Synopsis: The survivors of the mountain said nothing. They kept the experience locked tight inside their hearts. No wonder their grandchildren are so curious about the history of their grandparents. So when they all receive a letter in the post tempting them to the mountain, what will they discover? And what really went down on that mountain?

Genre: Mystery, Humour, Romance, Angst, Horror

Ending: All survive

Rating: T/M – Just in case, you know...

A/N: I don't give myself a break, do I? As soon as I finish 'After', I'm on to another fic...

Firstly, I'd like to give credit to The Ben Who Must Not Be Named for indirectly inspiring me to write this. Honestly, this idea popped out of nowhere and I got way too excited about it, I had to start writing it down.

I hope you all enjoy it! - and for those who have read 'After', I hope you like this one just as much!

Chapter One

Because I forgot to wear gloves

Why the hell didn't I tie my hair up? This horrendous wind keeps scooping clumps of my hair into my face then laughing mockingly at me through the trees. This is a terribly unattractive look.

"Boo!" Two hands grab my shoulders from behind and I'm almost whipping around and smacking him one in the face - when I realise it's only Emmett.

If he had access to my brain right now, he'd be commenting, with a chuckle, "Only?"

"Shove off," I tease, pushing him in the shoulder before proceeding to shove my blue beanie further down over my strawberry blonde hair.

Hurt spreads across Emmett's Asian features and he clutches the left side of his chest in mock pain. "How could you, Issie? That hurt."

I roll my eyes. I've never been much of a fan of nicknames, especially since the name 'Ice-cream' was appointed to me over the colour of my hair - also, because I spilled ice-cream all over myself in 5th grade and had to spend the rest of the day traipsing around in fusty, spare climbing class clothes for the rest of the day.

But Issie is a little easier to remember than Ismay - so I'll let Emmett off.

Trust my parents to be all creative over names - apparently, it was in honour of my grand parents, who didn't spare my father with a normal name.

"Did you get a letter too?" I ask Emmett who nods and proceeds to stick his gloved hand into his pocket - sensible. I should have worn gloves - and pull out a folded piece of paper.

He unfolds it, the wind tugging at it making it incredibly difficult for Emmett to keep the paper straight, and reveals the all too familiar, printed words;

If you want to know the truth about your grandparents, come to Blackwood mountain.

9pm, Tuesday night.

"So, this is the place, huh?" Emmett glances up, folding the paper back into his pocket, and fighting through the wind to lift his gaze up the mountain – where, supposedly, all the secrets are held.

"Apparently," I mumble, sticking my hands into the pockets of my jacket to keep them warm – seriously, I really should have brought gloves.

The letter had come at an ominous time. I'd received it in the post a day after I'd gone to visit my grandfather in the nursing home. It was mainly for an introductory task in the journaling night class I've been taking; to write an article on the life of a grandparent. You know how all these people have stories of grandparents who had been in a war or fought for a forbidden love or... you know, interesting stuff like that. Grandpa however didn't have a story like that; his basically consisted of how he dropped his cellphone in a swimming pool once and was genius enough to fix it – so a cellphone company hired him to do beta testing. Boring.

So, when the letter arrived, it was a far too tempting to resist. I couldn't help it – I'm a competitive person. And I'm not going to let Patricia have a better article than me. Screw 'Swimming pool cellphone accident'.

I'm sure Grandma would have had a much more interesting story. Apparently, she was really creative, really lively – at least, that's what Dad said. I bet she fought for what she wanted and created the reality that she desired. She would probably tell me all about her love story between her and Grandpa. And her eyes would probably light up when she told me all about how he proposed.

But Grandma is suffering from dementia. It's... kind of sad. It hurts when she doesn't recognise me.

I don't like to talk about it.

I called Chandler pretty much straight after I got the letter – in case he got one too. Apparently he had. But he couldn't go because of baby Ashton. I almost keep forgetting that he's married and has a baby now – I always just remember him as the disgusting older brother thinking he looked so cool in front of girls while he picked his nose. Well, apparently, someone eventually did! I feel for her. Who knew what was going through her mind when she agreed to marry him.

Older brothers are supposed to be the protective type, right? Apparently not for me. Chandler was fully supportive of me going to a creepy, freezing mountain on my own. Great job, brother.

Although, now I'm not on my own. I'll let him off this time.

"Should we maybe...?" Emmett suggests, stabbing his thumb in the direction of the pathway up the mountain.

I nod, hissing through my teeth, before taking the first step underneath the "Blackwood Pines" signed archway and towards whatever truth awaits us.

"I bet it's locked," Emmett grumbles as he eyes the cable car station just ahead in the distance.

I breathe out, watching my breath swirl in the ice cold wind before evaporating into the trees. "Wouldn't be surprised," I hum, rubbing my hands together to circulate some kind of warmth.

Emmett's eyes casually dip down to my hands, amused for the briefest moment. Then something evidently clicks in his head. "Oh, you didn't bring gloves?" He asks, pulling his hands out of his pockets and prying off his oversized gloves.

I glance up at him, shaking my head. "Nah, it's alright."

Emmett, being the guy he is, doesn't listen and shoves them against my chest. He lets go and they tumble into my hands.

"Seriously, Emmett, I'm fine."

"You're so stubborn," Emmett mutters, our boots crunching in the snow as we grow near the building. A cracked light bulb hangs from the porch, creaking eerily. I shiver. And not just because of the cold. Whatever light used to come out of that thing isn't coming out anymore, that's for sure.

I roll my eyes. "Fine," I sigh, but I'm secretly glad he offered. I don't know how long I've been enviously eyeing those gloves of his for.

Tugging them on, my fingers too skinny to fill up the spaces within the fabric, I watch Emmett circle towards the doorway of the station. The glass set in the door looks frozen up and completely frosted over. If a hand slammed against the glass from the inside right now, I'd be screaming my head off and running back down the mountain, no matter what Emmett – or anyone else – would think of me.

"Okay," Emmett flexes his muscles and rolls his shoulders as if he's gearing up for a boxing fight. Then he takes a few steps forward, his boots echoing against the iced over wooden porch, and reaches his hand for the door handle-

"I wouldn't even try that," a low, gruff voice sounds from what feels like right behind me ear.

I shriek, swinging around, fully prepared to knock whoever the person is out.

Then he stumbles back, a goofy grin on his face, flinging his hands up in the air. "Slow down there, pony."

I almost growl at him.

"Who the hell are you?" Emmett snaps forward, appearing beside me. I jump, my heart pounding ridiculously in my chest. Would these guys stop scaring the daylights out of me?

"Weylyn," he offers, his hand outstretched towards Emmett. When the latter stares down at it, refusing to pick it up, Weylyn casually moves over to offer it towards me. As if it were my duty, I reluctantly stretch my hand out and clasp his for a very short, very abrupt handshake. With a smile, Weylyn pulls back his hand and runs his gloved fingers – seriously, was I the only one who forgot? - through his short, dark hair.

"And this," Weylyn continues, stepping to the side to reveal a timid, frail looking girl all wrapped up in about twenty layers, "Is Miriam."

I peer at her, her eyes darting away, nervous and shivering. Like a mouse. She darts a lock of blonde hair behind her ear with a finger, like it's a habit of hers.

"We're cousins."

A/N: So, I know it's different. And I hope you like it, especially since it's almost purely OC driven... which is a daunting thing to put out into the world. Characters that have already been created within a fandom are already well cherished and loved. I have to now convince you to like Ismey and Emmett and Weylyn and Miriam – along with all the other characters that will appear. It's a very alarming task. I hope I can do it justice.

I wonder... how many of you can guess correctly as the who is the grandparent/s of each character?