suggest they give up and head back when the worst possible thing happened.

Wei Ming, trying to get a better position for possible photography, stepped backward toward what he thought was solid ground. Instead, his foot found empty air, and with a strangled cry of surprise, he toppled backward off the rocky ledge they had been standing on.

"WEI MING!" Mickey lunged forward, trying to grab his friend's hand, but it was too late. Wei Ming vanished into the gray void below with a terrible crash of breaking branches and rolling rocks.

"Help me!" Mickey shouted to the others. "We have to get down there!"

But when he turned to coordinate a rescue attempt, he found himself facing only Darren and Jin. Jaqim had vanished as suddenly as he had appeared, leaving them alone on an unknown mountain ledge with their friend somewhere in the misty depths below.

"JAQIM!" Mickey called desperately. "WHERE ARE YOU? WE NEED HELP!"

But there was no response except the echo of his own voice and the terrible silence from the place where Wei Ming had fallen.

The boys spent twenty terrifying minutes trying to find a way down to where their friend had fallen, calling his name and listening desperately for any response. But the rocky slope below the ledge was too steep and unstable to navigate safely, and the thick mist made it impossible to see what lay beneath them.

Finally, with tears streaming down their faces and the terrible realization that they might lose their own lives in a rescue attempt, the three surviving boys made the heartbreaking decision to return to the main trail and seek help.

But first, they had to find their way back—and without Jaqim to guide them, they were utterly lost in the gray maze of the mountain.

***

Part 5: The Harvest Revealed

The descent back to civilization should have been straightforward, but without their mysterious guide, the three surviving boys found themselves hopelessly lost in the maze of misty trails. Every path looked the same in the gray fog, and their GPS devices, which had worked sporadically at best, were now completely useless in the thick cover.

"We should have dropped breadcrumbs," Jin said desperately as they stood at yet another confusing trail junction. "How did we get so far from the main path?"

"Jaqim led us here," Mickey replied, his voice hollow with grief and shock. "But I have no idea which direction we came from."

They had been searching for over an hour, calling Wei Ming's name until their voices were hoarse, but had heard nothing in response. The mountain seemed to have swallowed their friend completely, leaving no trace except the terrible memory of his fall.

"We need to get help," Darren said, stating the obvious but necessary truth. "Professional rescue team, people who know these mountains."

"First we need to find our way back to the rest station," Mickey replied. "Pak Karim and Mak Siti will know what to do."

It took them another two hours of careful navigation, following compass bearings and hoping they were heading in the right direction, before they finally spotted the familiar buildings of the rest station through the mist. By then, all three boys were exhausted, soaked, and traumatized by the loss of their friend.

"Help!" Mickey called out as they stumbled toward the building. "We need help! There's been an accident!"

Pak Karim and Mak Siti emerged from the rest station, and their expressions of concern seemed genuine as they took in the boys' bedraggled appearance and obvious distress.

"What happened?" Mak Siti asked, immediately ushering them inside and wrapping them in blankets.

"Our friend fell," Mickey said, his voice breaking. "Wei Ming. He fell from a cliff up near the summit. We need to call for rescue, get help..."

"Slow down, slow down," Pak Karim said gently. "Tell us exactly what happened."

The boys explained their encounter with Jaqim, how he had led them to what he claimed was a better viewpoint, and how Wei Ming had fallen in the thick mist.

"This Jaqim who guided you," Pak Karim said carefully, "what did he look like?"

"Young Malay guy, maybe our age," Mickey replied. "Said he was your son, that you both work here at the rest station."

The elderly couple exchanged a look that Mickey couldn't interpret—something that seemed to contain both sadness and something else, something he couldn't quite identify.

"We must call for rescue immediately," Mak Siti said, reaching for an old-fashioned radio. "Give them exact location where your friend fell."

But when Mickey tried to describe the location, he realized they had no idea where Jaqim had led them. The mysterious viewpoint could have been anywhere on the mountain, and in the thick mist, all the rocky outcrops looked identical.

"We were following Jaqim," Mickey said desperately. "He knew exactly where he was going. He said he knew every rock on this mountain."

"Yes," Pak Karim said quietly, "he would know that."

There was something in his tone that made Mickey look up sharply, but before he could ask what the older man meant, Mak Siti was speaking into the radio, coordinating with rescue services in rapid Malay.

The next few hours passed in a blur of activity. Professional rescue teams arrived with ropes and climbing equipment, experienced mountain climbers who knew the terrain and could navigate safely in poor visibility. The boys guided them as close as they could to where they thought the accident had occurred, but without clear landmarks, the search area was vast.

It was nearly evening when they found Wei Ming's body at the bottom of a steep ravine, his neck broken by the fall. The rescue team leader, a grizzled veteran of many mountain accidents, shook his head sadly as he examined the scene.

"No way anyone could have survived this fall," he told Mickey gently. "Your friend would have died instantly. He wouldn't have suffered."

The words were meant to be comforting, but they provided little solace to Mickey and his surviving friends. They had lost Wei Ming, and the circumstances of his death remained a mystery that none of them could fully understand.

As the rescue team prepared to transport Wei Ming's body down the mountain, Mickey approached Pak Karim with the question that had been haunting him all day.

"Your son Jaqim," he said, "where is he? We need to talk to him about what happened."

Pak Karim was quiet for a long moment, staring out into the mist-shrouded forest where the rescue operation was taking place.

"Our son Jaqim," he said finally, "died on this mountain twenty years ago."

The words hit Mickey like a physical blow. "What do you mean died? We were talking to him just this morning!"

"Jaqim fell from cliff during storm," Mak Siti said softly, joining the conversation. "Very similar to what happened to your friend. He was Boy Scout too, about your age."

Mickey felt the world tilting around him as the implications began to sink in. "But that's impossible. We all saw him, talked to him. He guided us through the storm."

"Mountain is old place," Pak Karim said, his voice carrying a strange undertone that Mickey was only now beginning to recognize. "Sometimes, spirits of those who died here don't rest properly. They keep trying to help other climbers."

"You're saying we were following a ghost?" Darren's voice cracked with disbelief.

"Spirit," Mak Siti corrected gently. "Our son loved this mountain so much, even death couldn't make him leave."

As the full horror of their situation became clear, Mickey noticed something that chilled him to the bone. When Pak Karim and Mak Siti spoke about their dead son, there was sadness in their voices, yes—but there was something else too. Something that looked almost like satisfaction.

"You've been hoping for this," Mickey realized with growing horror. "Haven't you?"

The mask of concerned hospitality finally slipped from their faces, revealing expressions that were cold, calculating, and utterly without remorse.

"Our Jaqim, he was so lonely up here," Mak Siti said, her voice taking on a sing-song quality that made Mickey's skin crawl. "Twenty years, all alone on this mountain. We tried to help him, tried to bring him companions."

"You've been running this rest station, waiting for accidents to happen," Mickey whispered. "Waiting for people to die."

"Not waiting," Pak Karim corrected with a terrible smile. "Helping. We know which hikers are strong enough to keep going in bad weather, which ones have the kind of stubborn courage that makes them ignore danger."

"We watch for young people like you," added Mak Siti. "Scouts, especially. Boys who won't turn back, who will follow our son's spirit even when common sense tells them to stop."

The truth hit Mickey like a sledgehammer. These weren't grieving parents who had lost their son to a tragic accident. They were predators who had spent twenty years deliberately guiding young hikers to their deaths, feeding victims to their son's hungry spirit.

"How many?" Mickey asked, his voice barely audible. "How many have you killed?"

"Not killed," Pak Karim said, as if the distinction mattered. "Helped to join our son. Six others over the years. Young climbers who were strong enough to become permanent companions for Jaqim."

"You're monsters," Darren spat, backing away from the elderly couple.

"We're parents," Mak Siti replied simply, as if that explained everything. "We do what we must for our child."

When the rescue team leader approached to brief them on the recovery operation, Mickey watched in horror as Pak Karim and Mak Siti's faces transformed completely. The cold satisfaction vanished, replaced by expressions of genuine-seeming grief and concern.

"So tragic," Mak Siti sobbed, tears streaming down her cheeks as she spoke to the rescue coordinator. "Such good boys, so young. We tried to tell them the mountain was dangerous in this weather."

"We see too many accidents like this," Pak Karim added, his voice breaking with what appeared to be authentic sorrow. "Young people, they think they are invincible. We always try to warn them, but..."

The rescue team leader patted Pak Karim's shoulder sympathetically. "You folks do good work up here, taking care of hikers. This wasn't anyone's fault—just a tragic accident in bad weather."

Mickey wanted to scream, to tell them the truth about what these monsters had done, but he knew it would sound insane. The elderly couple had been nowhere near the accident site, had no direct involvement in Wei Ming's fall. They were just kind rest station operators who had tried to help some lost boys.

"The surviving boys are pretty shaken up," the rescue leader continued. "They're talking about ghosts and spirits guiding them. Classic trauma response—the mind tries to make sense of senseless tragedy."

"Poor children," Mak Siti whispered, dabbing at her eyes. "Losing a friend like that, so suddenly. Of course they would imagine things."

As the rescue team finished their work and prepared to evacuate the surviving boys from the mountain, Mickey took one last look back at the rest station where Pak Karim and Mak Siti stood watching from their verandah, still maintaining their perfect facade of grief and concern.

Later that night, as darkness finally claimed the mountain completely, a small campfire flickered to life behind the rest station. In its orange glow, four figures sat together in the eternal mist—two elderly parents whose love had been twisted into something monstrous, and two young spirits who would now spend eternity exploring the mountain trails they had loved in life.

Jaqim was no longer alone. Wei Ming had found his place in the mountain's grim collection, another young soul to keep their son company in the shadows between the living and the dead.

The three surviving boys tried to tell their story to police, to their families, to anyone who would listen. But their accounts of ghostly guides and murderous rest station operators were dismissed as trauma-induced fantasies. Everyone agreed the boys were simply trying to cope with the sudden, senseless loss of their friend.

"Survivor's guilt," the counselor explained to Mickey's parents. "It's common for people to blame themselves or invent elaborate explanations when they lose someone close to them. The boys need time and therapy to process their grief properly."

The official report listed Wei Ming's death as a tragic accident, another young hiker who had ventured too far from the marked trails in poor weather conditions. The authorities found no evidence of foul play, no reason to suspect the helpful elderly couple who ran the mountain rest station.

And Pak Karim and Mak Siti would continue their vigil at the rest station, waiting patiently for the next group of young adventurers brave enough—or foolish enough—to challenge the mountain in dangerous weather.

After all, every lonely spirit deserves companionship. And some parents will do absolutely anything to ensure their children are never alone.

The mountain's harvest would continue, one young life at a time, until every spirit on the peaks had found their eternal friend.

In the mist-shrouded heights of Bukit Perahu, the dead were never really alone. And thanks to the twisted love of two grieving parents, they never would be.

***

THE END