The Legend of Eagle Rock Mine

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. There was no mistaking it, its long wax torso slowly melting behind the reflection of the six-pane glass.

The woods rustled around him, as he watched the flame lick tall and proud, undisturbed by the gust of ice-cold wind that kissed the nape of his neck. The November air was still, to the point that he could almost hear the wick crackling in between the calls of the nocturnal beasts that surrounded him in darkness. The cabin had the same familiar charm to it, the only refuge in this forsaken thicket where retribution was once paid. He lingered just behind the edge of the tree line, observing the boy, the irony of the pine box he stood beside not lost on him. The boy was naïve, arrogant, ignorant.

Pender Williams, or “P-Eazy,” as he is known to his 18 and a half million Tik Tok followers, loaded the 25-inch ring light into the back of his lime green Porsche Cayenne before slamming the trunk shut. He gave his hair one last tussle, combing it forward with four fingers and inspected his reflection in the window before hopping in. He was on his way to complete his greatest feat yet. He read the text his videographer, Brody Jacobs, sent him confirming the address. He replied with a quick thumbs up emoji and tossed his phone on the leather passenger seat where his Balenciaga backpack sat.

As he raced down the interstate, jamming to The Kid Laroi’s latest hit through the speakers of the $100,000 SUV, his meditative state was ruptured by an incoming call. Scott West, his overbearing manager, was harassing him again. “P-Moneyyyy!” Scott vomited as Pender picked up the call, “How’s my favorite influencer?” “Talk to me Cyclops” Pender said, using the nickname he gave Scott because of both his shared first name with the X-Men character and the large glasses he wore. “Followers. You need more, brother!” Scott blurted. Pender rolled his eyes behind his Gucci shades, “18 and a half million not enough for you?” he jabbed. “18.5 is good, but you know what’s better? 20 million. That would put you in the diamond tier, which means more endorsements and more money!” Scott didn’t even try to mask his artificial interest which Pender took offense to. “I appreciate the concern, Scott,” he lamented sarcastically, “But it’s all under control. I’m on my way to shoot my biggest livestream yet.” “I hope so, buddy,” Scott warned, “Your follower count has been on a steady decline. As mentioned when we took you on, we typically only deal with diamond tier clients. We like what you’ve done with your channel, but you’ve gotta pump those numbers up fast. Capeche?” “Yeah, I got you, bro. Like I said. That won’t be an issue. I’m doing the Deathwalking challenge tonight,” Pender bragged. “Jesus, that crazy dark tourism trend where kids go to death sites and try to stir up unholy voodoo?” Scott quizzed. “That’s the one. I’ll be at 25 million followers by the end of the week once this goes viral.” Pender grew impatient with Scott’s lack of faith. “Ok, buddy.” Scott conceded. Pender hung up before giving Scott the satisfaction of continuing the conversation. He made a point to remember to tell him he “wouldn’t have service” once he was in the woods. He pumped the music back up, inhaled a cloud of blue raspberry smoke from his vape pen and accelerated, eclipsing 100 miles per hour.

An hour later, he reached the turn-off onto the dirt road that disappeared into the forest. He exited the interstate and took the unpaved path for another 45 minutes until he beheld the cabin that would bring him eternal glory. This would be the most viral video of the year; he was sure of it. So far, everyone doing the “Deathwalking” challenge had been performing amateur stunts like going to the site of a car accident or a bedroom where their grandparent died. This? This was major league. No one would be able to top this, and it would set the bar leagues above anything anyone else could achieve.

He pulled into the small clearing in the middle of the sea of thick pines and junipers. Standing no larger than 15 feet wide, 20 feet long and maybe 12 feet high was the small cabin, made from local pine logs with a sloping, shingled roof he wasn’t sure would keep him dry if it rained. Parked out front was the 2004 tan Saturn belonging to Brody the videographer, who was already chopping wood out front. What a loser, Pender thought, Brody had nothing better to do on a Saturday than to be here early to split logs.

Pender stepped out of the car, defiled the crisp mountain air with a thick stream of milky vape smoke and feigned a smile to Brody. Then, he went inside and surveyed his castle for the next twelve hours: one room with a small kitchen in one corner, a bed in the other, a cast-iron wood-burning stove against the back wall and a small table with two chairs. Above the table lived an aged bronze candlestick, perched on the sill of the six-pane window, its rust suggested its wisdom, its trauma. “You brought the candle, right?” Pender shouted to Brody. “Yes, sir. It’s in my car.” Brody verified. “Good” Pender said, as he tested the iron lock on the backdoor, giving the handle a hard pull after locking it. Seemed secure enough.

As Brody loaded in the last of the filming equipment, Pender scrolls through Tik Tok while he lounged on the small wooden bed. “Dang, not much room in here with all the equipment, but we should be able to make it work” Brody assessed while unrolling his sleeping bag. “We?” Pender raised his eyebrows. “Nah, bro. You gotta sleep in the car. There’s barely enough room in here for me, especially once we set the ring light there, the mic over there and the camera there.” He tossed Brody a walkie talkie, “take this though in case we lose cell service. I’ll even tell you a bedtime story if you get scared.” Pender laughed, impressed by his quip. “Sure, Pender. I’ll sleep in my tiny Saturn with no heater. I’m glad I chopped all those logs for you so you can enjoy your private wood stove.” Brody muttered under his breath as he walked to the outhouse behind the cabin.

A few hours later as the sun began to set, all the equipment was set up and ready to roll. Pender turned on the mic pack clipped to his belt and took his mark in front of the fluorescent ring light as Brody counted down from three before giving him a nod. “WHAT IS UP, P-MOB! It’s ya boi, P-Eazy coming at you with another livestream. I hope you’ve got a nice stuffed animal to cuddle up with because tonight? We’re doing the Deathwalking Challenge. For my deathwalk, I’m going to survive a night in this cursed mining cabin.” Pender gestures to the pine walls around him while drinking a Bang! Energy drink, a sponsor of his channel. “That’s right all you scaredy-cats, tonight, we wake the dead. I’m here at the infamous Eagle Rock Cabin. Never heard of it? That’s because it’s so dangerous, no one has been allowed to come here for decades. Technically, we could be arrested just for being here, but I know y’all will keep those pretty little mouths shut, won’t you?” he grins, showing off his artificially bleached teeth.

“Let me give you a quick history lesson” he preaches. “Back in 1892, the Eagle Rock Cabin was built by a miner named Eugene Ricketts who came up here with his wife and brother to strike gold on the mountain. They didn’t find much, but what Eugene’s brother and wife found was a secret love for each other. One day, while working in the mine, Eugene’s cheating brother blew the mine up with a stick of dynamite, leaving old Eugene in there to die after it collapsed. All while his brother enjoyed the fruits of their labor, and the fruits of Eugene’s wife’s corset.” At the mention of Eagle Rock, viewers began to trickle in. 100,000…200,000…300,000 until it settled at just under 800,000 eager spectators. “The only problem was, Eugene wasn’t dead!” Pender continues, “now, you can imagine he wasn’t too pleased when he managed to dig his way out of the mine and find his way back home. What did he find, you ask? Well, on this day over 120 years ago, he stood at the edge of this very forest, just outside that window, and saw none other than his wife, er, former wife, and brother enjoying a fancy candle-lit dinner celebrating their new life together. It was a quick meal, because Mr. Miner Forty-Niner went into a jealous rage, picked up his trusty pickaxe and made a bloody Jackson Pollock painting out of the cabin floor I’m standing on right now! Legend has it, that if on the anniversary of the murders, you wait until it’s dark and light this candle, the mine whistle will blow, the explosion will be heard, and Eugene Ricketts will come back until sunrise to execute his revenge.” Comments began pouring in while the entitled influencer laid out the night ahead: “No way!” “Holy crap!” “This dude is nuts!” “Can’t wait! I’m watching all night.” He presses on, “as you’ve probably noticed, I’m not here with my beautiful girlfriend because she’s off filming the reboot of Legally Blonde with Jojo Siwa. BUT! To take her place, I have my…wonderful… assistant Brody behind the camera, who is going to make sure every second of tonight gets sent directly to your screens.”

As Pender finishes his monologue, the sun completes its descent. “So, hurry up, text your friends and tell them to tune in because as you can tell, the sun is down lower than the stock market during Covid. Which means, it’s time to light this candle! Right after I tell you about Bang! Energy drinks… Bang! The energy drink so good, it’ll give you the bang for your buck. Use my code ‘P-EAZY 50’ for 50% off your next order. Now!” He slowly raises the lighter, “count it down with me…3…2…1…” Click. Nothing happened. Click. Click. Click. The lighter remains off. “Brody! I told you to bring the red lighter, not the blue one. Seriously bro? Can you do anything right?” Brody scrambles to get the lighter to work as Pender teases him in front of his viewers. “Can’t get good help these days, can you? Drop a comment if you have any videographer experience.” Click, whoosh. Brody gets the lighter to ignite. Pender abruptly snatches it from Brody’s hand and goes back to the candle, delicately connecting the flame to its wick. “And then he said, let there be light… Don’t forget to like and subscribe kiddos.” The candle flickers to life before the flame stretches high and rests at a steady glow. Pender brings the candle to the windowsill, placed it in its bronze holder and peers out the window. “Any time now.” He eagerly chants as he puffs his vape, fixated on the trees, waiting to hear the high-pitched hiss of the mine whistle.

One hour passes. Then two. Three and still nothing. Brody lets out a long, drawn-out yawn. “Hey P, maybe we forgot something? Do you have to say anything? Or put the candle somewhere else?” “No. It should work. The Wikipedia page was very specific. It said to light it on the anniversary of the killings, put it in the candlestick on the windowsill and wait for the whistle. It’ll work. It has to work!” As Pender says this, his viewers begin dropping. 500,000, 300,000, down to just 62,000 when suddenly, the silence is softly broken by a distant squeal. “Alright, it was a valiant effort Pen, but it’s almost 2:30 AM. I don’t think this is happening man. I’m going—” “SHHHH! Hear that?” Pender snaps as he covers Brody’s mouth and rushes back to the window. He goes out the back door and looks to the towering silhouette of the mountain, barely visible in the pitch black. The high-pitched whistle is clearly heard now, becoming more frequent and growing louder with each bellow. “Get the camera! Go get it, now!” Pender commands Brody while pushing him back inside. “Twenty million, here I come…” he confidently mutters to himself.

Pender sprints back into the cabin’s small living space and practically dives back in front of the camera. “Ok guys, we are good to go. The whistle has sounded. You can still hear it outside! C’mon!” He bounds back outside into the biting winter air, Brody chasing him with the camera on his right shoulder, sound boom in his left hand. “Hear that? That’s the sound of destiny! The summoning of Eugene Ricketts right before your very eyes!” The whistling is clearly audible now against the stillness of the historical night. It’s high-pitched screech vibrating through the shifting pines. “Share this livestream with everyone you know guys, it’s about to go down out here! Let me know in the comments what you think will happen next. The person who gets it right? Wins a year’s supply of Bang! Energy drinks.” “Uh, I don’t know if we can do that” Brody cautions. “It’s fine, bro, quiet! Listen…” “I don’t hear anything.” Brody states. Neither does Pender. The whistling stopped. Just as Pender turns around to face the camera, a head-splitting boom erupts from the mountain. It’s long deafening call trailing off and echoing through the hills. “He’s coming!” Pender is practically jumping for joy. “He’s coming!” He runs to the tree line like a kid going out to recess as Brody struggles to keep up. “Where are you going? Pender!” “It’s P-Eazy when we’re recording!” Pender reminds his novice videographer as he emerges with the hatchet Brody had used to chop wood. “What’s that for?” Brody asks, concerned. “It’s for self-defense. You didn’t think I was going to sit in there unarmed, did you?” Pender laughs as he heads back inside the shelter. Brody follows, and once he’s inside Pender shuts the door and secures the lock, giving it another tug. As he does the same to the front door, his views begin to spike again. 600,000. 700,000 all the way up to 1.3 million. He is back in business.

He updates his spectators, “Ok guys, we’ve summoned the miner. Approximately fifteen minutes ago, the whistle went off, then the explosion happened. Now, all we do is wait” he narrates to the teens and pre-teens watching at home. “Back when the original murders were committed, the miner hacked the back door down with his pickaxe, but the killings were done with the hatchet that was left outside” Pender educates. “But that’s not going to happen tonight, because this time? I’ve got the hatchet.” He assures smugly while raising the hatchet to the camera and showing it off. “aaaand we’re demonetized…” Brody sighs

Unexpectedly, a pack of coyotes begins frantically yipping at the edge of the trees. Louder and faster than Pender or Brody has ever heard. “He’s close.” Pender announces dramatically to camera, which now has a slight rattle due to Brody’s nerves. “What’s supposed to happen n-next?” Brody asks, his stutter illustrating his stress level. “Next, the miner walked to the edge of the woods where he saw the candle, and his brother and wife inside. He let out a mighty yell as he went into his berserker rage and knocked the door down.” Pender is alarmingly intrigued, Brody thought. The viewership continued to climb, however, as comments flowed in speculating who would meet their end first: Pender, Brody or the Miner. Pender’s channel had gained almost one million new subscribers since he started the stream, if he gained another 500,000 he would exceed his goal of 20 million.

It’s silent again. Where was the yell? It should have happened by now. Pender deduces that he has to agitate the spirit somehow. “Nothing’s happening!” Pender frantically relays to Brody. “What can we do to rile him up a bit?” Brody’s eyes widen, “Rile who up? The Miner? Are you nuts?” Pender paces in thought before he has a lightbulb moment. He faces the camera again, “Ok guys, I need your help. Drop a comment. What should I do to anger the spirit?” Comments began rocketing in again. Finally, one made sense: “You and Brody need to kiss by the window. It’ll remind the Miner of the affair!” Why hadn’t he thought of that? It’s brilliant. He would explain it to his girlfriend from their new mansion after he hit 20 million subs. Without uttering another syllable, he grabs the camera, angles it on the floor to capture him before grabbing Brody by the shoulders, moving him to the window and slapping a big kiss on him. “Dude! What are you doing!?!” Brody screams, while shoving Pender away. “Trust me! It’s going to get things moving!” Pender assures. “That’s it! I’m done! This is insanity! He’s not coming. It’s a myth. Fake! Just some old wives’ tale you found on Wikipedia because you’re desperate for viewers! Who cares, Pender? These are kids! Teenagers sitting on their mom’s i-pads who have nothing better to do but spend their Saturday night watching you act like a moron!” as Brody takes a breath to continue his tirade, a loud, blood-curdling scream pierces the winter air just outside the cabin. Near the edge of the tree line. Brody’s expression transitions from anger to panic and he turns off the camera and storms out of the cabin to his car. “Nope! Nope! Definitely not! Find yourself a new videographer, Pender. I’m out!” Before Pender can stop him, Brody is already out the door. Pender watches him leave and in his peripheral he could’ve sworn he saw a figure silhouetted behind Brody’s Saturn. He quickly closed the wooden door and latched the iron lock.

Pender pulled his cell phone out of his pocket to return to his livestream. “Sorry about that guys, let’s get back to the action. I don’t know if you heard, but there was just a banshee-like scream right outside the cabin.” Pender whispers, clutching the hatchet with white knuckles as he crouches below the windowsill. His stunt of kissing Brody caused another spike in viewership, and he gained another 700,000 subscribers, putting him over his mark of 20 million. He had done it. Now he just needed to survive the night.

He watched his comments section scroll like a Vegas slot machine “Where’s Brody?” one of the viewers asked. “Don’t worry about Brody. He bailed. Deathwalking isn’t for the faint of heart, kids. Only the pros are cut out for this.” Suddenly, Pender hears another loud scream, followed by Brody frantically shouting “NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!” Next, the loud crack of iron striking bone, a dull thud onto the earth, the slow dragging of jeans against soil and gravel. These are the sounds Pender and his audience heard as he sat frozen in fear below the window. This was getting a little too real. He was about to get up when the walkie talkie in his back pocket scratched to life. Pender holds it to his ear and hears slow, labored breathing. “Brody? Brody!” he’s in full panic mode. “No” came the one-word reply from a voice unrecognizable to Pender. He instinctively tossed the radio across the room and started hyperventilating. A figure briefly covers the moonlit window as it crosses, its long shadow flashing onto the cabin floor in front of Pender.

Not thinking clearly, Pender grabs the candle and blows it out, hoping it will break the rift he opened with the undead prospector. All he succeeds in doing, however, is dousing his only light source. He curses himself for turning off the ring light when he switched to his phone earlier. The ring light! It’s still in the same place Brody left it, in the corner across from the kitchen, facing the back door. He crawls on the wooden floor, taking care to put the hatchet down softly each time his right hand hits the floor. As he inches his way forward, he hears the splintering of wood on the front door. Loud, ground-shattering clashes, one after the other, followed by the shrill crack of wood parting at the grain. He was here. Time was up. Pender moves quickly, finally feeling the extension cord in his fingertips. The crashes and cracks behind him continue, increasing in pace, then as he finds the portable power strip with his outstretched hand, he notices the absence of the loud noises.

He traces his fingertips down the thin cord until he finds the socket. He jams it into the outlet on the power strip, and the blinding white light beams against the darkness. Pender looks up and standing in front of him is a man, or what was once a man. He stands nearly eight feet tall, wearing boots made of thick hide, old jeans crossed with rips and tears, and an old wool mining shirt with the trademark suspenders used in place of belts in the late 1800’s. The miner’s face is covered in soot, and the right side of his expression is completely disfigured, half melted half cauterized from the dynamite blast. Pender lets out a child-like scream as the Miner raises his iron pickaxe with both hands high above his head. This is it. Pender is going to die. All for some stupid followers, he thought.

Just as Pender belts out what he thinks will be his final call for help, the Miner lowers his pick. He stares at Pender for a long five to ten seconds, and bursts into muffled laughter. Pender doesn’t know what is going on until Brody peels the mask from his face and takes off the platform boots he is wearing.

Pender sits on the floor in petrified disbelief, a catatonic look stuck on his face. “Well? Say something!” Brody proudly jeers. Pender slowly begins formulating questions. “How? The whistle, the…the…the scream, the door…” “Oh, c’mon Pen, even you can’t be that stupid! I set it all up before you got here” he confesses. I hid a burner phone in the outhouse. I set two alarms, one with the whistle and one with the scream and started the timer when I went back out after setting up! The pickaxe and costume were in my car. I counted on the fact that you’d be too terrified at that point to look out the window, so I went out there, did a little fake death screaming, split open a log, put on the costume and started hitting the door with this stupid pickaxe I got from a prop store. The rust is a nice touch, isn’t it?”

Pender is piecing it all together. His face slowly regaining its color as he seethes in frustration. Meanwhile, his phone is still livestreaming, and the comments are roaring with laughter. “I didn’t plan on you blowing out the candle, but it was great! After that, I knew you’d go for the ring light since you clearly can’t work a lighter, so I just snuck through the back door and positioned myself for the grand reveal. Tadaaa!” Brody holds his hands out and bows. “But the explosion. The boom. How did you set that up?” Pender interrogates. “Honestly,” Brody shrugged, “I just got lucky. It must’ve been from a tree falling or thunder or something. I don’t know. It sure added theatrical effect though, right?”

Brody picks up the phone next to Pender and smiles for the camera. “WHAT IS UP, P-CLAN! It’s ya boi, B-Eazy! Like what you just saw? Ditch this loser and subscribe to my channel for more pranks like this one. B-out!” He tosses the phone into Pender’s lap and Pender watches his subscriber count drop by the thousands. It continued descending, until the 20 million he had ten minutes ago was down to 190,000. He’s now just another wannabe influencer, with no followers or clout to legitimize his ridiculous antics.

Letting emotion possess him, he lunges for Brody, taking out his legs. “Whoa! Hey!” Brody screams as he hits the solid wooden floor. Pender straddles his chest, leaning his weight back to block Brody’s attempt to get up. He starts raining haymakers down on Brody’s face. Right, left, right, left, simultaneously without cessation until he notices the blood. There’s so much blood, Pender thought, coming back to reality. He hadn’t hit him that hard, even in his blind rage. He looks down at Brody’s mangled face and it’s not until now that he realizes he’s still clutching the hatchet in his right hand. In his Miner-like berserker frenzy he hadn’t felt the black rubber grip in his fingertips as he was punching Brody’s face and neck. Brody lay motionless on the floor.

Pender panics, not knowing what to do. He grabs the blanket off the bed and tries to stop the bleeding by applying pressure. Nothing works. Brody is clearly beyond help. Pender shuts off his phone realizing it’s still recording before dashing outside and tossing it into the black woods. He heads back inside and starts hyperventilating again, which evolves to helpless sobbing. He is done for. Brody is dead, his life as he knew it is over, and most importantly, his followers are gone. He has to fix this. He pulls himself together, splashes cold water on his face, and rolls Brody into the cashmere blanket now covered in hot blood before tucking his hatchet and stained shirt inside and tying the ends off.

He drags the blanket-wrapped corpse of his videographer out of the cabin and towards the woods. He needs to bury him before sunrise and get as far away from here as he can before one of his viewers calls the cops to report the livestreamed execution. He’s already on the clock. He finds a spot with soft soil just to the right of Brody’s car and starts digging with the Hollywood pickaxe. Pender is so focused on his task at hand, he is completely oblivious to the candle in the window. The candle which is now lit again. It’s flame shining wildly, dwarfing the wax below it.

He watched as the boy struggled to dig the hole with his pickaxe in front of the cabin. The boy was flustered, shaking with adrenaline. But then again, he had just committed a murder. He watched the strange looking boy from the edge of the tree line, the wind rustling behind his wool shirt as it flowed in from the pines. He inhaled the frigid November air, rich with the smell of pine and fresh blood. He remembered this combination of scents, exactly as it had been on the night of his own horrific act, almost 120 years ago. His pale, disfigured lips, made even paler by the soot on his face, curled into a crooked grin. Tonight, he would taste retribution once more. He closed his eyes, took one last cathartic breath, and began striding towards the boy. His iron pickaxe twirled over his shoulder, the wet droplets of blood illustrating the dirt behind him in a way reminiscent of a Jackson Pollock painting.