bird

dog

horse

LET’S FUCKING GO!!! I haven’t been this happy in years :)

Replacing the mainboard on my Monoprice Select Mini v2 with a BTT SKR Pico and installing Klipper.

Time to see how far I can push the stock motion system.

bird

First print on my new Voron 0.2

repebble.com

This is the best news I’ve seen in 10 years.

Doggo

Introduction

At work, we had several Polycom phones in our remote offices stop working due to our VOIP provider discontinuing TLS v1.0 without any warning. This was made worse by the fact that our VOIP provider decided they didn’t need to host firmware files for these phones to update to a version that supports newer versions of the TLS standard… and hadn’t been doing so for years.

As a result of this, I was tasked with building out a process for applying updates to Polycom phones without utilizing the update server hosted by our VOIP provider.

Finding ANY documentation on this whatsoever was effectively impossible, so I’m making this post to help the next person who has to do this preserve their sanity.

So, without further interruption to what should be a simple guide, we’ll cover setting up an FTP server, configuring firmware files, and finally updating your phones.

Procedure

Setting up the FTP Server

Polycom phones require an FTP server to receive update files from. This doesn’t have to be anything complicated. It just needs to be able to serve files.

Python (jumpscare) is among the quickest ways to achieve this.

First, we’ll need to install pyftpdlib. A Python library that allows us to host a basic FTP server:

# Most environments:
pip install pyftpdlib

# Ubuntu 24 Server (and probably a lot of other Debian-based distros)
sudo apt install python3-pyftpdlib

Now, we need to host the server. At the time of writing, Polycom phones default to using the user/password PlcmSpIp/PlcmSpIp. If this changes, update the script below.

from pyftpdlib.authorizers import DummyAuthorizer
from pyftpdlib.handlers import FTPHandler
from pyftpdlib.servers import FTPServer

# Create authorizer
authorizer = DummyAuthorizer()

# Anonymous user with read-only permissions
authorizer.add_anonymous(".", perm="lr")

# Add user (PlcmSpIp) with read-only permissions
authorizer.add_user("PlcmSpIp", "PlcmSpIp", ".", perm="lr")

# Create handler
handler = FTPHandler
handler.authorizer = authorizer

# Create and start server
server = FTPServer(("0.0.0.0", 21), handler)
server.serve_forever()

Various notes on directory structure

The remainder of this document assumes that the root/working directory for the FTP server contains the following:

├── FTP
│   ├── Polycom-UC-Software-4.0.15-rts22-release-sig-combined
│   ├── Polycom-UC-Software-4.0.15-rts22-release-sig-split
│   ├── Polycom-UC-Software-6.3.1-rts45-M-release-sig-combined
│   ├── Polycom-UC-Software-6.3.1-rts45-M-release-sig-split
│   ├── Poly_UC_Software_5_9_8_release_sig_split
│   ├── Poly_UC_Software_5.9.8_rts63_release_sig_combined
│   ├── README.md
│   ├── the_liquid_chocolate_experience.xml
│   ├── UC_Software_6_3_1_AE_release_sig_split
│   ├── UC_Software_6_4_3_I_release_sig_split
│   ├── UC_Software_6_4_5_release_sig_split
│   ├── UC_Software_6_4_6_release_sig_split
│   └── ZIP_files

The various Polycom and UC_Software directories contain extracted versions of the firmware files.

Visit the Polycom Firmware Matrix to locate the software packages for your specific device.

The ZIP_files directory contains unextracted and .zip files downloaded from Polycom, largely just for reference.

A quick and easy way to bulk-extract ZIP files under a Linux shell:

for file in *.zip; do
    dirname="${file%.zip}"
    mkdir -p "$dirname"
    unzip "$file" -d "$dirname"
done

Ultimately, the phone doesn’t care about the directory structure. You can organize the directory structure however you want as the phone pulls update files down according to the XML file.

Building out the XML file

We’ll need to create an XML configuration file that tells the phone where to download the firmware image from. In my examples, I will be using ftp://2008.obama.cc/ as this is what I used when testing this process for the first time.

The file the_liquid_chocolate_experience.xml is what the phone gets pointed at to check for updates. In our case, the URL would be ftp://2008.obama.cc/the_liquid_chocolate_experience.xml.

Predictably, the name of the name of the XML file doesn’t matter. I just like messing up my digital footprint :)

So, what is the magic sauce inside the XML file?

<PHONE_IMAGES>
    <REVISION ID="3111-48350-001">
        <PHONE_IMAGE>
            <VERSION>5.9.8.5760</VERSION>
            <PATH>ftp://2008.obama.cc/Poly_UC_Software_5_9_8_release_sig_split/3111-48350-001.sip.ld</PATH>
        </PHONE_IMAGE>
    </REVISION>
</PHONE_IMAGES>

This looks extremely haunted, and I admit that it is, but it’s actually very simple, so let’s start from the beginning:

• REVISION ID={} is the hardware revision that corresponds to the phone’s part number. This can be quickly and easily obtained through the phone’s web portal home page. In the case of the Polycom VVX 311 I’m working with while writing this, it is 3111-48350-001 Rev:A. So, to fill out the XML file, we just need to remove Rev:A.

• PHONE_IMAGE represents an individual software version for the phone. If there are multiple software versions for a given phone, you just create another <PHONE_IMAGE> category underneath the revision for a given phone. I’ve demonstrated what this looks like a little further down.

• VERSION is pretty arbitrary. You can literally set it to any string as far as I can tell (there doesn’t appear to be any sort of length limit either). If we want to represent the exact version number for a given update file, there is a file included in each firmware package called sip.ver. Open it in a text editor to view the exact version information. In this case, I am working with software version 5.9.8.5760.

• PATH represents the location on an FTP server that the phone can download the firmware image from. Open your extracted firmware directory and find the the relevant file for your phone’s part number. In my case, for the Polycom VVX 311, I am looking for a file named 3111-48350-001.sip.ld.

  • Using the directory structure I described previously the path to the update file is as follows:
    • ftp://2008.obama.cc/Poly_UC_Software_5_9_8_release_sig_split/3111-48350-001.sip.ld.
  • If you’re confused about where the 3111-48350-001 came from, see the details for the REVISION field.

So, putting it all together (along with some settings for the Polycom VVX 600), we get a config file that looks something like this:

<PHONE_IMAGES>
    <!-- Polycom VVX 311 (and 301??) -->
    <REVISION ID="3111-48350-001">
        <PHONE_IMAGE>
            <VERSION>5.9.8.5760</VERSION>
            <PATH>ftp://2008.obama.cc/Poly_UC_Software_5_9_8_release_sig_split/3111-48350-001.sip.ld</PATH>
        </PHONE_IMAGE>
    </REVISION>

    <!-- Polycom VVX 600 -->
    <REVISION ID="3111-44600-001">
        <PHONE_IMAGE>
            <VERSION>6.4.6.2453</VERSION>
            <PATH>ftp://2008.obama.cc/UC_Software_6_4_6_release_sig_split/3111-44600-001.sip.ld</PATH>
        </PHONE_IMAGE>
        <PHONE_IMAGE>
            <VERSION>5.9.8.5760</VERSION>
            <PATH>ftp://2008.obama.cc/Poly_UC_Software_5_9_8_release_sig_split/3111-44600-001.sip.ld</PATH>
        </PHONE_IMAGE>
    </REVISION>
</PHONE_IMAGES>

Putting it all together

Ensure port 21 is open on your server’s firewall so that devices can reach the FTP server.

Now, simply enter the directory where you have the .XML file and execute the Python FTP server. I placed it in the parent directory of FTP server as to avoid serving the Python script:

python ../ftpserver.py

And finally, head to the phone’s web console and enter the software upgrade screen (Utilities -> Software Upgrade), then select custom server, and enter the FTP address to your .XML file: ftp://2008.obama.cc/the_liquid_chocolate_experience.xml.

After this, you should see the various firmware versions you configured. Simply select one, then wait for the update to finish.

The Pebble is still the best smartwatch ever created—and nothing else even comes close.

This is a bit of a different take on initial idea I had for my previous story (Trapped.). Not sure if I’m done with this concept just yet. Enjoy the story~

— C² <3

It’s so cold, colder than I ever imagined it could get. I pull my jacket tighter, fingers clumsy and numb, but it doesn’t help. The cold isn’t just outside anymore; it’s inside, like it’s crept under my skin, hollowed me out. I thought I’d be stronger than this. I thought I could keep going, keep moving. But now it’s just me, and the trees, and the echoes.

I think of Paige again. Paige with her sad, crooked smile and quiet voice that always seemed to carry a weight she wouldn’t let anyone else see. Paige, who let me in just enough to make me worry but never enough to really understand. Paige, who’s a million miles away now, living her life, and I’m here, stranded and alone, thinking about the things I wish I’d said. The things I never fully understood about her… or myself.

“Paige, you’re not worthless,” I’d told her, more times than I can count. Over the phone, in the dead of night, when her voice sounded so small, so fragile. I wanted her to believe me, but I don’t think she ever did. Or maybe it wasn’t that. Maybe she believed it for a moment, and then the feeling slipped away, like smoke through her fingers. I don’t know. I just know I wanted her to see herself the way I did—strong, brilliant, kind. Worth saving.

But even now, the cold creeping deeper, my thoughts scattered like fallen leaves, I can’t shake the feeling that I failed her. That I wasn’t enough. I was just… an echo, bouncing off the walls she put up. A voice that faded the moment she looked away.

I sink down to the ground, my legs shaking too much to hold me up anymore. The forest seems to sway around me, the shadows flickering, and I wonder if it’s just my vision blurring. I lean back against a tree, closing my eyes, letting the cold settle into me, and I feel… empty. Like I’m fading, like the parts of me that mattered are slipping away, piece by piece.

In the quiet, Paige’s words drift back to me, words that cut deeper than she knew. “Empathy is for people who matter.” She’d said it like a joke, like a dare. She didn’t believe she deserved it, didn’t believe anyone could care about her enough to stick around. And maybe I tried so hard to prove her wrong because I thought… I thought if I could save her, it would mean I mattered too. But we’re both just… broken, in different ways, lost in our own shadows.

There was a time, back then, when I thought my feelings for her ran deeper. When I thought maybe… maybe if I could just reach her, if I could just be close enough, she’d see me. Really see me. But now, sitting here in the freezing dark, I realize it was never about that. I don’t love her like that, not anymore, maybe never really did. It was something else—a need to be close, to feel connected. I wanted her to be happy, to be whole, to know she wasn’t alone.

I thought maybe if I held on tight enough, she’d hold on too. But I’m the one who can’t seem to let go, the one still haunted by the memory of her voice, the one who’s here, slipping away, while she’s… somewhere else, maybe safe, maybe smiling. I hope she’s smiling.

The night presses in, thick and endless, and my head feels heavy, like it’s full of fog. I can’t remember the last time I felt warm. Everything’s cold, my thoughts sluggish, like they’re slowing down, and it’s hard to think, hard to remember why I came out here in the first place.

Was it Paige? Or was it something else? I wanted to feel strong, maybe. I wanted to prove… something. But all I’ve done is come out here to die alone, surrounded by memories of someone who doesn’t even know I’m here. Someone who never needed me the way I needed her.

I let my head fall back, staring up at the sky, but the stars are hidden behind clouds. Just darkness, stretching on and on, and I feel so small. The world’s so big, so indifferent, and I’m just… here, fading away. My chest aches, my body heavy and numb, and I can’t tell if I’m breathing anymore. Everything’s blurring, slipping away, and it feels like I’m dissolving, becoming part of the cold, the quiet, the shadows.

My mind drifts, Paige’s face coming back to me, half-formed, soft around the edges. I think of the times I’d stay up, waiting for her to call, just so I could hear her voice, reassure her, tell her she was good, and kind, and that I cared. And I wonder if she’ll remember me. If she’ll know, somewhere deep down, that I loved her. Not the way I thought I did, not in the way that burns and aches, but in the way that lingers. The way family does. The way someone does when they’ve left a part of themselves with you, even if you never knew it.

I wonder if she’ll be okay. If she’ll find someone who can reach her, really reach her, in a way I never could. I want that for her. I want her to find warmth, happiness, peace—everything I never found.

The darkness settles heavier, and my eyelids drift shut, too heavy to keep open. I think, for a moment, I can feel Paige’s hand in mine, warm and real, and I almost believe she’s here with me. But it’s just another echo, fading with my breath, slipping away like everything else.

And as the last bit of warmth leaves me, as the cold takes hold completely, I let go.

But it doesn’t feel like falling. It feels like… dissolving. Like I’m becoming the quiet, the shadows, the whispers in the trees. My mind drifts, unmoored, reaching for something to anchor to, but there’s nothing left. Just fragments, images of her face, her voice, scattered and slipping away.

I wonder if Paige would understand this feeling, if she’d recognize this ache in me that I never quite put into words. That need to connect, to be part of something… to matter. I wonder if, somewhere out there, she feels it too—the weight of all those unspoken things. I hope she doesn’t. I hope she finds something softer, something kinder than this endless grasping.

The cold is everywhere now, filling the spaces inside me that once held warmth, once held light. It’s taking everything, and I don’t have the strength to fight it. I close my eyes, and all that’s left are echoes—of words, of faces, of feelings I barely understood.

And in that final moment, drifting in the dark, I think I hear her laugh, soft and close, like she’s standing beside me. I know it’s not real, just another piece of me slipping away, but I hold onto it, let it wrap around me like a blanket, one last memory to carry me through the cold.

Paige… I’m sorry. Sorry I couldn’t be what you needed. Sorry I didn’t know how to help. I thought… I thought I could be your strength, your light. I thought maybe if I could save you, I’d save myself too. But here I am, lost and alone, letting go of everything I held onto so tightly.

The night pulls me under, deep and quiet, and the world fades into silence. My heartbeat slows, each beat fainter than the last, a quiet rhythm against the vast dark. I don’t think she’ll remember me, not forever, but maybe… maybe I was enough for a moment, a flicker of light in her life, even if it was only for a little while.

And as my last breath slips away, I think I finally understand: I couldn’t have saved her. I was holding onto an echo, a memory of someone who’s already gone. Paige, who left this world years ago, who let go long before I did, slipping into that quiet place I can’t reach.

She’s gone, and I’m still here, chasing shadows in the cold, leaving nothing but whispers in the trees.

And then… there’s nothing.

I’d like to expand upon this eventually. For now, enjoy the story below~

— C² <3

I walk.

I don’t remember when I started or if I ever truly began. Maybe I’ve always been walking, always moving through this place that feels more like a dream than reality. The ground beneath my feet is smooth, flat. It has no texture, no warmth. It’s not even cold—just nothing. That’s what it all is, really. Nothing.

I think I cried once. Or tried to. But there were no tears, no sensation of release. My chest heaved, my throat tightened, but no tears came. As if my body knew it was futile. Here, in this place, emotions don’t hold the same power they once did. I feel them, but they’re distant, like echoes of something that used to matter.

I think about my life before—before here. It’s funny, I don’t remember much. Vague flashes of people, places, moments I think were important. But the details are gone, smudged, like ink smeared across a page. I try to focus on them, to draw them out, but the harder I try, the more they slip away, like sand through my fingers.

And yet, one thing stands out. A name. My name. Emily.

I cling to it, as if by holding onto that one piece of myself, I can keep from fading completely. Emily. It’s the only anchor I have in this world of nothing. Sometimes, I whisper it to myself, just to hear it out loud. Just to remind myself that I exist.

“Emily.”

The word is swallowed by the air, disappearing as soon as it leaves my lips. No echo. No response. Just silence.

I once thought I heard something—footsteps, maybe? Or a distant voice? But it was gone before I could even process it. I called out, of course. Yelled into the void until my throat burned. But nothing answered. There is no one else here. Only me.

I try not to think about the possibility that this might be eternity. That this might be all there is. I’ve tried to come to terms with it, to accept it. But how can you accept something like this? How can you resign yourself to an existence of endless wandering, no answers, no explanations?

I’ve looked for meaning in the objects scattered around. Maybe they’re clues. Maybe they mean something. The broken chair. The photograph. The paper. Every time I find one, I examine it closely, searching for any sign, any hidden message that might tell me why I’m here. But they’re always the same. Empty. Useless.

Once, I thought I’d found a way out. There was a door. A door where there hadn’t been one before. I stared at it for what felt like hours, afraid to open it. Afraid of what might be on the other side. But eventually, I reached out and turned the handle.

It led to more of the same. Just another endless corridor.

I’ve stopped trusting the doors. They come and go, appearing in the corner of my vision when I least expect it. But they never lead anywhere different. It’s always the same. Always.

I wonder if this place is alive. If it watches me. If it’s amused by my attempts to escape. Maybe it wants me to keep walking, to keep hoping. Maybe it feeds off of that hope. Or maybe it’s just indifferent, existing without purpose or malice, and I’m the one assigning it meaning where there is none.

Time doesn’t exist here, not in any way I can comprehend. There are no sunrises, no sunsets, no ticking clocks. I sleep sometimes, though I’m not sure why. It’s more out of habit than need. There’s no hunger, no thirst. No fatigue. Just… restlessness. I close my eyes, and when I open them again, nothing has changed. The world remains exactly as it was before. Stagnant. Unmoving.

I’ve tried to stop walking. Once, I sat down, right in the middle of the corridor. I told myself I wouldn’t move, that I’d wait for something to happen, for something to change. I sat there for what felt like days—weeks, even. But eventually, I couldn’t stand the stillness anymore. The silence. It’s unbearable, you see.

So I walk.

And as I walk, I think. About why I’m here. About what I might have done to deserve this. Was it a punishment? A mistake? Some kind of twisted test? The questions swirl in my mind, but there are no answers. Only theories. None of them satisfying.

Sometimes, I wonder if I even want to escape. What would be waiting for me on the other side, if there is another side? Would it be better, or worse? I don’t know. I can’t know. And that terrifies me. The not knowing.

But still, I hope. Hope is a stubborn thing. Even when it’s pointless, even when you know deep down that it won’t change anything, it clings to you, whispers to you. Maybe, it says. Maybe this time will be different. Maybe this time you’ll find something. Maybe this time, the door will lead somewhere new.

Maybe.

So I keep going. One step after another, through the endless corridors, through the shifting walls that offer no guidance, no comfort. I keep walking because what else is there to do? What else can I do?

And yet, every time I think I’ve given up, every time I tell myself that I’m done searching, that I’m done hoping, a small part of me still wonders if tomorrow will be the day I find my way out. If tomorrow will bring something new. Something real.

But tomorrow never comes.

Only this—this endless, suffocating now.

Dog

The lens that transforms scenery into nostalgia.

This is a short story I wrote in a few hours. I came up with the initial idea for it when I was joking about a few sources I’d recently read about Kirwin, Wyoming.

“Newly scoured sources have revealed the devilish truth behind the Official Bald Mountain of Wyoming." was the message that prompted this.

The writing could use quite a bit of polish, but I’m fairly happy with where it sits, particularly given the amount of time I put into this.

The main character, Claire, is an exaggerated version of myself. I particularly enjoyed writing the end. It’s a dark part of my consciousness to explore, but that’s what makes it special.

Final note, I promise, baldness and “Official Bald Mountains” are a joke between a group of my friends. I’m (mostly) not some unhinged lunatic.

Claire stepped out of her car, dust swirling around her boots as she surveyed the desolate landscape of Kirwin, Wyoming. The ghost town lay before her, silent and eerie, yet it held a magnetic pull she couldn’t resist. She’d spent countless nights pouring over old maps and photographs, fascinated by the tales of Baldness ground zero. Now, she stood at the heart of her obsession.

“Finally here," she thought, her heart pounding with a mix of excitement and a hint of fear. “All these years of research, and I’m actually standing where it all happened."

The cause of the bizarre epidemic remained a mystery, despite her extensive research. One thing was clear, though: catching the disease spelled a certain doom. “100% of bald people die before the age of 150,” she mused, a wry smile crossing her lips at the absurdity of the statistic. “As if anyone would live that long anyway.”

February 5, 1907, flashed in her mind. The day terror descended upon Kirwin, then a bustling town of 200 souls. Bald Mountain, as historians now called it, had unleashed something terrifying onto the unsuspecting residents, killing three instantly and reducing buildings to rubble.

As Claire wandered through the remnants of the town, the desolation painted a vivid picture of the aftermath. Homes abandoned, belongings scattered as if life had stopped mid-breath. The very air seemed to carry the echo of the calamity that had struck, stripping the women and children of their hair, leaving behind a legacy of loss and mystery.

Yet, in the midst of this historical sorrow, Claire found herself oddly detached, her focus drifting to the peculiarities that caught her eye. It wasn’t that she was insensitive to the tragedy; rather, her mind operated on a wavelength that found fascination in the unconventional, the overlooked.

She paused, her gaze landing on a rock that stood out among the mundane. Its formation was odd, intriguingly so. “This town’s story isn’t just about some freak illness from the mountain," she pondered, camera in hand. “But what if the cause was something beyond the ordinary? Not just radiation… but something supernatural?"

The thought tickled her fancy. Claire had a knack for entertaining ideas that others might dismiss outright. “Yeah, because attributing things to supernatural causes is totally how you solve historical mysteries," she chided herself, a smirk playing on her lips. Yet, dismissing the conventional in favor of the outlandish was part of her charm. It was this very tendency to explore the absurd that often led her to insights others might miss.

Shaking her head, she laughed softly at her own propensity for what she affectionately termed ‘mental gymnastics.’ It was a skill, really, to dive headfirst into the rabbit holes of her own imagination, considering possibilities that bordered on the fantastical.

“I must be the queen of fixating on the most bizarre shit imaginable," she mused, snapping a photo of the rock. It was this unique perspective, after all, that made her who she was. Claire prided herself on not just her ability to remember an array of random facts but on how these seemingly trivial bits of information often wove together into a tapestry of understanding that was anything but ordinary.

“Maybe it’s this weird-ass brain of mine that’s my real superpower," she thought, a grin spreading across her face. “Remembering obscure facts, sure, but also seeing the world through a lens that others don’t even realize exists."

As she continued her exploration, Claire’s mind danced between skepticism and wonder, practicality, and wild speculation. This balancing act of thoughts was her constant companion, guiding her through the mysteries of Kirwin with an attitude that was uniquely her own. She didn’t just accept the world as it was presented; she questioned, she pondered, and she explored every odd angle, no matter how unconventional.

In a rare moment of clarity, Claire decided it was time to focus. She delved into her backpack, retrieving the map she’d meticulously prepared for this journey. The compass, a cherished tool that hung faithfully around her neck, felt cool against her fingertips as she oriented herself. Her destination? The mountain. Not just any mountain, but the mountain that loomed over Kirwin with both a menacing and majestic presence. It was the heart of all the myths, the epicenter of the mysterious disease, and now, it beckoned her closer.

As she lifted her gaze to behold the landscape before her, Claire couldn’t help but be momentarily overwhelmed by the raw beauty of her surroundings. The way the sun kissed the peaks, casting shadows that danced and twisted with the passing hours, was nothing short of mesmerizing. She was standing on the threshold of what she believed to be the most beautiful place on Earth, her personal haven amidst the chaos of unraveling a historical mystery.

The emotional contrast struck her sharply. Here she was, in pursuit of understanding a calamity that had once brought this region to its knees, yet she found herself enveloped in a profound sense of peace. It was a reminder of nature’s dual nature: its capacity to both destroy and inspire awe.

Lost in her reverie, Claire was jolted back to reality by the sensation of a single hair falling across her shoulder. Her heart skipped a beat as she plucked it from her jacket, her initial amusement at her own distraction quickly giving way to a flicker of apprehension. “Uh oh," she muttered under her breath, the lightness of her tone belying the surge of unease that coursed through her. “Hopefully that’s not a sign of what’s to come."

For the first time since arriving in Kirwin, the weight of the town’s history pressed closely against her own personal space. The levity with which she had treated her expedition until now was punctured by the tangible reminder of the disease’s impact. The falling hair, innocuous as it might have seemed, was a stark symbol of the very real danger that had once consumed the town. It was a moment that bridged past and present, tying Claire’s fate to the narratives she had so fervently researched.

The juxtaposition of her earlier detachment and this sudden, visceral concern encapsulated the complexity of her journey. She was driven by a desire to uncover the truth, propelled by an insatiable curiosity and a penchant for the unconventional. Yet, standing there, confronted by the potential reality of the town’s curse, Claire was forced to acknowledge the depth of her connection to Kirwin’s story.

It was more than just an adventure; it was a personal quest, one that intertwined with the lives of those who had suffered before her. The beauty of the landscape, her fleeting moment of peace, and the unsettling reminder of the town’s tragic past coalesced into a profound emotional experience. Claire realized that her journey was not just about solving a historical puzzle; it was about understanding the human element, the resilience and vulnerability of those who had lived through the events she was so keen to decipher.

With a renewed sense of purpose, Claire squared her shoulders and continued her trek towards the mountain. The path ahead was uncertain, laden with both the promise of discovery and the risk of uncovering uncomfortable truths. Yet, she moved forward, driven by a determination to confront whatever awaited her, armed with her unique perspective and a newfound respect for the stories embedded in the very soil of Kirwin.

As Claire reached the base of the mountain, she paused for a moment, turning to cast a lingering glance at the ruins of Kirwin. The sight of the ghost town from this new vantage point struck a chord within her. The juxtaposition of natural beauty and historical tragedy was stark, painting a picture of a place where beauty and horror were inextricably linked. The silent ruins stood as a testament to the town’s past, a reminder that even in places marked by suffering, there was a certain haunting allure.

Looking up at the expansive sky, her contemplation was interrupted by the sight of another hair falling from her head. This time, the sight filled her with a deeper unease. “That’s really not good…" she thought, her attempt at levity failing to mask the growing concern. The local legends came to mind, tales of the spirits of those who lost their hair to the mysterious illness, doomed to wander the area forever, trapped in a cycle of grief and loss.

Taking a deep breath, Claire tried to shake off the creeping dread. “Quit being silly, will you?" The imagined admonition, in the voice of a friend long gone, momentarily lightened her spirits. “This is just my anxiety getting out of hand. It’s not that weird to lose a few hairs here and there." Yet, the rationalization did little to dispel the underlying fear that perhaps there was more to the legends than she cared to admit.

Resolved, Claire turned her attention back to the mountain. The path ahead was daunting, yet the mystery that lay at its peak called to her with an irresistible force. “I need to know," she affirmed, the words punctuating her resolve. It was more than curiosity; it was a need that bordered on obsession, a driving force that had led her to this moment, standing at the foot of Bald Mountain, ready to confront whatever secrets it held.

Despite the warmth of late August, the mountain stood defiantly, its peak shrouded in snow. It was an anomaly that had always fascinated Claire. Bald Mountain, with its persistent snowcap and the ever-present danger of avalanches, defied logical explanation. It was shorter and more exposed than the surrounding peaks, yet it alone harbored a wintry blanket year-round. This contradiction was part of its allure, a physical manifestation of the mysteries that Claire was determined to unravel.

The incongruity of the mountain, with its unseasonal snow, seemed a fitting metaphor for the journey Claire had undertaken. Just as the mountain challenged the expectations set by its environment, so too did Claire challenge the narratives that had been accepted about the town’s history. It was this challenge, the desire to uncover the truth beneath the surface, that propelled her forward.

With each step up the mountain, Claire felt the weight of the town’s history pressing closer, the stories of those who had suffered and lost in this beautiful, cursed place. Yet, she also felt a growing sense of connection, a kinship with the spirits of the past that spurred her on. She was driven not just by the need for answers but by a deeper desire to understand, to acknowledge the pain and resilience of those who had come before.

Claire’s eyes narrowed as she scanned the snow-clad slopes above her, certain she had seen movement. Figures, fleeting and elusive, danced at the edge of her vision. The rational part of her mind insisted she was alone, that the mountain was uninhabited, save for the whispers of its tragic past. Yet, the shadows seemed to move with purpose, taunting her with the possibility of presence.

“No. It’s not possible," she thought, her breath forming clouds in the cold air. Despite her skepticism, a part of her couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. With a mixture of caution and defiance, she raised her voice, calling out to the shadows. “Quit moving around, or you might trigger an avalanche!” Her words echoed against the mountain, a stark reminder of the disaster that had once befallen Kirwin. The silence that followed felt heavy, loaded with unspoken warnings.

As she resumed her ascent, Claire couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of camaraderie with these unseen entities, whether they were products of her imagination or spirits of the past. Her journey had been a solitary one, but in this moment, she felt less alone, accompanied by the souls who had once called this place home.

The further Claire climbed, the harsher the conditions became. The snow underfoot was a constant reminder of the mountain’s peculiar nature. With each step, she felt the weight of history, the stories of those who had suffered from the mysterious baldness. It was a fate she had always considered from a distance, a historical curiosity rather than a personal threat. Yet, as she noticed more strands of her own hair caught in the wind, a chilling realization dawned upon her.

Her thoughts became a blur, a mix of determination and dread. “Is this how it begins? The whispers of the past catching up to me?" She shook her head, trying to dispel the fear. “No, I can’t let this be the end. Not when I’m so close." Yet, the irony wasn’t lost on her; in her quest to unravel the mysteries of Bald Mountain, she might become part of its legend.

As the summit neared, Claire’s steps grew more labored. The air was thinner, and her thoughts turned introspective. She reflected on her journey, the obsession that had brought her here, and the stories she had hoped to tell. “What was I hoping to find? Redemption for this place? Answers to a century-old mystery?" The questions circled in her mind, unanswered.

Reaching the peak, Claire finally allowed herself a moment to rest, her gaze sweeping over the vast expanse below. The beauty of the view was breathtaking, a stark contrast to the gnawing emptiness she felt within. The realization hit her with the force of the cold mountain wind: she was not going to leave this mountain. The symptoms were unmistakable now, the shedding hair a sign she had become a part of the mountain’s tragic tapestry.

In her final hours, Claire’s thoughts turned to those she had studied, the victims of the mysterious ailment. She understood them now, not just as historical figures, but as people, with hopes and fears much like her own. “I wanted to solve the mystery, to bring closure to this place. Instead, I’ve become part of it."

Claire’s hand trembled as she opened her journal to a blank page, her breaths coming in shallow gasps from the exertion and the thin mountain air. The realization that she would not leave this mountain alive was a heavy cloak around her shoulders, yet there was a strange clarity in accepting her fate. As she prepared to write, her thoughts wandered to her friends, her family, and the life she was leaving behind.

“To my dearest friends and family," she began, the ink flowing onto the page as tears threatened to blur her vision. “If you’re reading this, it means I didn’t make it back. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I came here chasing shadows and stories, seeking answers to a mystery that has held me captive for so long. I found my answers, but at a cost I hadn’t anticipated."

Her hand paused, and she looked up at the vast sky above, its expanse both beautiful and indifferent. “I wanted to make you all proud, to bring back stories of adventure and discovery. But I got caught up in my own obsession, and now… now I’ll never get the chance to share them with you."

She imagined the faces of her friends, the sound of their laughter, and the warmth of their embrace. She thought of her family, their unwavering support and love, even when they didn’t understand her restless spirit. “I wish I could see you all one more time, to tell you how much you mean to me. You were the light in my darkest moments, the reason I kept pushing forward."

Claire’s heart ached with the weight of unspoken goodbyes, each word she wrote a testament to the love and regret that filled her. “Please don’t remember me for how I left, but for the moments we shared. Laugh, live, and chase your own adventures. My journey ends here, but yours is still unfolding."

As she continued to write, Claire poured her soul onto the page, a blend of apologies, love, and final words of encouragement. Her writing became a bridge between the world she was leaving and the ones she held dear, a lasting connection that would endure beyond her last breath.

“I’m scared," she admitted, the cold seeping into her bones as the sun dipped below the horizon. “I’m not ready to go, but I don’t have a choice. This mountain… it’s beautiful, but it’s also unforgiving. I’m a part of its story now, just like those who came before me."

With each word, Claire felt her strength waning, the effort to keep writing growing with each passing moment. “Remember me, but let me go. My story ends here, on this mountain, with the setting sun and the falling snow. I love you all, more than words can say."

Her handwriting began to falter, the letters trailing off as her thoughts became fragmented, a mix of fear, acceptance, and longing for just a little more time. “I wish I could tell you everything, but there’s no more time. My head… it’s so shiny. I’m not afraid anymore. Just sad. So very sad."

As the night closed in, Claire’s pen slipped from her numb fingers, her final words unfinished, a silent testament to a life cut short in the pursuit of truth. Her gaze fixed on the stars above, their light a distant comfort in her final moments. In the quiet of the mountain, Claire found a deep, enduring peace, her journey complete.

Her last thoughts were of those she loved, a silent prayer that they would forgive her, that they would find happiness and carry forward the spark of adventure she could no longer pursue. With the cold enveloping her now completely bald head, Claire closed her eyes one last time, her story etched in the pages of her journal, a legacy of love, regret, and the unyielding pursuit of knowledge.

Street signs in the middle of nowhere can be interesting subjects.