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.