Looking Beyond the Pass
E.K. Hughes
Author Bio
E.K. Hughes was born in McComb, MS in 1976. She received her bachelor’s degree in music education in 2001 from the University of Southern Mississippi and went on to teach elementary music for several years. She lives in Brandon, MS and is married with two furbabies. Looking Beyond the Pass is her first novel.
First of all, I’m not really an author. Seriously, I’ve never written anything before in my life! After discovering and spending countless hours reading about the Dyatlov Pass incident over spring break in 2013, I literally had ideas and fantasies popping into my head nonstop! And what’s even weirder, I had the overwhelming urge to write them all down. So, I did. After messing up a billion times and not knowing how to publish anything, I finally (somewhat) figured it out. My book isn’t some life changing masterpiece that’s gonna sell millions of copies, but it’s not bad for a non writer’s first attempt! I hope those of you who do buy my book feel like you’re not wasting your hard earned money (especially those serious Dyatlov Pass detectives who freak out when another book about the incident comes out…I hope you read the description and realize my book is fiction). Anyway, I really appreciate your purchase and reading of my book, and even though it’s amateur, I hope you won’t be let down by it.
Description
On January 23, 1959, six experienced college athletes, three recent graduates, and one guide set out on a cross country skiing/hiking adventure to Mount Otorten, which is located in the northern Ural Mountains of Russia. In the language of the local Mansi natives of that region, the word ‘Otorten’ means “don’t go there.” Everything was going as planned until one of the members, Yuri Yudin, had to turn back due to an illness. The others, which now consisted of two women and seven men, continued on to their destination.
Despite below freezing temperatures and strong winds, on February 1st, the team made it to the slopes of Kholat Syakhl, which in the tongue of the Mansi people means “the mountain of the dead.” That evening, the skiers set up their tent in a clearing and settled in for the night. After eating and partially undressing for bed, something happened. An event so frightening took place that it caused the hikers to cut themselves out of the tent and flee in various states of undress for their lives.
After not hearing from the group for several days, a search party was formed. On February 26th, the search party found the damaged tent full of supplies and nine sets of undisturbed footprints in the snow, most of which were made by bare feet. The next morning, searchers discovered the bodies of Yuri Doroshenko and Yuri (Georgy) Krivonischenko lying underneath a tall cedar tree by the remains of a fire. Both bodies were almost completely undressed. A little further from them, they discovered the body of Igor Dyatlov, the group’s leader. Even further, they found the remains of Zinaida Kolmogorova. Both Dyatlov and Kolmogorova were facing the direction of the tent, making searchers think they were trying to get back to their supplies. On March 5th, the body of Rustem Slobodin was discovered in the vicinity of Dyatlov and Kolmogorova, facing the tent as well. All five bodies had various bruises, cuts, dried blood, and even burns on some of them. Also, Slobodin had a small skull fracture. Investigators concluded they had all died of hypothermia.
It wasn’t until the beginning of May when the spring thaw began that the remaining four bodies were discovered in a ravine. Searchers discovered a den the four had started to build to protect themselves from the snow and wind. They discovered pieces of Doroshenko and Krivonischenko’s clothing on some of them. The remains of the final four are what puzzle people to this day. Alexander Kolevatov had a broken nose and a deformed neck. Despite his injuries, it was determined he died of hypothermia. Nicolai Thibeaux—Brignolle was discovered with a severely crushed skull but no external injuries. Both Alexander Zolotarev and Ludmila Dubinina had their chests crushed, neither one displaying any external injuries either. It was like they were hit by “an unknown compelling force” comparable to being hit by a car. However, the most disturbing injury was Dubinina’s missing tongue. Records simply state that “the tongue was missing.” Also worth mentioning is Ludmila’s stomach contained coagulated blood, which led to the belief that she was alive when her tongue disappeared. Another puzzling aspect to the mystery was the presence of radiation on some of the bodies. Also, at their funerals, family members and friends noticed the deceased victims’ skin had a tan hue, and their hair had turned gray. Later, reports surfaced of witnesses who saw strange lights in the sky before, during, and after the event. If you’d like to further investigate what happened and read theories, ranging from the natural to the supernatural, there is a plethora of information available on the internet. However, in your research, you’ll quickly find that no one theory, from a simple avalanche to an out of this world alien attack, allows all of the evidence to fit completely. It’s like a massive puzzle where all the pieces fit perfectly except for one.
This summary is meant to prepare the reader for the story that follows. My story only touches on the mysterious event. While researching the Dyatlov Pass Incident, I became fascinated with the pictures the skiers took while on their trip, as well as with their diary entries. They were all young, attractive, and full of life. I read more about their personalities and even decided who I thought was the cutest, the prettiest, the wittiest, etc. I also reflected back on my own college days and remembered how they were spent laughing and falling in “love,” just as I imagined theirs were. My story is not a nonfictional account of what, when, why, and where (my apologies to the hardcore armchair Dyatlov Pass Incident detectives who are only interested in facts). There are many books and websites that already address the latter. This book doesn’t focus solely on the skiers’ gruesome deaths on February 1, 1959, but on their lives, on the dash that precedes —1959. My story is taken from actual people who lived and an actual event that happened to them, but I intertwined it with my own fictional love story. Instead of focusing on the horrors that occurred on Dyatlov Pass, I looked beyond the pass.
Book excerpt
Rus followed his mother out of the car and down a worn path. Sharp brambles caught at his pants as he hurried to keep up with her. It was like she was on some secret mission. Finally, they walked through a gate and came to a stop in front of a tall monument whose large base was covered in flowers, some wilted and brown, others budding into bloom. Swatting at a host of mosquitoes that decided to attack his face, managing to hit most of them except for the one that flew into his mouth, Rus looked closer at the monument. “What’s this?” he asked as he spit out the mosquito’s bitter remains.
“This is their memorial,” she replied, a hint of sadness in her voice.
Rus glanced at his mother and realized she had a small bouquet of flowers in her hand. When had she gotten those? He peered closer at the monument and suddenly realized there were pictures on the memorial, small black and white, oval pictures that looked oddly familiar. Then, he saw him. “That’s the man. That’s Rustem. Those are the pictures in your box.” Rus read silently through the nine last names etched in the stone—Doroshenko, Dubinina, Dyatlov, Zolotarev, Kolmogorova, Kolevatov, Krivonischenko, Slobodin, Thibeaux—Brignolle. He looked up at his mother who stood staring quietly at the cold monument. Why had she brought him here? “What is this?” he asked again.
“These are my friends…were my friends. I met them at the Institute. Actually, your father and I met them. He was their friend, too,” she replied.
“What happened to them?” Rus asked, running his fingers through his hair. Something inside of him made him feel he didn’t want to know, that he’d never be the same if he knew. A small voice in his head started mumbling, making him feel uneasy. It suddenly felt like thousands of tiny legs were crawling up and down his spine. The uneasiness quickly found its way to the pit of his stomach.
After a long silence, his mother took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “They went skiing one winter break, cross country skiing and hiking. They were all such amazing athletes.” Rus saw a small smile touch her lips. “They actually did it for fun. Can you believe that?” She had never been athletic that he’d seen, so he understood her question quite well. She was the exact opposite of his father. He loved it when his dad took him skiing. Rus suddenly began to yearn to get back home so that he could spend the last of the summer’s light playing football with his friends. He needed some type of distraction to shake off this strange, uncomfortable feeling.
After another silence, his mother spoke as if to herself. “They died. They all died a horrible, painful death.”
“How did they die?” Did he ask that question aloud, or was it inside his head? Rus couldn’t tell.
“No one knows. To this day, no one really knows. I guess no one will ever know the truth.” His mother paused as if recalling some painful memory. “They say some of them died from hypothermia. The others…” She let her voice trail off like she was afraid to finish the sentence.
Rus silently stood there staring at his mother. Her soft voice sounded as if she had no more hope left in life, like she’d given up living. He sensed she would much rather be with them instead of alive. Somehow he knew, and that made him sad. Rus loved his mother, even through the tirades and whippings. He knew he deserved every one he got.
She took another deep breath. Rus watched as she reached out her hand and gently placed it on one of the photos. Rustem’s photo. That face—his face. Again, the small voice inside of him started mumbling strange things, scary things, things he didn’t want to hear. Things he didn’t want to believe. He instantly silenced the voice. It was wrong. It was only a coincidence that he shared the same face with the young man looking back at him, his smile too warm for this cold, lifeless monument. Rus knew he needed to go before his mother said anything else.
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