Elk's End
Deep in the fog-draped mountains, where the wind howls like a pack of wolves and the pines whisper ancient secrets, there was a cliff known as Elk’s End. The cliff was steep and sheer, plunging down into a misty abyss. But people didn’t come for the view—they came for the elk.
This was no ordinary elk. Larger than any they'd ever seen, his antlers twisted like tree branches against the sky, and his coat shimmered with an ethereal glow that sparkled faintly in the moonlight. But the elk appeared only on the darkest nights, his hooves leaving no prints, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling intelligence.
Legend had it that the elk was the spirit of an old mountain guide who had met a tragic end in a blizzard on that very cliffside. Now he wandered back and forth along the ledge, luring curious onlookers with his haunting, majestic form.
People came from towns far and wide, enchanted by rumors of the ghostly elk who waited on the cliff’s edge. They’d drive up the road, and stare, mouths agape, hypnotized by the strange and beautiful creature. But as they stared, he would give a tilt of his head, like he was inviting them closer… just a little closer…
And without realizing, they'd creep forward, caught in his gaze as if bewitched. The road sloped down, gravity pulling them toward that dizzying edge as if guided by an invisible hand. Mesmerized by the elk, they'd drift until there was nothing left beneath them but empty air.
Some say that as they fell, they’d hear a low, mournful bellow echoing through the chasm, as if the elk was bidding them farewell.
They never saw the bottom of Elk’s End. And if you go out there on a cold, clear night, you might just see the elk yourself—his great, spectral form glowing softly, waiting to lead one more soul down into the misty abyss.
★★★★★7.4
