On February the 2nd 1959, nine experienced Russian Hikers cut their way out of their shared tent in the middle of the freezing night and ran away into the Ural Mountains snow. Half of them weren’t even dressed. Some were barefoot. All of them died within twelve hours. And when the bodies were found some of them had injuries that the Coroner described as being ‘unable to be inflicted by any human.’
Two semi naked members of the party were found with bloodied hands and had climbed five meters up into a tree to pull branches down and make a fire barely 250 meters from their tent. But there was abundant dry wood laying around on the forest floor. Why did they do this?
Some of the bodies had their eyes removed, and one person was missing their tongue, although her stomach contained blood – meaning she was alive when it was taken. Another Hiker was so badly crushed by something that it had apparently broken every single one of his ribs.
They had taken a camera with them on the trip. It was found propped up on a tripod inside the tent, facing the buttoned up entrance. The film was developed successfully. All normal pictures of smiling hikers, but many of the same scene: the treeline by the campsite, almost like they were trying to capture something on film lurking out there in the forest. The last photo was blurred and appeared to show two lights in the night sky. After the bodies were all recovered the Russian Government placed an exclusion order on the entire area for the next three years.
Yeah, you’re thinking what I’m thinking too: why am I even reading this stuff? I don’t know. It is the basis for some really crazy hours of internet research when I should really be writing about things that make my heart glad and fill me with life-affirming thoughts. But here we are…stuck in the possibilities of something that is almost too terrifying to consider. What it is for sure, I maybe can’t figure out. Look it up – The Dyatlov Pass Incident.
Why do I get bogged down in things like this? Do I need a purpose instead of sitting here at this desk and staring down into the portal of the internet waiting for some bullshit thing like this to grab me by the amygdala and thrash my psyche around like a Kingfisher slapping a minnow on small branch? The dull thwack thwack thwack until the flapping stops and I’m moved on to some thoughts about that bastard Donald Trump and his promise today to cut corporation tax in the USA to 20%. ‘It will help the USA,’ he said, tiny fingers making that perverse OK sign that has come to represent nothing more than a rich mans take on a wanking gesture. ‘Here’s what I think of all of you.’ Secret laughs in the back of the Presidential Limo afterwards. Back slapping as pornography is streamed right into his eyeballs by the CIA. Those people know how to control a sexually dysfunctional clown like Trump – beam old Miss World shows right into his brain, or scenes of Russian prostitutes snorting cocaine from the inside of his soiled underwear. That freak could get his kicks from anything if you gave him enough time and the promise that he’d never really be prosecuted. He’d fuck a dolphin, or even a rubberised half-human, half-rat mannequin, without once looking over his shoulder to see if the whole thing was being viewed by the entire population of the World.
Horror scenes aplenty here on the Hill this morning, in my little stone cottage. Not what the doctor ordered. The music is fine, loud, and this is a good thing but yesterday I killed the menacing fat spider out the back of my house that was being cared for by my elderly neighbour as some form of pet. I knocked it out of its web with a small stone, then stomped on it when it hit the ground. My neighbour will know it was me, but I will deny it and blame it on a bird; the wind; Donald Trump; or simply tell her the spider could read the writing on the wall, even if we couldn’t, and left for greener pastures. I am a bad liar, but I’ll do my best this time. No-one likes to admit they have killed something for no good, logical, reason. Not even me.
Yes, things are weighing heavily this morning. In a weird way, I kind of know why those Russian Hikers ran blindly into the night all those years ago. I just don’t want to believe it.