The Tall Ones

Perhaps the frigid tundra yields to some creatures, but I know that I am not one. On this day, I have finally found my first hint of a “Tall One.” Nearly ten years of scouring ancient articles, traveling to long since abandoned parts of the world, and prying truth from unforgiving tongues, and I have finally found a hint of the creatures which have seemed to fade away from time.

My studies have been arduous. Every year I ask for money from my family, scraping by with what little they have pitied me with. This is the last year they will be giving me a single coin. I must make a breakthrough. Now my research has led me here, penniless and forgotten, the cold tundra of the far north. The last town I stopped in was so frigid and cold even the polar bears were bundled up tight. I asked around for local stories of anything resembling humans, my initial pursuit here being led from an old Cold War era document that reported the disappearance of several hikers in the area. What really caught my interest however, was the recovery of their bodies. They were nothing but a few bones found months later in the tundra by a party of bears on an expedition. The bones had been reported as “chewed and gnawed upon.”

The police ruled it death by predator and never even bothered trying to find out who might have have done it. However, the story didn’t make any sense. The group was made entirely of herbivores, and them attempting to eat each other for survival seemed highly unlikely. The report mentioned that the bones had appeared to have been cut in some areas, as if something had attacked them with weapons. It was my only lead, and I had to follow it. Something here is calling to me.

The locals told me nothing. A fisher warned me that travelers who went out into the tundra north had a tendency to never return, but when pressed for details he told me he knew nothing. I consulted several other mammals, and most of them were friendly up until I mentioned my reason of visit. By noon, not four hours after I had arrived by train, the whole town knew what I was there for and people wouldn’t give me the time of day.

I stopped by the library, hoping to consult some old records and maybe shed light on the past of this town. My results yielded nothing. Most of the documents only went back a decade, and I was again left with nothing.

A thought in my mind made me take a quick peek at the maps of the area. North of the village was more tundra. Nothing but snow as far as the eye could see. No place for the creatures I had studied. Tall Ones seemed to favor more warm climates, but at the same time we did too. It made sense that they would strive to seclude themselves as far away from civilisation as possible.

The ice flow to the north was enormous. It stretched hundreds of miles all the way to the north pole, a place only a few adventurers had gone to. The flow was broken up into small sections, each with their own unique name. What really caught my eye was the name of one particular area: “Iceman’s Drift.” A large section of land not too far north of here. A quick glance at my notes revealed this to be the same place that the bones of the lost hikers were discovered. With good weather and a little luck, I could be there in a three day trek. By myself. With the only living species to still engage in predatory hunting and traditions.

Suddenly I am not feeling so sure in myself.

My research has always been dangerous. Like the bold Icarus I must edge myself close to the sun to truly understand it, but this is truly the most dangerous thing I have ever done in my pursuit of the Tall Ones. My studies have always been in warm buildings, in large cities, with a safe bed at a friend's place to welcome me back at the end of the day. This would be the boldest move I have made. Before, I would have worried about finances, trying to scrape together a living without falling back to the family business. Ever since I had heard the camp story of the Tall Ones I was captured by their image. I wanted to be the one who could find them. Even a photograph with my father’s old camera would be sufficient to garner me some form of fame or fortune, perhaps even enough to give me the boost I need to begin a serious investigation into these beings.

For once in my life I could meet the creatures I’ve been hunting for ten years. And they very well may try to kill me.