Reality TV producer Ethan Reeves is haunted by the disappearance of survivalist Maxine "Max" Ryder during a solo wilderness challenge. As Ethan returns to oversee recovery efforts, he becomes entangled in a web of local secrets and an ancient, predatory entity, forcing him to confront both human deception and supernatural terror.
Ethan met Max six months before the mountain.
She'd walked into the audition with a knife strapped to her thigh and zero interest in playing nice for the camera. The casting director had flagged her file—too aggressive, won't test well with demographics—but Ethan saw something else. He saw someone who'd make the survival bros on Reddit lose their minds.
“Tell me why you're here,” he said, phone face-down on the table. Giving her his full attention. A trick that usually worked.
Max didn't smile. “You're putting people in the wilderness for content. I'm good in the wilderness. Seems straightforward.”
“We've got six ex-military guys who said the same thing.”
“Those guys trained in squads. I trained alone.” She leaned back, utterly relaxed. “You want someone who'll cry on day three when they miss their kids, or you want someone who'll actually survive?”
Ethan's producer brain was already cutting the sizzle reel. Max versus the alpha males. The woman who wouldn't break. Ratings gold.
“The mountain location,” he said. “You know it?”
Something flickered across her face. “I know the stories.”
“Stories don't matter. Footage matters.”
“Sure.” Max stood, interview clearly over in her mind. “But maybe do your research anyway. People have gone missing up there.”
“People go missing everywhere.” Ethan was already texting casting. Lock her in. Whatever it takes. “That's not our problem.”
Max paused at the door. “Not yet,” she said.
He should've listened. Should've Googled the mountain that night instead of building her character arc. Should've asked why a survivalist who could work anywhere wanted this specific location.
But the demographics tested through the roof, and the network loved her, and Ethan had gotten very good at ignoring his gut when the numbers looked right.
Ethan had watched Max's final footage so many times he could recite the timecode from memory. 02:47:33 was where she wiped mud off the lens. 03:12:09 was the last time she smiled.
He clicked play again.
The laptop screen filled with Max's face, closer than she usually filmed. Day 15, according to the burned-in timestamp. Her skin had that waxy quality the wilderness brought out—dehydration, probably, and too much adrenaline. Ethan had seen it on a dozen contestants. He knew what good television looked like.
This wasn't it. This was fear.
“There's something out here,” Max said. Not to the camera. Not to the audience. Just stating a fact. “I thought it was wildlife at first. Bear, maybe. But bears don't—” She stopped, head cocked like she was listening. “They don't follow you for three days.”
Ethan's finger hovered over the space bar. He'd pulled this footage from Max's backup cache two weeks after she'd gone missing. The sheriff had watched it once, said it showed nothing useful. Ethan had watched it sixty, seventy times now.
At 04:51:17, Max's eyes cut left. At 04:51:19, something massive moved through the trees behind her.
The frame went to static.
Ethan paused it, zoomed in on that last clear image. The shape was wrong—too tall, too angular. His editor brain wanted to call it a camera artifact, lens distortion, a branch catching weird light.
His gut knew better.
He'd built a career packaging manufactured fear for middle America. He could spot a fake scream from three rooms away, knew exactly which sting to use when the audience needed a scare.
This wasn't manufactured.
Outside his hotel window, the mountain waited in the dark.