On this day, May 18th, 43 years ago, Mt. St. Helen’s vengeful, fiery spirit finally burst out of its cage that it had been trapped in for centuries, demolishing acres of forest and life. Everything got covered in layers of ash. Including 57 bodies.  

From then on, every May 18th, there are reports of people being chased or attacked by unknown things or beings on the dead zone of the mountain in the dead of night. And every year, these reports are brushed aside and ignored. There have even been a few deaths. One of these deaths happened a few years ago, in a spot not far from here, where a group of middle schoolers went on a school camping trip. They were going to learn more about the eruption, and they all thought they were lucky because they visited on the anniversary. The story goes that on the first night of the trip, a boy left his tent to use the bathroom. But he forgot to bring his flashlight, so he let the glow of the moonlight guide him through the forest. The forest was silent, besides the faint chirping of crickets and swishing of branches and leaves.  

An uneasy calmness suddenly hung heavy in the forest. The only sound was the nervous rasp of crickets, abruptly silenced as the boy strayed from the flickering glow of the campfire. The boy grew nervous, so he started to turn back to the campsite. The wind stopped blowing; but the air grew icy. All he could hear was his trembling breathing. Suddenly, he felt an icy cold hand on his shoulder, searing cold that burned through flesh and chilled him to the core. The boy froze, and his heart almost stopped with terror. He turned around, and a tall figure with sockets for eyes, glowing embers flickering within those sockets, casting an eerie orange light, and a melting face lurked above him- a phantom carved from ash. The figure’s ashen skin stretched taut over skeletal frame. It was a twisted mockery of humanness.  

His legs pumped, desperate for speed, but they felt heavy and sluggish, as if he was trying to run through mud. It glided in front of the boy, blocking his path. The boy screamed again, and the Ash Person reached out its lanky, ashy hand, and pinned the boy down by the throat. He felt a crushing emptiness, a chilling void that seemed to suck the life force out of him. Tears welled in his eyes, the weight of his forgotten flashlight a crushing reminder of his foolishness. The boy tried to escape its strong, unyielding grip, but it was no good. The Ash Person held an unearthly power. That boy’s last sight was the Ash Person’s sinking, soulless eyes. The Ash Person devoured the boy and drank his blood like it was red wine, leaving only bones, and a little bit of melted flesh fused with ash, mangled and unrecognizable. Shortly after, it vanished into the shadows, to join its friends.  

It's said that the Ash People hide the bones of the victims in an uncharted cave in Mt. St. Helens. People have tried to find this cave before, but they’ve never returned. One of them, I knew. Dan. Dan Brown. He was a science teacher at a middle school, the same one that the boy that got attacked came from. Brown believed the cave held the key to stopping the annual bloodshed. He ventured out through the dead zone, searching for answers about his student’s unexplained death. The only thing left of him are some of his notes that were found in the forest, hastily scrawled and singed at the edges, depicting strange symbols. They resembled figures recoiling from a burst of flames. Beneath them, a single word was scrawled: "Light." The only thing that drives the Ash People away is light.  

57 vengeful spirits still stalk the mountain. 57 spirits bloodthirsty for revenge, that only come out on the anniversary of their death, emerge to prey on those who dare enter the dead zone- their territory at night. An unsettling howl echoed from the mountain's peak, a chilling reminder that the Ash People might not be confined to the dead zone forever. If you’re ever here on Mt. St. Helens on May 18th like we are tonight, you better remember to bring your flashlight.