Cry Beneath the Ice — A Five-Minute Fright

Intro by the Nightly Storyteller:

> “They say curiosity killed the cat… but sometimes curiosity drags you into the forest, where shadows move and the wind whispers secrets you’re not ready to hear.

Tonight, I have a tale of snow, a coin that gleams in the sunlight, and two friends whose impulsive hearts led them into danger.

Marissa and Claire sought freedom from broken lives… and found far more than they bargained for.

Tread carefully. Keep your wits. And maybe… don’t stray from the trail.”

---

Marissa’s phone buzzed again. Claire’s name flashed. She answered, relief and fatigue mingling in her voice.

“Another sleepless night?” Claire asked softly.

Marissa exhaled, voice tight. “Yeah… this divorce is just… I don’t know, crushing me. Half my life feels like it’s been erased overnight.”

Claire chuckled lightly, bitter but warm. “Tell me about it. I swear, some nights I just… scream into my pillow.”

They laughed weakly, then sighed, sharing the quiet despair that comes with empty houses, shared custody weekends, and the slow burn of being untethered from what they once knew.

Then, impulsively, Claire said, “Why don’t we… get out of here? Pack a bag, hit the Rockies this weekend. No planning. Just… adventure.”

Marissa paused. The idea was reckless, sudden, freeing. “Why not?” she said finally. “My ex has the kids. Yours too. Let’s do it.”

That afternoon, they made it spontaneous: tossing essentials into backpacks, not worrying about hotel reservations, not mapping every trail. First, a stop at a small general store for trail mix, water, and a first-aid kit. The clerk gave a polite smile, unaware that these two women were about to walk into a forest that didn’t forgive impulsivity.

Lunch was at a roadside diner, warm and greasy with the smell of bacon. Conversation drifted again to the divorces, laughter and tears interwoven. That’s when a local approached, nodding toward the snow-capped peaks.

“Trail’s nice,” he said, voice low, eyes serious, “but some things in those woods… don’t like visitors. Not all harmless. Don’t wander off.”

They smiled politely, too eager to taste the thrill of spontaneity to worry about caution.

Hours later, the Rockies opened before them like a cathedral of white. Snow crunched beneath their boots; crisp air filled their lungs. The trail was narrow, inviting, safe… until the sun broke through clouds, catching a glint in the snow beside a tree stump.

“What’s that?” Marissa whispered.

They stepped off the trail, drawn by the gleam. Claire picked up a small gold coin — smooth, old, unmarked. For a moment, the air grew heavier. Footprints appeared: massive, human-like, then vanished into the snow.

“Maybe we should head back,” Marissa said.

Claire shook her head, impulsive, curious. “Just a little further.”

The forest hushed. Then came the first whoop, deep and guttural.

“It’s probably just an animal,” Claire said, voice tight.

Another noise: sharp knocks against a tree, deliberate. Branches snapped nearby. Then the stench — musky, overwhelming — hit like a physical force. Something was massive, alive, territorial.

Shadows flickered. Movement in the periphery. The forest was alive with intent.

A figure emerged: dark fur, limbs like trunks, eyes unreadable — Bigfoot.

Panic seized them. “Run!” Marissa yelled.

Snow sprayed as they sprinted blindly. Whoops echoed between the peaks, snapping like gunshots in the still air. Claire tripped; Marissa grabbed her arm, pulling her into a shallow drift. The coin slipped from Claire’s pocket, catching the last rays of sunlight. The creature paused, fixated. That hesitation gave them the chance to scramble downhill, snow muffling their frantic flight.

Branches clawed their faces. Ice scraped skin. Hearts pounded. Every rustle of the wind, every snapping twig, made them jump, fear gnawing at every nerve. Was it still behind them? Or in their minds?

Finally, they made it back to the trail, trembling, breathless. Silence. No whoops. No knocks. Only the lingering, terrible odor.

Marissa whispered, “Did… did we imagine that?”

Claire’s gaze rested on the half-buried coin. “I don’t think so.”

The forest seemed quiet again, but something lingered in the shadows, patient, waiting. The coin caught the sun again — glinting, silent, ominous — a warning, a promise.

Outro by the Nightly Storyteller:

> “Some say the forest forgets you once you leave. Some say it remembers.

Those footprints in the snow… they don’t always vanish.

That coin you found, gleaming in sunlight… was it a gift? A warning? Or something… watching you even now?

Keep your curiosity in check. Or maybe, like Marissa and Claire, you’ll hear the whoops in the wind, feel the eyes at the edge of your vision, and wonder… was it ever really just a forest?”