Mathew was climbing a narrow goat path that wound up the side of the ridge. His flashlight was dying, the beam flickering into a dim yellow. He swung it left and right, his hope fading with the light. He began to pray, bargaining with the mountain, promising anything if he could just see his son’s face one more time.
Suddenly, the wind died down for a fleeting second. In that pocket of silence, Mathew heard it. It wasn’t a scream or a cry. It was a faint, rhythmic tapping. Clack. Clack. Clack. It sounded like two rocks being hit together. Mathew froze, holding his breath. Clack. Clack. It was coming from a cluster of boulders just above him.