In an abandoned hut on Ghost Mountain, four teenagers find a notebook that points to a secret someone still wants hidden.
Ghost Mountain had a way of getting into people’s heads. In Liscinowo, the old warnings were passed around like local gossip: don’t go up there after dark, don’t answer if you hear your name, don’t stay once the fog starts rolling in. Alicja, Dawid, Lena, and Kacper had spent most of high school pretending not to believe in any of it. Now that graduation was behind them, they wanted one last reckless night, one last story to laugh about later. A fire on the summit, a few cans of drink, maybe the thrill of breaking into the abandoned hut locals called a hostel. Nothing more.
The front entrance had been boarded up years ago, but one plank hung loose, as if someone had pried it open recently. Inside, the air was cold and stale, carrying the sour smell of damp wood and old smoke. Their torches swept over peeling walls, rusted bed frames, and a reception desk buried under dust. Then Lena stopped short. On the floor, leading from the broken door to the back room, were footprints.
“Those are fresh,” she whispered.
Dawid tried for a shrug and failed. “Could be locals.”
Alicja was staring at something by her shoe. She crouched and picked up a notebook with a faded cover, stiff with age. The first page held only a single line, written in a hand that shook in places: This is the first message. If you are reading this, you still have time.
No one spoke while she turned the pages. There were three more notes, each darker than the last, each leaving less room for doubt that whoever wrote them was frightened, desperate, or both. Then they reached the fourth message. The ink was still dark, still sharp, as if it had been written minutes ago.
Don't trust anyone who shows up after dark. Finish before it's too late.
Outside, the evening light had already gone grey. Somewhere in the corridor, wood creaked under a slow, careful step. Lena gripped Alicja’s wrist. Kacper took one uncertain breath and turned toward the doorway. A shadow filled it, motionless at first, as if someone had been standing there long enough to listen. Then the torch beam caught a face they did not recognise.