CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "I Took a Job as a Park Ranger, I Was Given a Strange List Of Duties" Creepypasta

Episode Date: January 2, 2025

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by Frequent-Cat:   / i_took_a_job_as_a_park_ranger_i_was_given_a  Creepypastas are the campfire tales of the internet. Horror stories spread through Reddit r/nosleep, forums and blogs, rather than word of mouth. Whether you believe these scary stories to be true or not is left to your own discretion and imagination. LISTEN TO CREEPYPASTAS ON THE GO-SPOTIFY► https://open.spotify.com/show/7l0iRPd...iTUNES► https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast...SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"-    • "I wasn't careful enough on the deep ...  ►"Personal Favourites"-    • "I sold my soul for a used dishwasher...  ►"Written by me"-    • "I've been Blind my Whole Life" Creep...  ►"Long Stories"-    • Long Stories  FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter:   / creeps_mcpasta  ►Instagram:   / creepsmcpasta  ►Twitch:   / creepsmcpasta  ►Facebook:   / creepsmcpasta  CREEPYPASTA MUSIC/ SFX- ►http://bit.ly/Audionic ♪►http://bit.ly/Myuusic ♪►http://bit.ly/incompt ♪►http://bit.ly/EpidemicM ♪This creepypasta is for entertainment purposes only

Working as a park ranger was a big deal for me. I've always loved the outdoors, and getting paid to patrol hiking trails and check on campsites felt like a dream. It was only a seasonal job, but I was still content with the allocated time I was given. I'd been assigned to a remote national park, miles from anything resembling civilization. My station was a tiny cabin in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by dense forest. There wasn't even cell service most of the time. First day in the job was pretty standard.

I met Ed, my supervisor. He's this older guy, maybe in his 50s, with a kind of weathered face that says he's been out here way too long. Nice enough but kind of distant. He handed me a basic book full of protocols. How to check the trail damage, what to do if you encounter a bear, how to do if you encounter a bear, to handle lost hikers, stuff you'd expect. But then, tucked in between the normal sections, there was this page titled Special Procedures.

The front looked older, like it hadn't been updated in years, and it stood out immediately. The rules on the page. Well, they were different. Ignore the screaming after midnight, never acknowledged the lake. when it reflects the moon. If you hear footsteps behind you, do not turn around. I actually laughed when I first read them.

I thought it was some kind of joke the older rangers played on the newbies. But when I asked Ed about it, he didn't laugh. He didn't even smirk. He just said, Follow them, and you'll be fine. That's it.

No explanation, no elaboration. I even tried pushing him a little, asking why these rules are in there, and if this was some kind of hazing thing. But he just shrugged and said, you'll see. So, I put the book down and figured maybe it was just some weird tradition or superstition the park stuff kept alive for fun, maybe a way to freak out new hires. Whatever, right? But my first few nights of the cabin started to change my mind. You ever stay somewhere so quiet that it almost feels loud?

That's how it was out there. At night, it was like the forest itself was holding its breath. Sometimes the only sound was the wind pushing through the trees. Other times, there wasn't even that. The stillness made me jump at every creek of the cabin, every rustle in the bushes outside. And then there was this feeling. Like I wasn't really alone, even when I knew I was. It was my third day in when I first heard the scream.

I was sitting at the tiny table in the cabin, halfway through a lukewarm cup of instant coffee. My eyes were glued to the book of rules again, trying to make sense of it all. It was late past midnight, but I wasn't tired. Something about the cabin made it hard to relax. Maybe it was how the floor creaked randomly, even when I wasn't moving, or the way the wind outside never quite sounded like just wind.

I was flipping through the rules. When it started, at first it was faint. I thought it was the wind again. But then it got louder, a sharp, piercing scream that cut through the stillness like a knife. It sounded human. A woman maybe or a kid My stomach dropped I froze

My hand gripping the edge of the table So hard my knuckles turned white My eyes darted back to the rules To that stupid yellowed page Ignore the screaming after midnight Ignore it Easy to write Harder to do when it sounds like someone's out there

begging for help. I sat there for what felt like forever, just listening. The screen would rise, hold for a few seconds, and then fade. Then it would start again. My heart was racing, and before I knew it, I was standing by the cabin door, my hand on the knob. I told myself it had to be something explainable. A hiker in trouble, maybe, or an animal that just saw. sounded like a person. I mean, I'm a park ranger. It's literally my job to check these things out,

right? I stepped outside. The cold hit me first. It wasn't a normal cold. It was biting, the kind that sinks into your bones. The forest was pitch black, except for the faint cone of light from my flashlight. The scream came again, louder now, and I swung the beam in its direction, trying to see through the trees. My throat was dry, and every step I took felt heavier than the last. Then, it stopped, not just the scream. Everything. The wind, the rustling of leaves, the distant sound of nocturnal animals. It always. just cut out, like someone hit the mute button on the world. The silence was so thick I could hear my own breathing, quick and shallow, no how long I stood there, frozen in place. But eventually,

I turned back toward the cabin. Whatever I thought I was going to find out there, it wasn't worth it. My skin crawled the entire way back, like something was watching me, just beyond the of the flashlight's reach. When I got inside, I locked the door twice. The next morning I asked Lisa about it. She's another ranger, works the main station closer to the visitor center. Lisa's the kind of person who always seems upbeat, like nothing rattles her. But when I brought up the scream, her face changed immediately.

She went pale and her eyes darted around the room. room like she was checking to see if anyone else was listening. You didn't follow it, did you? She asked, her voice low. I hesitated, not sure how much to admit. I stepped outside, I said, finally. Didn't go far, Lisa's expression darkened. She looked at me like I just signed my own death warrant.

That's how it starts. She muttered. Then she stood up and walked out of the room like I wasn't even there. Later that day, I went out to patrol one of the popular trails near the cabin. It was my first time on that route, and for the most part, it seemed normal. Just trees, dirt, and the occasional squirrel. But, about halfway through, I noticed something odd. The ground had these scuff marks Like someone had been running off the trail

The branches on the bushes nearby were broken And the dirt was churned up like they'd been a struggle I followed the marks for maybe 20 feet before I found it A single boot Muddy, torn Just sitting there in the middle of the forest There was no sign of its owner my stomach twisted as I stared at it.

It wasn't just the boot itself. It was the way it was sitting there, like it had been dropped deliberately. It didn't feel like something someone had just forgotten. It felt wrong. When I got back to the station, I told Ed about it. He barely looked up from his paperwork. The forest takes what it wants, he said,

shrugging. Then, he went back to his coffee. Like that was the end of it. The first time I broke a rule, I told myself it didn't really count. It was maybe a week in, and I'd almost started to feel like I had a routine down. Sure, the rules are weird, and yeah, the nights were unnervingly quiet, but I'd convinced myself that things weren't as bad as I'd made them out to be. Then, the footstep started.

It was late, probably around 1am, and I was lying in bed, trying to fall asleep. At first I thought it was just the sound of branches tapping against the cabin. But then I realised it was rhythmic, slow, deliberate. Someone was walking around the cabin. I froze. My heart was pounding, but I kept telling myself to stay calm. I remembered the rule. If you hear footsteps behind you, do not turn around.

Okay, fine. The footsteps weren't exactly behind me, but the logic seemed the same. Just don't engage, right? The pacing continued. It circled the cabin, slow and steady. And I swear whoever or whatever it was would still. stop right by my window. I could feel it lingering there, just out of sight. The sound went on for hours. I tried covering my ears, but it didn't help. I couldn't shake the feeling that something

was waiting for me to look. I held out as long as I could, but by 3 a.m., my nerves were shot. I figured if someone was actually outside, I needed to know. What if it was a hiker or I got lost? What if I was in danger? I pulled back the curtain just a crack. Nothing. There was nothing out there. Just the trees, the dirt path and the faint glow of the moon.

But the second I looked, the footsteps stopped. Like they'd been waiting for me to break. The silence that followed was even worse. It was thick. pressing down on me like gravity was being turned up on a dial. I didn't sleep that night. The next morning, I noticed something was off. My boots weren't by the door where I'd left them.

They were in the middle of the room. My radio which I left off was on, hissing with faint static. And when I glanced at the window, I swear my reflection didn't move in time with me. It lagged just a split-stallel. second, but enough to make my stomach drop. I told myself it was nothing, just my mind playing tricks. But then, I patrolled the lake. A few days later, I was out patrolling the trails near the lake at dusk. The sky was this brilliant orange, and the moon was just starting to rise.

When I got to the water's edge, I noticed the moon's reflection. It was... too much, too bright, too vivid, almost like it wasn't just reflecting the moon, but amplifying it. I stood there for a second, hypnotized, before the rule clicked in my head. Never acknowledge the lake when it reflects the moon. I snapped out of it and took a step back, but as I turned to leave, I saw a ripple in the water. There wasn't any wind. No fist jumping, just that ripple spreading out from the centre. And for a split second. I swear I saw a hand, pale and thin, reach up toward the surface.

I didn't stick around to see what came next. I stumbled back to the trail and didn't stop until it was halfway to the cabin. That night I had a dream. I was back at the lake. standing at the edge, but the moon's reflection was shattered like broken glass. I could hear something crawling out of the water, slow and deliberate, dragging itself toward me. I couldn't move, couldn't even scream. I woke up, drenched in sweat, my heart racing, but it wasn't just the dream. When I swung my legs out of the bed, I felt

cold, wet fabric. My boots were soaked, caked with mud. And there were footprints, muddy, unmistakable, leading from the door. To my bed, looking back, I think the first real warning sign wasn't the footsteps or the lake. It was Lisa. She'd been one of the first people I'd met on the job, and while she wasn't exactly friendly, she was present. She'd crack a joke now and then, talk about the hikes she liked to take, but after the footsteps and the lake, she changed. She was still around, technically, but she wasn't Lisa anymore. Her skin looked pale, like she'd been sick for weeks, and her eyes.

I don't even know how to describe it They just didn't seem to focus Like she was looking through me, not at me She barely spoke unless it was necessary And even then her voice was flat Almost mechanical One morning I asked her if she was okay She just shrugged and said

I'm fine, just tired But she wasn't fine And the worst part, Ed didn't seem surprised. If anything, he avoided her. When I brought it up to Ed later, he snapped at me. Ed, the guy who'd spent most of my first week cracking dad jokes and calling me newbie. The rules are there for a reason, Nick, he said, glaring at me like I just insulted his entire family. You don't follow them, and you don't follow them.

deal with a fallout. That's it. No exceptions. What kind of fallout are we talking about? I pressed. What's actually happening here? You don't want to know, he muttered, turning back to his coffee like we hadn't just had the most unsettling conversation of my life. Later that day, I went out to patrol, trying to shake the weird tension between us. It was supposed to be a normal route one I'd done twice before. But something was different. The trail I was on didn't feel right. The trees seemed taller, like they were leaning in toward me, and the air was colder than it should have been for midday.

Still, I pushed forward. I don't know why. Maybe I was hoping to find something, proof that I was still in control. Then I saw them, carvings in the trees, faces. They were warped and stretched, their mouths open in silent screams, their eyes too big, too round. They weren't there the last time I'd walked this trail. I swear on my life they weren't, as I stood there staring.

I heard something. It started as a faint whisper, like wind through the branches. but it grew louder. Words I couldn't make out. Voices. Dozens of them, maybe more, all overlapping. My chest tightened and I turned back the way I came, practically running until I was back of the cabin.

That night, the scream came back, louder, closer. It didn't just echo through the forest this time. It felt like it was inside my head. head rattling around my skull, clawing at my thoughts. And then, I swear to you, I heard my name. It was woven into the scream, whispered at first, then louder, my name over and over, like it was begging me, calling me. I grabbed my flashlight and stood by the door, my hand on the handle. I almost opened it.

I don't know what stopped me. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was the rule. Either way, I let go of the handle and stepped back. My whole body shaking. I didn't sleep that night. I wish I could tell you this is where it stopped. That after ignoring the scream and the whispers and whatever the hell happened with the lake,

I just rode at my time and left the park like a normal person. But that's not how it works here. It was the manual that tipped me off. One morning I woke up to find it sitting on my kitchen table. I swear I'd left it in the drawer, but there it was, right next to my untouched breakfast. I thought someone had just left it out. But then I saw the writing.

The rules had changed. The old ones were still there. Ignore the screaming, don't look at the lake. But new ones had appeared, scribbled in handwriting I didn't recognize. One read, The cabin lights must stay on after dark. Another. If you hear knocking from inside the walls, don't investigate.

But the one that made my stomach drop was at the bottom. bottom of the page. You are part of the cycle. You must stay. I stared at it for a long time, hoping I misread it or losing my mind. Part of me wanted to crumple the page, toss it in the trash and pretend I hadn't seen it. But I couldn't. Something about it felt final.

It wasn't instructions I could just ignore. That afternoon I went to find Ed. He was sitting on the porch of his cabin, sipping coffee like everything was fine, like none of this was happening. Ed, I said, holding up the manual. What the hell is this? He barely glanced at it. It's the rules. Don't give me that.

The rules are changing. Look! I flipped to the new entry, shoving it to watch. him. What does this mean? What the hell is the cycle? Why does it say I have to stay? Ed didn't say anything at first. He just stared at the horizon, his face unreadable. Finally, he sighed and put down his mug. I told you, follow the rules, Nick. That's all you had to do. What does that mean? My voice cracked, but I didn't care. You knew this was going to happen. Didn't you? You knew and you didn't say anything. His eyes met mine. And for the first time,

I saw cracks in his calm demeanour. He looked, tired, defeated. The rules aren't just there to keep you safe, he said quietly. They're part of the agreement. What agreement? With the forest, he said, his voice barely above. of a whisper. It takes what it wants. The rules are how we keep it at bay. But once you start breaking them, he trilled off, shaking his head. You can't undo it, Nick. It's already claimed you. That night, I didn't bother trying to sleep. I sat at the table, the manual, open in front of me. The words, you must stay, burned into my brain. The footsteps started around midnight.

At first they were faint, just a soft shuffle outside the cabin. Then they grew louder, circling the walls, passing by the windows. I kept my eyes on the manual, my foot shaking nervously, trying to focus, and came the knocking. It was slow at first, deliberate, like someone tapping their knuckles against the wood. it didn't come from the door. It was inside the walls. I tried to block it out, repeating the rules in my head like a prayer. But then I made the mistake of looking up. My reflection was in the window, staring back at me. Except it wasn't me. It looked like me, same face, same clothes, but his expression was wrong. It's my. It's my.

mouth curved into a grin I wasn't making. Its eyes darker than they should have been. It raised a hand pointing behind me. I turned around. Nothing was there, but the footsteps inside the cabin didn't stop. Ed came to my cabin the next morning. He didn't knock or ask permission to come in, just open the door, stepped inside and stood there like he belonged. You're taking the North Patrol today, he said. His voice was flat, like we hadn't had that whole conversation about the cycle, like I hadn't spent the entire night hearing footsteps inside my cabin. I didn't argue.

What would have been the point? If I refused, he'd just give me some cryptic warning, maybe shove the manual at me. I nodded and grabbed my gear. The manual stayed on the table. I didn't want it near me. The patrol route was one of the longer ones, winding past the lake and cutting through a part of the forest I'd avoided since I started the job.

It was a hard trail, but something about it felt heavy, like the air itself was thicker, harder to breathe. I passed the lake first. The surface was glassy, perfectly still, reflect in the sky like a giant mirror. I kept my head down, refusing to look too closely, but out of the corner of my eye,

I swear I saw something, someone just beneath the surface. Lisa, her pale face, her eyes wide, staring up at me. I don't know if it was real, or if my mind was playing tricks, but I hurried past, not daring. to stop. Further down the trail, I found a flashlight that belonged to Harris, another ranger, lying in the dirt. It was caked with mud, the lens cracked. I picked it up without thinking, then immediately dropped it. The metal was ice cold, like it had been sitting in a freezer,

not out in the open sun. That's when I started to notice the forest wasn't quiet anymore. There were faint whispers coming from the trees, layered and overlapping, like a hundred voices murmuring just out of earshot. I couldn't make out the words, but I didn't need to. I knew they were for me. By the time I reached the park boundary, my legs felt like lead. The air had a strange pull to it, like the forest itself was holding me back. I stopped at the edge of the tree line. staring out at the empty road beyond.

And an intrusive thought hit me. I could leave. Right then, right there. I could drop my gear, walk out of the forest and never look back. I'd lose the job, sure. But I'd keep my life, my real life, the one I'd had before all of this. But then I thought about the manual. The rules, Ed's warnings.

The forest takes what it wants, he'd said. What if leaving wasn't an escape? What if I took something with me, whatever this was, and it followed me home? Or worse, what if leaving threw everything off balance, broke the agreement, and drag someone else into this nightmare? I stood there for what felt like hours, staring at the road. My mind was screaming. at me to run. But my legs wouldn't move. The whispers grew louder, circling around me,

wrapping me in their invisible grip. And then, just like that, they stopped. The forest went silent, completely, utterly silent. I turned back, my heart pounding. The trees seemed taller, darker and the trail I'd come down look like it had never been there at all. I don't remember much about walking back to the cabin. It felt like the forest that swallowed me whole, and when I stepped through the door, I couldn't tell if I'd escaped or walked deeper into something far worse. The air inside was stale and cold.

My body ate like I'd run a marathon, but the exhaustion wasn't just physical. It was in my bones, my mind. I locked the door, bolted it twice, and sat down at the table. The manual was still there, waiting. I opened it slowly, flipping through the pages. The rules were the same. Or at least I thought they were.

I read each one carefully, over and over, like I was memorizing scripture. I understood now. The rules weren't suggestions. They weren't folklore. They were survival. As long as I followed them, I could stay. I wouldn't disappear like Lisa,

wouldn't dissolve into whispers like Harris. The virus might have claimed me, but it wouldn't take me all at once. I fell into a routine after that. Patrol during the day, lock the door at night. I didn't ask questions anymore. I didn't peek through the curtains when the footsteps started.

I didn't let myself think about leaving. Because I knew there wasn't anywhere to go. Sometimes I still heard the scream. It's always distant now, muffled, like it's coming from miles away. Maybe that's what happens. You fade into the forest slowly, until you're touch. Just another sound in the dark. I don't know how long it's been.

Time gets slippery out here. The days blurred together and the nights feel endless. I've stopped counting the seasons, stopped looking at the calendar. The forest doesn't care about dates. So why should I? But something new has changed things. Last week, I saw headlights through the trees. A new ranger pulling into the station.

I watched from a distance as Ed handed in the manual. The kid looks so young, so confident. I wanted to warn him, wanted to scream at him to leave now while he still could, but I didn't. Because the forest was watching. And the rules are clear. He has unknowingly became a player. in this game and I just pray.

He doesn't lose.