#even the mummy woke me up in a sweat cause it’s fun to watch bad things happen to Brendan Frazier

[foldingfittedsheets]

i just read about the pearl dream and like--the symbolism of that is so perfect??? pearls build up around a source irritant for a long time, so you not being able to leave the dream island--and other people being content to stay there--is a great representation of (unsuccessfully) coping with a bad situation. super cool and freaky dream

Right?? I found it again and was like that’s worth resharing. I was working at a jewelry store at the time I dreamed it, I was surrounded by pearls all day. My favorites were always the black ones.

One of the neat things about my dreams is that very often they’re just stories without a lot of deeper meaning. I read a ton, I’m always analyzing narratives, my brain loves a good story.

So it makes sense that my subconscious does this, especially since I tell myself stories to fall asleep. Sometimes the resulting dreams are silly rom coms and sometimes they’re dark stories about being trapped on an island that’s injecting you with pearls that make you forget you want to leave!

[izzy-b-hands]

Every Night

Prompt:  “We’ll figure this out.” and  “Don’t be scared, I’m right here.”

A sort of sequel to Sleep Like The Dead in that it deals with a similar topic of ‘funky tablet magic and changes that results in mild horror for all involved with a good ending’

that tbh kinda got away from me

but once the spirit took me it was like

ok this is happening we got a plot lets go lets go!!!

this got longer than a oneshot should be but

here we are lol.

The patrons that had alerted him to the rattling sarcophagus were surprisingly calm. 

“Maybe a rat!” the short, beaming tourist suggested. “We’ve seen so many rats here! One almost as big as Tommy!” 

Tommy, all of maybe seven, nodded very seriously before they took off, leaving Larry to rope off the already nearly closed exhibition as patrons filed out, the final closing announcement echoing down the halls. 

He closed the doors to the exhibit, only to see the statue guards immediately sigh deeply and begin to move. 

“Were...were you awake all day?” 

They looked at him with what he could only call desperation, and pointed towards the still shaking sarcophagus. 

He’d never been so glad to show up early for his shift as he pushed the lid off, and Ahkmenrah, very much healthy flesh and blood rather than the mummified corpse he should have been at that hour. 

Ahkmenrah wasn’t a pharaoh in that moment, but reminded Larry desperately of his son in younger years, when he’d wake sobbing after a nightmare, his entire body wracked with weeping, to the point that it seemed it must hurt. He clung to Larry like a drowning man, saying something in between the sobs, but only half in English, and even then Larry could barely make it out. 

Finally, after a good ten minutes of what seemed to be pure terror, Ahkmenrah let him go, and took a deep, shaky breath, looking at him with wide eyes, red from the crying. He looked exhausted. 

“Were you awake...all day?” 

Ahkmenrah shook his head. “Not all day. Maybe...I don’t know how much time passed. I think I heard someone mention it nearly being noon when I woke.” 

It was nearly 6:20 now, with the museum having formally closed at 5:45. That was six hours of being awake, trapped, forced to stay silent and still...

“I’m sorry,” Ahkmenrah’s voice broke as he dropped his head into his hands. “I hope I didn’t frighten anyone. But I couldn’t take it anymore. I’ve gotten so used to being able to leave my sarcophagus when I wake that being stuck in it, for any amount of time...” 

Larry hugged him again as Ahkmenrah shook his head, and started to weep anew. 

“Okay. We’ll figure this out. I’ll ask if anyone else was awake and we’ll...I don’t know. But we won’t let this happen again. For your sake, or the patrons. Don’t get me wrong, we could certainly try and sell ‘haunted sarcophagus mummy curse’ as an angle, but I know I’d rather not.” 

As he let go, Ahkmenrah gave him a small smile. 

“Oh buddy. You need rest,” he sighed, and Ahkmenrah’s smile immediately fell and turned to a look of horror. “Oh god! No, not in here, Jesus. No, out in the employee lounge or something. Where you have room and can get up and move at your leisure. C’mon. Let’s get you into something more comfortable, and I’ll start investigating.” 

He helped Ahkmenrah from the sarcophagus, and led the way to the lounge. He knew that Ahkmenrah was plenty capable of getting there and into the sweats he’d acquired for him on his own, but it seemed he didn’t want to be left alone.

He trailed after Larry like a lost puppy dog, eyes taking in every museum inhabitant they passed, clearly with a level of paranoia left over from his trauma earlier in the day. He seemed so much his age and so much not all at once, in the way that Larry figured he had at twenty-something as well. Old enough to take care of oneself, to know better about most things, but in a moment of fear and uncertainty still capable of looking so young and frightened that it almost hurt to look at. 

“I want to help. Talk to everyone, I mean,” Ahkmenrah said as they reached the lounge. “I’ll still change. Not that I’m not comfortable in this, but-” 

“You can be honest with me. If you don’t wanna wear the royal garb every night, you certainly don’t have to. This is your home. Home is where you can wear whatever you want, relax, feel safe. All you gotta do is let me know, and we’ll get you here right away so you can change.” 

Ahkmenrah smiled at that before heading in and changing faster than Larry figured most people could. But all his other clothes were safely removed, set aside on the couch in the lounge, and Ahkmenrah joined him on his walk to the main hall of the museum looking for all the world like any other twenty or so year old, with messy hair, comfortable sweatshirt and sweatpants. The only trapping of his origins that remained were the sandals on his feet. 

“I’d slide on the marble in the socks,” he admitted to Larry as they walked. “They are very nice, and I love them, but-” 

“You don’t wanna see if you can slide from one hall to another in them on accident?” Larry asked with a chuckle. 

“...that would be fun. But not on accident. My luck I’d crash into something expensive,” Ahkmenrah replied. 

“Everything is expensive in here,” Larry laughed. 

“Exactly,” Ahkmenrah smiled, and it was a relief to see it. 

“This would just be easier if we did a huge announcement, maybe?” Larry asked, half to himself and half to Ahkmenrah as he trotted to the rotunda and picked up the PA system’s microphone. 

“I know everyone’s already having fun, but can I get everyone’s attention for a quick second? Really important, but quick, survey,” he announced. 

A few heads turned, but most, understandably already enveloped in their talking with others, ignored it. 

Ahkmenrah took the microphone from his hand gently. “Let me try.” 

The smile he wore was nervous and soft, even as he authoritatively announced: “Who else was alive earlier? Was anyone trapped, as I was? If you were, come and speak to us, immediately. Or else, I’ll find a way to leave the tablet functioning throughout all of tomorrow, and all of you shall know my terror.” 

That shut everyone up, and turned every head. 

“I thought it was just me,” Teddy said, one of the first to trickle towards the desk. “My god, holding my pose like that, watching them all go by, not being able to move an inch..” 

“Teddy, do you know what time it was when that happened?” Larry asked. 

“Twelve noon, sharp. First thing I got a look at was the clock once I woke. And then, since I have such a wondrous view of it, it was all I watched as I waited for the hours to tick down,” he replied. “But at least I wasn’t stuck inside of anything. My lord, how are you doing, my boy? Surely that must have been-” 

“It was bad,” Ahkmenrah interrupted his tone slightly sharp. “I...I don’t wish to talk about it further, if-” 

Teddy interrupted him right back with a gasp. “Of course, forgive me. I didn’t mean to pry.” 

“No, it’s alright. I’m sorry whatever this is affected you as well, Teddy. I can’t imagine trying to stay still with all the patrons watching me near-constantly.” 

Teddy only nodded, and joined them behind the desk, settling down at one of the empty chairs. He looked...the only word Larry could find for it was haunted. And just as exhausted as Ahkmenrah, as well. 

The desk shook as Rexy stalked up as close as he could get to the desk. 

“You as well?” Ahkmenrah asked, and bit back a smile as Rexy posed for them, then shook his head and scoffed, then posed again, and tossed his head back in frustration. “Ah. I understand. Thank you for letting us know.” 

Rexy stomped off again, nearly taking out the desk with his tail as he went, causing them all to duck. 

“Larry...what do we do if it is everyone? Or nearly everyone? I mean, even a few is too many, really, because if anyone falters in keeping up appearances while patrons are here...” 

The panic in Ahkmenrah’s voice hurt to hear. He didn’t need anything else to worry about after what had already happened. 

“I don’t know, at least not right now. But I do know that we’ll have a look at the tablet and maybe...I don’t know. Maybe something new to explain this is written there, or something,” he replied. 

“That’s...not how this works, Larry. I mean that respectfully,” Ahkmenrah said, biting at his lip. “But...artifacts do not just magically have additions made to them, it isn’t like tomorrow Teddy will awaken with a tattoo or something or-” 

“Well, how do we know for sure? I mean, it is magic, of a kind,” Larry interrupted. “Can you really rule it out?” 

Ahkmenrah’s jaw worked, his tell that he was deeply contemplating things. “I suppose not. But it would be very strange, and far too simple an explanation.” 

“What about daylight savings?” Jed asked, clambering onto the desk, with Octavius scrambling after him. “That have somethin’ to do with it?” 

“Um. I don’t think so, only because it’s never had an effect before-” Ahkmenrah started.

“Climate change,” Octavius interrupted confidently. 

“Like...you wanna talk about it, or you think it has something to do with this?” Larry asked. 

“Both,” Octavius shrugged. “Heard some of the patrons discussing it today. What a terrible, horrifying thing. How are you not scared all the time, Larry?” 

“I mean, I suppose most people living today are, to some degree-” 

“They said some people deny it though,” Jed piped up. “The hell is that about? Who the hell goes to a museum, a place of science and I guess kind of magic, all things considered, and then disputes it?” 

“I appreciate your concern for current issues, but one problem at a time,” Larry continued. “We can start with figuring out why the tablet woke so many people so early, and then...climate change, I guess. It’ll take a lot more than just us, but-” 

“You got that right,” Jed interrupted.

“Though every bit could help,” Octavius added. 

“So...were you two awakened at noon, or...” Akmenrah asked awkwardly. 

“Oh, yeah. Some asshat threw a sandwich wrapper in my display; who does that?!” Jed fussed. 

“Someone who doesn’t care about the climate,” Octavius tutted.

“Exactly, and you know-” 

“You two have a great conversation going,” Ahkmenrah took his turn to interrupt, looking wearier by the second. “But maybe we can join it later on, after we’ve finished talking to everyone.” 

“Fair enough,” Jed replied. “We’re gonna go find a magazine in the lounge, see if National Geographic has anything to say about all of this. Gonna take most of the night to get to the lounge, but it’s gonna be worth it.” 

With that, the two tiny figures dashed away, leaping off various bits of office equipment on the desk to get to the floor before running in the direction of the employee lounge. 

“...well then,” Teddy sighed. 

“Indeed,” Ahkmenrah added. 

An awkward silence fell between them then, as the other museum inhabitants milled about, but no one else came forward. 

“It can’t have been only us,” Teddy said. “There’s simply no way.” 

“I don’t think it was,” Sacagawea said, as she approached the desk. “But many are afraid to speak on it. There is concern among them, of a curse, of something gone horribly wrong. None of us enjoy being forced back into...” 

“Nothingness,” Ahkmenrah supplied. “Like an empty sleep.” 

Sacagawea nodded. “At the same time, spending all day in false suspension, worrying that you might accidentally move or give some sign of life and frighten people is no better.” 

“We have to check the tablet then,” Larry said. “Something has to be there to explain this.” 

“That would be too simple,” Ahkmenrah stressed, but led the way to his exhibit quickly nonetheless, with Larry, Teddy, and Sacagawea following him. 

Ahkmenrah read over the tablet with a quick and practiced eye, only to frown. 

“It says something, doesn’t it?” Larry asked. 

Ahkmenrah’s frown deepened. 

“It does!” 

“I have no idea how this could have happened, or who could have made it happen...it is such a simple addition to the spell as well, merely changing the time of awakening...who would benefit from this?” Ahkmenrah muttered as he set the tablet back in its place. 

“Maybe it’s like they said,” Teddy mused. 

“Jed and Octavius? Look, climate change is a real concern, but I don’t think...” Larry replied. 

“No, not that exactly. But these are dark, strange times for many, are they not, Lawrence? Perhaps some energy within the world has affixed itself to the tablet. After all, if its magic exists, what else might be slightly to the left or right of what we can see?” Teddy asked. 

“I...I don’t know. I suppose. But that doesn’t tell us what we can do about it,” Larry said.

“Maybe if we test it first. See if it does this again tomorrow,” Ahkmenrah said softly, fear edging into his voice. “I don’t want to, but I don’t know what else to do. But Larry...” 

“Needs to find a way to get your exhibit temporarily closed until we figure it out, and needs to stay tomorrow to set you free if you do wake up,” Larry finished the statement definitively. 

“I wasn’t going to ask, but if you’re willing,” Ahkmenrah said. “I’d greatly appreciate it, Larry.” 

“I technically need sleep, but that’s a small technicality,” Larry replied.

Teddy stared. “You’re a father, Lawrence.” 

“He’s with his mom for the week!” 

“No, I mean...that’s not a healthy habit to show him, Lawrence.” 

“He isn’t here!” 

“Because this is surely the first time you’ve stayed up all night and all day...” Teddy said, about as judgmentally as he could say anything, his eyes even worse than his tone of voice.

“My ability to father is not what’s in question here,” Larry sighed. “What is in question is...magic.” 

“Did that sound better in your head?” Sacagawea asked softly.

“We ought to get back,” Teddy interjected. “The hour grows...early, I suppose. We’ll in theory be asleep again shortly. Lawrence, good luck on it all. If you need us tomorrow night, let us know.” 

Larry nodded as they left, and watched as Ahkmenrah slipped into his sarcophagus, still in the sweats. 

“I’ll get your clothes. You stay in those; I don’t think it’ll matter much once you uh...re-mummify and then un-mummify later. I’m gonna real quick break the least expensive thing in here, okay?” Larry asked. 

“Is that your game plan to close this exhibit?” 

“Yes?” Larry asked as he hoisted a vase above his head. 

“That’ll do fine. That vase is a reproduction anyway, I accidentally broke the real one as a child,” Ahkmenrah replied as he laid back in the sarcophagus. “Will you...stay in here, while I’m...” 

“Yeah, of course,” Larry said before letting the vase fall from his hands and shatter on the ground, shards of the plaster and clay going everywhere.

“Thank you, L-” 

The alarm on Larry’s watch beeped as Ahkmenrah’s voice dropped away. 

He silenced it and peeked into the sarcophagus. It was a wild thing, to see him completely dead and gone again, when he had been so alive just a moment before. Unsettling, as well. 

But he had no time to observe him, only to run and cry wolf about the exhibit. 

Shockingly, it worked, and more importantly, after the shards of the vase replica were recovered, he was left with Ahkmenrah, though the workers seemed to doubt his sanity mildly at not wanting to go home and rest. 

But he’d made a promise. And he had no intention of breaking it. 

With the doors to the exhibition shut, it was horribly dark. Dark enough to put him to sleep even as he fought it, sat against one of the pillars in the room, waiting for the night to come. 

He woke to shrieking, panicked and out of control.

Ahkmenrah was sat up in the sarcophagus, though Larry could only just make out his silhouette as he struggled to his feet, pushing away the grogginess that threatened to cloud his mind. 

He turned on his flashlight, and turned it on Ahkmenrah as close as he could without blinding him. “Ahk! Hey, it’s me. You’re saaaaaa-” 

He fought back his own scream. Something was wrong with the magic, clearly. Whatever or whoever had done the addition to the tablet had done something incorrect, horribly.

Ahkmenrah’s face was half mummified, half not, dust and who knew what else pouring from his mouth as he screamed and cried. The hand at his mouth was full flesh, but the one that reached out for Larry was mostly bone and dried skin. 

“Okay. Okay. Okay,” Larry said, though it was absolutely not. “Don’t be scared, I’m right here. You’re okay.” 

“No I’m not,” Ahkmenrah wept. “Larry, help.” 

“I-I don’t know,” Larry hesitated, then did the only thing that came to mind. To treat him just like Nicholas with a nightmare, even if this was a never-ending living one. 

He sat on the edge of the open sarcophagus, and wrapped his arms around Ahkmenrah, ignoring the crawling of his skin as his hands moved over the still-mummified portions of his arm and back. “It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay. We’re gonna figure this out, somehow. Maybe we can edit the tablet ourselves, or something. But we aren’t going to leave you like this, I promise.” 

Ahkmenrah was no longer saying anything in English, but though Larry couldn’t understand it, he knew the tone. Someone scared, in need of love and caring and help. 

It took a good hour, from noon to one, before Ahkmenrah was calm enough to speak. 

By one, he was fully living, no longer half-mummified, and breathing normally again, his tears dried. 

“Thank you, Larry,” Ahkmenrah’s voice was rough, his weeping evident in the cracks of his voice, the dryness of his throat. “I’m sorry for my reaction.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” Larry replied. “You have nothing to be sorry for, because that was terrifying.” 

Ahkmenrah looked to him with a face that screamed hurt, illuminated by the flashlight. 

“Oh god, I didn’t mean. I’m sorry,” Larry continued. “I just meant I’d be terrified too, if that happened to me.” 

The relief on Ahkmenrah’s face was palpable. “Right. Sorry.” 

“No, no more sorry. I meant it, you have nothing to be sorry for.” 

“What if we can’t fix it?” Ahkmenrah’s voice was timid. “What if there’s nothing to be done?” 

That was the question of the hour, Larry could only think to himself. He didn’t want to even consider what that might mean for Ahkmenrah and the rest of the inhabitants. Would coming to life still be worth it if it meant inconveniently being brought back while patrons were still in the museum?

He couldn’t know. 

“Then we figure out how to move forward,” Larry said, feeling the dissatisfaction in the answer even as he said it. 

“Very well,” Ahkmenrah replied, his voice still so soft, so low. 

In the dark, it was like two ghosts conversing, especially once the flashlight was off to conserve its battery. It felt otherworldly, not exactly bad, but definitely strange.

Still, it felt better being outside of the exhibit in the light, as soon as six o’clock hit. 

“Better,” Ahkmenrah said as they stepped out, brushing the bits of dried skin and bandage remnants from his sweats with one hand. The other held tight to the tablet. 

“Yes,” Larry agreed. “Ready to figure this out?” 

Ahkmenrah nodded, and they moved to the one place they might be left alone to investigate the tablet. 

“How is it always cold in here?” Ahkmenrah asked as they settled in the employee lounge.

“Think it’s on purpose. If I come in here I won’t fall asleep then, maybe?” 

Ahkmenrah frowned at that. “Did you sleep, Larry? Until I woke you, I mean.” 

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. What we need to worry about is that,” Larry said, pointing at the tablet. “Does it say anything else, aside from changing when you guys wake up?” 

Ahkmenrah pored over the tablet for a good ten minutes, his frown deepening. “Sort of? It mentions...something about the changing of all things...the end of death...whoever wrote this has terrible handwriting. What even is this one? This isn’t a hieroglyph, this is a gauge mark!” 

“Call me crazy,” Larry started.

“If you wish,” Ahkmenrah replied earnestly.

“...thank you. But maybe...could it mean you?” 

“Me? Me, what?” 

Larry shrugged. “Returning to life, kind of, I guess? I mean, I don’t know anymore than you do; I’m just thinking out loud.” 

Ahkmenrah’s jaw was doing its thing, his eyes a thousand miles away while he thought. “I was half alive, earlier. But...what does that mean for me, if that is true?” 

“How do you mean?” 

“Will I age? Will I forever be this young, or...and will I be able to leave here then, or will I be some strange, vampiric sort of thing, with a body that looks alive, but is forced to sleep during the day? Will the sun destroy me? What will I be, Larry? What existence will there be for me?” 

Larry knew the shock was showing on his face, but he couldn’t hide it. Ahkmenrah asked incredibly valid and important questions, but once again he found himself with no clue how to answer any of them, and he didn’t know that there would be answers. 

“It’s okay. I know you don’t know,” Ahkmenrah said quietly.

Larry nodded. “If you’re afraid, I don’t blame you. I would be too. This is strange and unnerving, and I wish I did have answers for you. But I think maybe all we can do is see what happens.” 

“You should rest,” Ahkmenrah said, and pointed to the couch. “I’ll need you again tonight then.” 

Larry didn’t argue. He was honestly curious to see if Ahkmenrah would even re-mummify again, or if whatever was on the tablet was true, and he was on his way to being something like alive. 

Plus, the couch was pretty comfortable once a person was tired enough. And he certainly was tired enough. 

A few hours later he woke to Ahkmenrah’s gentle prodding. “Larry, we’ve got to go. Just in case I-” 

“No, I got it,” Larry spluttered as he wiped drool from the corner of his mouth and clambered off the couch, following Ahkmenrah down the hall to the still dark exhibit. 

They were right up to the line, getting Ahkmenrah back in his sarcophagus just as Larry’s alarm beeped on his watch. 

His hand was still on Ahkmenrah’s arm as the deadline of sunrise came and passed. 

And nothing happened. Ahkmenrah sat in front of him, appearing perfectly alive and well, eyes squinted shut as if he was waiting to poof into dust. 

“Can I check you for a pulse?” Larry asked, hearing his voice shake as he took two fingers and placed them just below Ahkmenrah’s jawline. 

It was a strong pulse, and he resisted the urge to put his head to Ahkmenrah’s chest to listen for a heartbeat, then did it anyway. 

The sound of heartbeat had only sounded so good once before, the first time he had heard Nicholas’ heartbeat during a sonogram. 

“I think...I think you’re here to stay,” he said, fighting back happy tears on Ahkmenrah’s behalf. 

“I want to go in the sun,” Ahkmenrah said quickly, jumping out of the sarcophagus and running out of the exhibit to the front doors of the museum. 

Before Larry could even try and stop him he was outside in the sliver of the rising sun, shouting happily into the cool morning air, laughing. 

“I’m alive!” he shouted to Larry as he ran back, wrapping Larry in a hug. “I’m alive, my god. I wonder-there can’t be an expiration on this, do you think?” 

“Did you read one on the tablet?” Larry asked with a smile.

“No, no mention of one.” 

“Then I think you’re here for the long haul. Maybe immortal? I really don’t know, but we’re gonna be careful with you just in case,” Larry continued. 

“I can’t wait to tell everyone,” Ahkmenrah said, then his smile fell. “What if it changed something for them? What if they don’t wake up? What if-” 

“We can’t know until tonight,” Larry said. “In the meantime, would you like to help me lock up before the morning staff get here, and go get breakfast?” 

“Really?” 

“Yes, I think you deserve it. Also, we need to find out if you like...need food. I’m pretty sure you do. But we should find out. And you can crash at my place for now,” Larry replied. 

“Fantastic,” Ahkmenrah’s eyes were shining, his smile bright and bold ashe trotted after Larry while they ensured everyone was where they were meant to be, and locked what needed locking. “What will we say about the exhibit though?” 

“...so we have something to brain storm over breakfast!” Larry said. “And for now...we’re going to hope they don’t go into it at all.” 

“Fair enough,” Ahkmenrah said. “So what do people eat for breakfast now?” 

“I think you’ll like donuts,” Larry replied. “And we’ll need the energy for sure. After all, only a few hours to nap before we’ll need to get ready and be back here. And that means clothes shopping for you, letting you have a shower, whole bunch of new modern stuff!” 

Ahkmenrah was nearly bouncing as they left the museum, lifting his face to the sun, soaking up all the years he’d missed out on. 

He knew it would be an adjustment for both of them, in various ways. He couldn’t even fully envision some it, like figuring out if Ahk could room with him for an extended time or if he could get him an apartment and a job in a reasonable time period. But he was excited for Ahkmenrah, and for what it all might mean, and for him finally getting a good ending despite the initial terror. 

As he watched Ahk take in the city, smiling and laughing, all he could think was how much Ahk deserved it. 

[uncharacteristicallyhonest]

Something Epic

I’m remembering more and more of my trip this weekend at Mount Shasta, but uncertain on how best to start the tale.

As I stumbled into a hotel late Sunday night to catch some much needed shut-eye, and upon seeing me painfully limp across the foyer in my sweat-stained trekking gear, wildly matted hair, and crusty sunburnt face, the young female clerk says to me, “You look like you’ve done something epic today”. Words often utterly fail me, but she nailed it. And its going to take me some time to fully appreciate exactly what happened and what it will mean.

There was a brief moment of clarity on an otherwise agonizing, sleepless night on Friday. Let’s just assume it was around 3:00 am, in the middle of the most horrific wind storm I’ve ever experienced in a camping tent. We had geared-up that morning, and backpacked some number of miles over difficult snowpack from the trailhead, across various ridges and gullies with the heaviest pack I’ve ever carried. This was only my second ever backpacking trip, so that’s not necessarily impressive, but it was back-breaking work for me, and in snowshoes. I had only two companions, including the guide, and a shadow guide-in-training.

By the time we had dug out enough snow to build a decent size windbreak for the tent, set up camp, melted enough snow to refill our water bottles, and consumed some warm and welcome calories, I thought sleep was going to come quick, deep and restorative. My guide had dissuaded me from packing my new ultralight (and super-comfy) sleeping pad in favor of an older, less compact (4X), and significantly heavier (3X) pad. I told him I’m a side-sleeper, and need the extra comfort afforded from the 3.75” of air goodness vs the 1.5” of the older one. He simply stated, in a flat monotone, that I wasn’t going to be comfortable no matter what, but the insulating capability of the older pad would mean I wouldn’t freeze to death while sleeping on snow and ice under my sleeping bag. I took note that even with the improved insulation, he carefully did not claim I would be warm. Of course I took his advice immediately (but secretly resented not being able to use my newer expensive one!)

The wind had picked up considerably by the time we turned in on that first night, well before sunset. As I watched the light fade ever so slowly, in expectation of that glorious sleep after a labor-intensive day, the wind changed to outright fury. Demonic fury. I had helped dig and build the windbreak we were in, and could not imagine how things might have been without it. Even so, the sides of the tent constantly whipped and slapped at my side and head. There was a continuous barrage of ice particulates on the exterior. Believe it or not, the guides (now sleeping very peacefully, curse them!) had left the door to the tent stashed open (to reduce condensation), with only the vestibule offering meager protection from this unending assault of wind and freezing temperatures. I was giving deep consideration to what the average wind speeds and maximum gusts were *inside* the tent.

So it was at this indeterminable hour that this one simple point of clarity had arrived (sorry for taking so long to get to it). Apparently I had cracked a fingernail during the day, and a painful hangnail had developed on that finger. I knew it was bleeding, and the searing pain caused all of my universe to narrow down into this tiny focal point of extreme discomfort. And then it hit me. I can’t deal with everything going on right then, but I could use all of my few remaining faculties to isolate and extract this god-damned hangnail. It took some effort and time, but ultimately succeeded.

Next, I could force myself to sit up and secure the tent door. By then, the vestibule zipper had blown open, flapping loudly (with all the other noise), and the tent had been completely exposed to the maelstrom swirling outside for some hours. It took several minutes in the blackness to will my fingers to unfasten the unknown and hidden straps and secure the door. I just couldn’t believe my two companions were sleeping through all of this. My body was freezing, shivering, tense and locked in a tight and rigid state of misery. Maximum pain peaked in my toes from the cold. And I couldn’t even touch them with my hands in the mummy bag. So I went to work on things I could control, like relaxing my body to improve circulation, and finding new features of my bag (like the pull strings) to reduce heat loss. Et cetera.

My toes never did fully warm up that night, and ultimately a heavy despair had set in. The wind had not let up once, and I was wracked with wave after wave of abdominal pains. After first light, I could lay there no longer, got dressed, and braved the cold and wind for my first-ever adult leave-no-trace, backcountry poop experience. We were above the tree line, camped on a ridge, and the only reasonable location I could find in the frozen snow was on a small out-cropping of rock. Space just enough to hold the “target” while going about my business. My view was of the whole valley below, majestic and pristine in the frigid arctic air, with my bits in full exposure. It was very difficult, and took a long time. But I did it, and despite just about everything totally sucking for me in the world, I fist-pumped the sky, packaged up my prize, and re-entered the tent a champion.

The pains, cold, discomforts, and despair did not leave however, and neither did the wind. I gave considerable thought to how badly (if at all) I wanted to even attempt to climb this mountain. I figured my guide would simply announce the weather was bad enough that the climb was too risky, we would wait for a break, pack up and out of this miserable (but beautiful) place. Despite all the training I had done over the past 3 months, I was over it. The experience so far, would suffice. I rationalized that enough had already occurred for my goal of increasing tolerance for discomfort.

My guide is a genuinely awesome person. Ruggedly handsome, amazingly experienced in the backcountry, and an enjoyable adventure companion. He is also a man of few words. And as we lay tent-bound during those morning hours, I attempted to coax his assessment of the weather with regards to our objectives and options for getting out of there alive (and as soon as possible!). The most he was willing to offer was this: “We’ll do what we can do today.” It was frustrating and vague. But he would say no more about it. And of my climbing pessimism, he was having none of it. Honestly, I was scared to even contemplate continuing on with the climb. So I took a different tack, and discussed some of the problems (like my freezing toes), and he indicated these were solvable. After our discussion, and with the storm slightly easing, he got up, dressed and went to work in the “kitchen” (an alcove in our snow-brick windbreak) to melt more snow, boil water, and prepare some oatmeal and coffee. The only thing I could do was follow suit, gear up, and shake off that sleepless nightmare of the past 12 hours or so inside the tent.

During breakfast, the wind died down, and we shortly commenced what my guide called “Snow School”. This involved a fair amount of mountaineering history, and he demonstrated the various techniques for using crampons. Frankly, I was rather surprised at how expansive the “science of cramponing” can be! And I spent the rest of the morning marching up and down a large and dangerously steep incline in crampons doing the “duck”, then “French” technique, followed by the “German” technique and later Canadian, “Plunging” and various combinations thereof. It was fun and educational.

There was a break for lunch and then we moved onto all things “Ice Axe”, which as I’m sure you’ve guessed by now, is rather more nuanced than might be guessed at first glance. This culminated in a lengthy series of exercises where I would have to repeatedly launch myself down this same dangerously steep incline in various poses (sitting, on my belly, and headfirst on my back!) with the axe (AKA: deadly object with many sharp points), and after enough speed develops, use the ax and a complicated series of fatal-looking maneuvers to stop myself in various conditions of ice and snow. Frankly, I’m a bit surprised I survived the afternoon. But it was more fun in the snow than I’ve had since snowball battles with 6th grade classmates. Wow. During dinner, I began to re-evaluate my earlier despair over climbing the mountain. I was in the tent and heard my guide outside mentioning to the shadow how excited he was to climb the West Face later that night. “Me too!” replied the shadow. The words “Me three!” escaped my lips. And I never looked back.

Mount Shasta, at 14,178 ft and an impressive prominence of almost 10,000 ft above its surroundings, is the 11th most prominent peak in the US (96th in the world). It is considered a potentially active volcano, and the USGS rates it as “Very High Threat” for eruption. It absolutely dominates the landscape in that region of California, and is a popular destination for extreme backcountry activities of all kinds. When you tell someone you are going to climb a mountain like this, the first thing they will ask is if you “summited”. My guide says less than half of his clients actually make it (and these are vetted folks, who’ve paid a fair sum for guides). Either fatigue, extreme conditions, or sometimes altitude sickness can lead to unsuccessful attempts, and this is quite common. So asking “Did you summit?” is totally a “thing”. And a positive response is in no way a sure thing.

We woke up at 12:00 am, midnight. I say “woke up” with a high degree of generosity of what was actually a very meager few hours of total sleep time. But my toes were not cold thanks to the expert advice from my guide, and the weather was looking like ideal conditions. (Note that ideal for climbing means extremely cold!)

Imagine, if you will, the sky that I saw in that remote backcountry location. It was one day from a new moon, and an hour’s drive from any reasonably-sized city. I want to say it was pitch-black, but I’ve never seen so many stars in brilliant display, at such elevation, with crystal-clear skies, and thin, brisk night air. I ask you to imagine that, because words often fail me.

We had re-packed our packs with only essentials, downed a cup of instant Folger’s, and bid goodbye to the relative comforts of camp. Without belaboring the point, I do say “relative comforts” honestly, keeping in mind how miserable my body was the night before. I knew perfectly well (in perfect ignorance) that this was not going to be an easy day.

During gear-check, my guide asked how I felt, which I replied “almost comfortable”. He then told me to remove one of my insulating layers. I knew better than to question his instructions, and later he explained that we need to be “cold” starting out, because the effort of climbing will generate a lot of heat. Slightly after 1:00 am, the three of us were trekking out into the blackness, single file, with red headlamps, and crunching snow with crampons. Out, and up. 

I called my mom the next day to wish her Happy Mother’s Day, and let her know that I was ok from my Shasta adventure. After telling her a few details about what it was like climbing the mountain, she demanded of me (as only a mother can), “Brian, my son, why did you choose to do this??” I didn’t (and don’t) have a great answer for that. Adventure is its own reason, as little sense as that might make. On my whiteboard at home, I have a list of my activities for the past 4 months that terminates at the bottom with the label “Shasta”. Every line above was planned with the purpose to prepare me for this trip. 10 weeks of climbing Mission Peak, Double hike of Mission Peak. Running. Mount Diablo. Mount Umunhum. The freaking Grand Canyon in one day! 100km bike rides. Mount Sizer. Backpacking classes and my first backpacking trip to Pt Reyes with the Sierra Club. I’ve been obsessing over backpacking books and on friendly terms with the staff at REI. “It just sort of happened”, is the best I could offer my mom for an explanation.

And despite all my efforts and preparation, nothing could have prepared me for this trip (and nothing short of my preparation would have enabled its conclusion). I simply had no idea of the magnitude of the challenge.

It starts out rather simply, just one crunchy step after the next in the snow. Follow the leader. His headlamp is the only thing I can see in the blackness, (besides all those stars!). You don’t even need to think about it. That next step just happens all by itself. We’ve been camping at the foot of this mountain for 2 days, and my mind is able to envision the slope we are on, heading into the center of the local snow “bowl”. As promised, my body warms (for a certain definition of “warm”) and all seems magical in the universe. It will be a good four hours or so before first light. The headlamps play tricks on my eyes with the snow slopes, rock outcrops, and effort needed to sustain this climb. As the incline steepens, the effort increases. We switch from “duck” crampon technique to a mix of French and Canadian, and swap trekking poles for the ice axes. Approximately every hour we find a relatively safe location (“relatively” because it is all perilous in the extreme) and rest for 5 minutes. We have to immediately don our puffy down coats. The body temperature plummets dramatically, and the effect is startling and most disconcerting. After a few mins, and a quick snack, I am already shivering visibly, and my hands begin to ache with freeze. Re-stashing the puffs, we get on our way.

I never asked what the temperature was, although it was always on my mind. It really didn’t matter. It was what it was, and it varied greatly from moment to moment. The coldest time of the day is at first light, and I’m guessing it was probably low-20s or high teens, with an impressive wind chill factor. My two guides have a ton of experience between them in far worse conditions, and they were fairly ecstatic about how great conditions were for the climb. To me, it was fucking cold. It doesn’t get that cold, anywhere, ever. And if it does (and it did where I went to college) I’ve either never gone out in it, or have completely blanked those memories. But here I was at first light, about half way up the West Face, in this freezing cold. Each time after a break, my hands would turn to excruciating shards of searing pain. This would last for a long time. And when the fingers would slowly thaw out of it with climbing exertion, like a panel of LEDs that would eventually all turn green, it was a good feeling that all systems were functional at nominal levels! But other body systems would turn amber or red for other reasons, and need a break. So there was this cycle of pain and discomfort that defines existence while climbing.

As the sun rose behind Shasta, there were many amazing views that I struggled mightily to NOT see. Every time I took my eyes from the snow directly in front of me, there was a certain degree of disorientation. To be honest, the disorientation happened often, even without losing focus, but either looking up, over or down definitely made it much worse. Like I could lose my balance and fall off the edge of the world. It seemed vitally important (and its interesting to look back and agree that “vitally” is used here without exaggeration) to not look both up and down during the same moment of appreciating a view. But my guides were determined that I should see some unforgettable and utterly unique views. Like the razor sharp shadow of Mount Shasta projected as a triangle unto the landscape below, perfectly encompassing the Black Butte pyramid-shaped “mountain” far, *far* below. Or looking down into the fully intact summit crater of the nearby peak of Shastina (looking DOWN into a 12,000 ft mountain! — Shastina on her own is the fourth largest peak of the Cascade Range)

By the way, the West Face ascent is somewhat longer and more difficult than the much more popular Avalanche Gulch approach. We saw no other living creature (outside of a few ravens) until reaching the aptly-named Misery Hill about six hours into it, where the WF route meets up with that from AG. (And for the record, I had no idea we were doing the WF, or that it was longer than AG. Looking back, I might have made better choices with a bit more research and attention to detail.)

Anyway, well before reaching the aptly-named Misery Hill (and yes, if you have climbed it, you’ll also never drop the “aptly-named” prefix for that particular “hill”), the steepness and generally horrific conditions at the top of the West Face become another one of these all-consuming universe-vortex-of-focus moments. We skirted a few glaciers up there (there are seven named ones on Shasta). Glaciers! My guides are pretty stoked about the whole experience. This is what they do, and exactly how they make their living. And although neither has actually completed this particular route (in previous attempts their clients had all bailed before this point), they are in very good spirits. But my experience was a little different. My body (considerably older than theirs; I’m entitled to point out!) is nearing exhaustion, and at the limits of what it can physically do. Every step I take means that I will have another one, equally dangerous, to get back to camp. (Oh, and I should add that my guide would often make note that upon return to camp, we will be immediately packing up and undertaking the also-treacherous -- if rather less so by my new standards for such things -- hike back to the car!)

So try to imagine yourself nearing the top of this incredibly tall mountainside, with a crazy steep slope of snow (hello!? Right over there its called *Avalanche* gulch for a reason!). You are now tethered to your guide via a short rope, but that doesn’t change the fact that every move you make is purely on your own power and judgement, and any misstep might very well lead to your death or life-changing injury. Your body is nearing its limits of production. You’ve had 2 hours of sleep over the past two nights. The air you are breathing has significantly less oxygen that you are used to. The wind can literally blow you off your feet, (and you’ve already experienced that on safer terrain). After about six hours of this, I got to the point where I was faced with a fateful decision. Do I try to take another step? Just one more step? There is a surprisingly large number of risk factors that went into it. Can you even take another step, and still return to camp? There is no other route out of this; no escape plan. I *think*, with enough focus, I can lift and place my right foot just so, using correct technique, pulling my body (and pack) just a little bit higher and maintain my delicate balance. And do I want to? This time, yes, ok. And then, go through that whole process again with the left foot. Et cetera. That wasn’t my favorite part of the climb (at least at the time). But I think there is some important meaning for me. Or something. Still trying to sort this out.

At one point, after a break, and my hands were in that excruciating state, I lost feeling in one or two fingers. It felt different. I’m told that is not good, although a lot of the pain subsided. It felt like the glove itself was frozen, so I couldn’t move it. I knew from my guide that I couldn’t lose the ice axe. It was absolutely critical. If you lose grip (and it needs to change hands often - we practiced this in Snow School), it will obviously fall down the mountain and be lost forever. Your climb is done, and everyone will have a most unpleasant decent from there, trying to get you down alive. Somehow. There are pros and cons to using a tether for your axe, and we were of the school that concludes with no tether. And I couldn’t feel at least one of my fingers, and I still had to use that axe during every single step. So yeah, I was scared. And focused.

With renewed effort of exertion over several minutes, the feeling in my fingers gradually returned (much to my relief), and became among my most intensely painful moments (that haven’t been already blocked out of memory). But I survived.

I can’t say things got better from there. The aptly-named Misery Hill earned its name. The actual summit was a long, steep and perilously narrow path through craggy rock outcroppings and fiercely high, and bitterly cold winds. We took a few pics. My guide shared some “summit” bitter dark chocolate, he had graciously carried for the occasion. I think I broke off too large of a piece because I couldn’t finish it. Adhering to the “leave no trace” policy, I stashed it in a pocket, and enjoyed it much more nibbling on it while writing these notes :) The return trip was also difficult, and due my knee issue (diagnosis: Chondromalacia of both patellae) took a much longer time than anticipated and caused no end of pain. Because our summit was a relatively quick one (at 8 hours from West Face), the conditions were not appropriate for Glisading until the very last leg (which was seriously fun!). We packed up camp, and marched out the way we came, with these very heavy packs, and exhausted from 18 hours of straight hiking. Note that with “leave no trace”, the packs literally weigh the same going out as when you came in (gross, I know!)

I will never look at items of my backpacking gear as simple checklist boxes that they were when purchased at REI. These precious items enabled me to survive in extreme conditions. My life relied on their construction and proper functioning.

I’ve written way too much here, and didn’t cover many interesting aspects of the experience. They say that girls bond easily during everyday life, but for guys it takes either a war or extreme adventure. There were times of both love and a little bit of comical hate for my two companions, and they both deserve far more words here than I’ve given them, and I will always remember these two magnificent men who led me up my mountain and got me back down alive. Thank you Richard and Will. (Fyi, I tipped them as much as I could afford)

When I got into my hotel room (after that “epic” greeting by the clerk), I was finally able to peel off the socks and inspect the damage first hand. It wasn’t pretty. It’s going to take a few days to recover, from all over. I made a list of everything that is currently hurting, which I won’t share, haha.

Although I “left no trace” of my adventure on top of Shasta, I wonder what effect the experience had on me. Certainly significant, I can feel. But it will take more time to digest and observe. It’s time to erase my whiteboard, and find out what comes after “Shasta”.