In the autumn of 1892, two miners, Earl and Edward, found themselves high in the Pacific Northwest mountains, searching for a legend as old as the hills: the lost crate of gold. The tale of “Shining Creek Gold” was whispered in every saloon from Seattle to San Francisco, a cache of gold bars rumored to be hidden beneath an ancient cedar tree.
Earl, rugged and quick-tempered, squinted at the worn, hand-drawn map in his hand. Edward, the quieter of the two, adjusted his broad-brimmed hat and gazed over the valley, where fiery autumn leaves painted the landscape.
“We’re close, Ed,” Earl grunted, his voice hoarse from the chilly mountain air. “This map’s leading us right up that ridge.”
As they rode up the narrow trail, their horses’ hooves echoed against the mountain rocks, amplifying the silence around them. The forest grew denser, and the shadows longer, as if the land itself was hiding secrets.
Just before dusk, they spotted it—a massive cedar tree towering over the ridge, its trunk thick as any they’d ever seen. At its roots lay an ancient crate, cracked and splintered, the wood moss-covered and decaying. Inside, stacked neatly, were gleaming bars of gold, catching the last rays of sunlight.
Earl’s eyes lit up, but he kept his voice low. “Look at that, Ed. All the riches we dreamed of.” He grinned and took a step toward the crate.
But Edward didn’t move. His eyes were fixed on something beside the crate—a weathered shovel and, half-buried under fallen leaves, a bleached skull. He crouched down, examining it. The skull’s fractured surface suggested a violent end.
“Looks like someone beat us to it… and paid the price,” Edward murmured.
Earl chuckled, but his laughter had an edge. “Maybe they didn’t know when to quit.”
Edward glanced up, noting Earl’s hand resting just a little too close to his pistol. The air grew tense, thick with unspoken words and simmering greed.
As night fell, the two men set up camp by the tree. They barely spoke, each stealing glances at the crate, the gold gleaming in the firelight. The shadow of the cedar stretched over them, as if watching, waiting.
The next morning, Edward awoke to find Earl standing over him, a grim smile on his face.
“Sorry, Ed,” Earl said, drawing his pistol. “Splitting this gold ain’t in my plans.”
But just as he aimed, a gust of wind rustled the leaves, and a low whisper seemed to carry through the forest. Earl hesitated, looking around as if he’d heard his name. Edward took the moment to roll to the side, grabbing the shovel by the crate.
A shot rang out, but Edward managed to swing the shovel, striking Earl’s arm and sending the gun flying. They grappled by the cedar, the promise of gold twisting their friendship into a deadly game. Suddenly, Earl slipped on loose dirt, tumbling backward, his head colliding with a jagged rock.
Edward stood over him, breathing heavily. Earl lay still, his eyes staring blankly into the sky. Edward let out a shaky breath, realizing what he’d done.
But then he heard it—a faint, rattling breath, coming from Earl’s lips. Earl’s eyes flickered, his hand reaching out, fingers curling around an invisible shovel, as if in some strange delirium.
In his final moments, Earl’s gaze drifted to the skull near the crate, and he muttered, almost as if speaking to it. “Guess I should’ve known… they all come back for their gold.”
Edward shivered, feeling the weight of his actions. He knew he couldn’t take the gold now. It was cursed, a trap that had already claimed more than one life.
As dawn broke, Edward left the mountain, abandoning the crate under the old cedar, untouched. To this day, travelers say they can still hear faint voices near Shining Creek, whispering warnings to those who dare to seek the legendary gold.
And the crate remains, a silent reminder of greed’s deadly grip, hidden beneath the ancient cedar, waiting for the next soul brave—or foolish—enough to try.
Happy Halloween!
Do you know what’s really scary?
This short story was written by a LLM (ChatGPT) Prompt: “Write a clever mystery short story about two miners in the 1890’s. Earl and Edward search for a legendary crate of gold in the mountains of the Pacific Northwest Mountains. A “Who dunnit” style story with a surprise ending.” with images provided by Firefly.
Illustrated by a diffusion model (Firefly) Prompt mostly: “[BLANK] in pacific northwest mountains in fall watercolor scene”
