The Mountain's Keeper
Robin stepped out of her car and took a deep breath of the crisp, early morning mountain air.
"You just can’t get that in the city," she sighed happily, pulling her backpack out of the trunk. Behind her lay a small town—a modest collection of houses barely larger than a suburban neighborhood, with a few shops and businesses scattered throughout. But before her stood towering mountains, dense forests, and the promise of adventure.
"Hmmm... only two bottles of water and a couple of granola bars. I swore I restocked this after my last hike," she muttered to herself as she rifled through her backpack. Slinging it over her shoulder, she headed into town. Most of the businesses were closed, but soon she stumbled upon a tiny general store.
As she stepped inside, her eyes were immediately drawn—not to the shelves of snacks and water she was looking for—but to an odd sculpture in the back of the store. The creature depicted was definitely canine but didn’t quite resemble anything she had seen before. It was positioned as if it were standing on a log, its posture both unsettling and intriguing
The more Robin examined the sculpture, the more its odd, mixed features stood out. Its tail didn’t resemble any canine tail she’d seen before; it was fluffy and slender, almost like a cat’s. The eyes were distinctly feline as well. While the body seemed roughly the size of a wolf, the snout was shorter, and the overall form was sleeker.
"Hello, little lady. Do you like it?" a shaky voice asked from behind her. Robin turned to see an elderly man standing behind the store counter, his eyes bright despite the deep wrinkles lining his face.
"Uh... yeah. What is it?" she asked. The old man chuckled.
"I can tell you’re not from around here. Not a single local isn’t familiar with that creature. It’s not a real one, mind you. I had a friend put that together," he said.
"I’ve never seen anything quite like it," Robin replied, starting to gather bottles of water, small bags of chips and impulsively grabbing a few apples from the shelves.
"That doesn’t surprise me. The indigenous Americans who lived here long ago spoke of it in hushed whispers. According to their legends, it came into being when a coyote intermingled with a wolf. Their offspring, in turn, intermingled with foxes. And then, the hybrid intermingled with cats. The resulting creature had the cleverness of a fox, the pack mentality of wolves, the sneakiness of a coyote, and the agility of a cat. Nature’s perfect killing machine."
"That’s... not biologically possible. Other than the coyote and the wolf," Robin said as she laid her gathered supplies on the counter.
"No, no, of course not," the man laughed as he scanned her goods. "The story comes from when people thought foxes were an in-between of cats and dogs and could mate with both. We know that’s not true now, of course. But it makes for a good story for tourists. Some of the shops in town even sell stuffed animal versions of it. That’ll be $10.55."
"Thank you," Robin said, sliding her card and entering her PIN.
"If you didn’t come out here because looking for our local cryptid, what brings you all the way out here?"
"Oh, I just like to hike. I try to visit small towns because the popular hiking spots can get a little crowded. Are there any trails around here you’d recommend?"
"Of course. When you leave, make a right and keep walking until you hit the trees. There should be a trail on your left."
"Thank you again!" Robin smiled as she placed her purchases into her backpack.
"No, thank you, miss. And you be careful now!" The old man waved as she left.
Robin followed the man's directions until she stood before a large forest, the soft bubbling of a small stream filling the air. Some of the trees were still bright green, while others had begun to show the early signs of autumn, their leaves tinged with gold and red. Moss-covered rocks dotted the landscape, and the forest floor was strewn with fallen leaves. In some places, the early morning mist had not yet faded giving the forest a haunting feel. Perfect.
"Hmm, this is barely a trail. Looks like it was worn in by people walking on it," Robin thought as she walked alongside the stream to avoid getting lost. The sunlight struggled to break through the dense canopy, leaving the trail dappled with patches of light and long, creeping shadows. As the path twisted and snaked through the woods, the air grew cooler, carrying the earthy scent of moss and decaying leaves.
“Whoa... uphill now. I’d better catch my breath.” Sweat coated Robin’s forehead as the terrain gradually sloped upward. She dropped to a sitting position, rummaging through her backpack until her hand brushed against the cold water bottle at the bottom. Pulling it out, she took a long drink, the cool shaded air bringing some relief to her flushed face as she huffed. The quiet of the mountains was interrupted only by the occasional cry of a bird.
“This is the escape I’ve been craving,” Robin sighed, letting the tension of her job slip away like the sound of her last email ping. She reached for her phone out of habit, only to find it powerless in the absence of reception. Out here, it was little more than a digital clock. “There’s going to be a flood of emails to get back to after a weekend with no internet.” A small shiver ran up her spine at the thought.
She stowed the water bottle back in her bag and resumed her trek up the mountain. She had no particular destination in mind, just planning to hike until she felt like turning back. Up ahead, peeking through the silent shadows of the woods, she noticed a spot of brightness a little way off the beaten path.
“What’s that?” Robin squinted at the bright spot beyond the path, an unease settling in her chest. The logical part of her said to stay on the trail, but curiosity tugged harder. She stood in place for a moment, shifting her weight as she considered her decision, before finally moving toward the bright spot. As she got closer, she discovered it was a tree. The brightness had come from a long strip where the bark had been shaved away, running all the way down the length of the trunk.
"Bugs? Claw marks?" she mused, studying the tree. She hadn’t seen anything quite like it before, but she usually hiked much lower in the mountains. She’d read about bears sharpening their claws on trees, but this didn’t seem to go high enough up the trunk. "Oh well. Whatever it was is probably long gone."
She headed back toward the stream, her anchor to where she had started. The birds had fallen eerily silent, leaving only the sounds of the stream and the buzzing of insects. The quiet pressed in around her, amplifying a growing sense of unease that Robin couldn’t quite shake. There was something off, something she couldn’t put her finger on—an odd stillness in the air.
Robin glanced over her shoulder, still debating whether to turn back. The path ahead now seemed less inviting, but cutting her hike short felt like giving in to an irrational fear. Yet, the unease lingered, tugging at the edges of her thoughts. Maybe there was a safer trail?
Unable to shake the feeling, Robin stopped in her tracks when she heard the sharp snap of a twig and the rustle of leaves. She quickly turned her head toward the noise, but there was no sign of what had caused it.
"Probably just a squirrel... made a small branch fall or something," she whispered to herself, trying to sound convincing, but the words rang hollow. The unease clung to her, refusing to dissipate.
As she continued down the trail, the way back felt familiar but not as comforting as it should have been. The unease clung to her, a heavy blanket she couldn't shake. Every step felt more urgent, more desperate. Then, a tiny clicking noise pierced the silence. Robin froze. “What kind of animal makes that sound?” she wondered, her pace slowing to a cautious crawl.
The sound faded as she moved more carefully, only to return as soon as she picked up speed again. The more she heard it, the more familiar it became. Then, the realization hit her—she looked down at her feet.
Her shoe was untied, and the clicking noise was just the aglets at the ends of her laces tapping against each other.
"Oh, thank God," she sighed with relief. As she crouched down to tie her shoe, Robin’s fingers paused, her gaze drifting to the dirt. Just a few feet away, she noticed a set of tracks, fresh like they had been made after she’d passed this way.
The first set led up the trail in the direction she had been going. The prints showed four toes, but no visible claws. The toes were rounded, and the heels dug heavily into the dirt, forming a distinct little M pattern. They seemed vaguely familiar, though she couldn’t quite place where she’d seen them before.
It was the second set of tracks that sent a shiver down her spine. These prints crossed the trail toward the stream, larger than a dog’s or a coyote’s but still vaguely canine. Unlike the first set, the claws were visible, sinking deep into the earth. They were fresh—fresher than the other set.
Robin’s heart pounded in her throat as she slowly turned her head. Standing by the creek, its muzzle glistening with water, was the creature responsible for the tracks. Robin’s breath caught in her throat as she fell backwards into a sitting position. The creature’s fur, a mottled blend of red and grey, camouflaged perfectly with the dappled forest floor, making it seem like a living shadow that had stepped out of the trees.
The creature’s ears were fox-like and fuzzy, with a short snout. Its eyes, which were fixed on her with unnerving intensity, were distinctly feline. It was big—bigger than a wolf—and eerily similar to the sculpture in the store back in town. Robin felt a cold wave of fear wash over her, freezing her in place. She cowered behind her bag, clutching it like a shield, unable to move or even scream.
The creature tilted its head, slowly turning its body to face her fully. Robin's entire body began to tremble, but she remained paralyzed, locked in a silent standoff. Its nostrils flared as it sniffed at her, its movements more curious than aggressive or frightened. Robin dared to look directly into its eyes and saw something unsettling—a fierce intelligence. There was a confidence there, a sense of safety, but also a playful curiosity that set her nerves on edge.
The creature's snout pressed against her bag, sniffing it with great interest.
"It… wants something in my bag?" Robin thought, the realization dawning on her. The creature before her—its features a blend of fox, wolf, coyote and feline—was unmistakably the cryptid the town had made its mascot. "It’s… not possible that it's actually...a hybrid, but… those animals are omnivores… the apples!"
Robin’s mind raced as she slowly, deliberately reached into her bag. Every instinct screamed to run, but she knew that would only provoke the creature. Her fingers trembled as they closed around the apple, and she could barely breathe as she extended it toward the cryptid.
"Please, let this work," she thought, the silent plea echoing in her mind as she watched the creature’s every move. The creature sniffed at the fruit before eagerly grabbing it in its mouth. In an instant, it bounded across the stream, chomping on the apple with the enthusiasm of a dog savoring a treat.
Robin watched in disbelief as her fear slowly dissipated. She reached into her bag and pulled out the remaining apples, gently lobbing them across the stream. The creature shifted its gaze to the new offerings, eagerly moving from one apple to the next. Robin, still in awe, took out her phone and began recording the scene, capturing the cryptid as it enjoyed the simple treat. After a moment, she stopped, pocketing her phone with a sense of wonder.
With one last glance at the creature, she continued down the trail, her earlier unease now replaced with a bubbling excitement. The old man at the store had mentioned nothing about anyone finding real evidence of the cryptid—or any creature that could have inspired the legend. The thought of showing him the video sent a thrill through her.
The forest around her was eerily quiet, the usual symphony of birds and insects absent, leaving only the soft murmur of the creek to fill the void. The air felt thick, pressing down on her as she walked, each step crunching leaves that seemed louder than they should. Then, a sharp snap of a twig broke the uneasy silence, making her heart leap.
Robin paused, glancing around, half-expecting the cryptid to be following her. She scanned the trees for any sign of movement, but the woods were as still as ever.
"Might be my imagination now," she thought, though the unease started to creep back in. Something felt off about the path—it didn’t seem quite as familiar as it should. She looked down at the ground and noticed the other set of tracks she had seen earlier. They continued forward in the direction she was heading. Her eyes shifted to the creek, and she realized it was now flowing downhill.
"Crap! I must have gotten turned around!" She cursed under her breath, turning on her heel to head back the way she had come. But she hesitated, remembering the cryptid. It might still be back that way, and she wasn’t sure if it would be as playful if she passed by again.
"Maybe it’s best to avoid it," Robin murmured, as if hoping the surrounding mountain would somehow confirm her decision. "Maybe if I give it some clearance." She stepped off the trail—something she would never normally consider—and moved among the trees, putting about forty feet between her and the path. Confident she was headed in the right direction this time, she continued down the mountain.
The rustling of leaves as she walked replaced the comforting sound of the stream. Her feet began to ache as she pushed forward, and her throat felt dry. Robin stopped, swinging her bag around to her front to retrieve her water. As she fumbled with the zipper, a chilling realization struck her—the rustling of leaves hadn't stopped with her.
Her heart pounded as she turned and found herself face-to-face with the owner of the other set of tracks. Cold, piercing eyes stared back at her—the eyes of a mountain lion.
The same paralyzing fear that had gripped her when she encountered the cryptid returned tenfold. The cougar took a slow, deliberate step forward, a low growl rumbling from its throat, the leaves crunching beneath its powerful paws.
"It's been stalking me this whole time," Robin realized, struggling to recall what to do in the event of a cougar attack. The cougar took another step closer, its gaze calculating, predatory, as if waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
Robin forced herself to meet its eyes, knowing she shouldn’t turn her back or run. She took a careful step backward, trying to maintain eye contact. She tried to make a noise, to do something, anything to scare it off, but the scream she wanted to release was stuck in her throat.
The cougar’s hungry gaze bore into her, assessing, waiting for any mistake. Robin continued to retreat, desperately trying to avoid backing into a tree, clutching her bag in front of her like a fragile shield. As she stepped backward, her foot caught on uneven terrain—a stone buried beneath the leaves—and sent her tumbling to the ground.
The cougar roared, a primal sound that shook the air, and lunged. Robin barely had time to brace herself before its claws raked across her shoulder, a searing pain followed by the warm trickle of blood. The weight of the beast slammed her to the ground, her breath knocked from her lungs. She fought back, her backpack the only barrier between her and its lethal claws, her body trembling with the effort to push it away. The scream that had been trapped in her throat finally tore free, echoing through the mountain air with no one to hear it.
At least, no person to hear it.
A red and grey blur shot through the leaves, moving with a grace that was both wild and precise. It collided with the cougar, sending the predator sprawling, its snarl cut off in surprise. The cryptid stood tall over Robin, its fur bristling, puffing up to appear larger, as it released a series of sharp, commanding yips—warnings, or perhaps, challenges before darting forward and snapping its jaws, forcing the cougar back.
Robin stumbled to her feet, clutching her torn bag as the cryptid's pack materialized from the shadows, their forms blending with the forest. Relief mingled with disbelief as she watched them rush to join the first, their fierce loyalty evident in every snarling leap and snap at the mountain lion.
This was her chance.
Without a second thought, Robin turned and ran as fast as she could, making her way toward the stream and the trail, the sounds of the fierce struggle fading behind her.
"Cleverness of a fox, the pack mentality of wolves, the sneakiness of a coyote, and the agility of a cat. Nature’s perfect killing machine." The shopkeeper’s words echoed in Robin’s mind as adrenaline surged through her, dulling the pain in her shoulder. Each breath was a sharp, stinging reminder of her injuries; the cougar had likely cracked a rib when it pounced.
"If all I get from a cougar attack is a shoulder wound, some cracked ribs, and a ripped-up backpack, I’ll take it," Robin thought, her legs driving her forward, fueled by a desperate need for freedom. Soon, the entrance to the forest was in sight, but Robin didn’t slow as she crossed the threshold of trees. She zoomed past the townspeople, who turned to her in alarm, some calling out, but she ignored them.
Her instinct was to return to her car and leave the town—and the cougar—behind, but cooler heads prevailed as she rushed past the shop. Something to clean and dress the wound was the wiser decision.
She was trembling and panting as she pushed into the shop. The old man was sitting behind the counter, a newspaper in hand, as the bell above his door rang. His eyes widened with shock as he saw Robin, covered in dirt and blood.
"Little lady...what happened to you?" he asked, concern peppering his tone.
"Mountain...lion..." Robin muttered through gulps of air, indicating her bleeding shoulder.
“Sit, let’s clean that up,” he said, his voice calm but carrying an undertone of urgency. He moved with practiced ease, like someone who had tended to wounds before, disappearing into the back and returning with a bucket of water and clean cloths.
Robin took a seat on the edge of the display where the sculpture of the cryptid sat, looking at it as the old man disappeared and reappeared with a bucket of water and some washcloths.
“So, what happened out there?” the shopkeeper asked, his hands steady as he carefully wiped away the blood. His tone was calm, almost casual, but Robin could sense the underlying curiosity, the quiet urgency in his question. She recounted her tale to him—everything: seeing the cryptid, getting turned around, the mountain lion, how the creature saved her. He listened with rapt attention, nodding along.
"That sounds awful," he said when she finished. "You’re lucky to have walked away with just that."
"You...don’t seem surprised that it exists?" Robin noted his subdued reaction.
"’Course not. Whole town knows it does, but we keep it a secret. Chase off the occasional seeker. Nothing else like it in the whole world, as far as we know. It doesn’t show up too often, but every once in a while, one comes along and reminds us it’s there," the shopkeeper nodded.
"They don’t scare you?"
"Do they scare you?" he asked. Robin hesitated, weighing the shopkeeper’s words. The image of the cryptid, the almost human intelligence in it's eyes and curious demeanor, flashed in her mind.
"No...I suppose they don’t."
"The Indigenous Americans saw it as a protector, a friend. And in turn, they protected it. So we carry on that tradition," the old man smiled as he wrapped the rest of Robin’s injury. "Wound isn’t bad, looks like it only grazed you. Ribs are probably cracked. I’m sure the town doctor would be happy to take a look."
"Thanks, but I think I’ll just drop by a hospital on the way home," Robin returned his smile.
"Well, if you’re sure, little lady. We’d be happy to have you back sometime."
“Maybe I’ll come pick up one of those stuffed animals you mentioned,” she replied, her voice softer, almost contemplative, as she turned to leave. Her nerves had settled down. She waved to the shopkeeper one final time, and after a glance at the sculpture in the back, as she returned to her car. As she sat in the driver’s seat, she pulled out her phone and watched the video of the cryptid—her friend—eating the apples she had given it.
After she watched it a few more times, burning it into her memory. With one final deep breath, she pressed delete.
Thanks for making it this far! If you enjoyed this check out some of my other stories! More stories to come. Subscribe and stay tuned.
Credit to Craiyon.com for images of cryptid.
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