Lighthouse Horror Podcast - I Got A Job As A FIRE LOOKOUT. I Found A Staircase In The Woods | Scary Stories

Episode Date: August 22, 2023

Have you ever seen a staircase in the woods? Merch is now live at ⁠⁠lighthousehorror.com⁠⁠ Story from GTripp14 Make sure to check out more of their work at u/GTripp14           ��   Original Post: Something is wrong near Fire Tower No. 1 [Part 1] : r/nosleep                   Original YouTube link: I Got A Job As A FIRE LOOKOUT. I Found A Staircase In The Woods.  For more stories like this one, check out my YouTube channel: Lighthouse Horror | YouTube  Patreon: Lighthouse Horror | Patreon Sound Effects: Freesound Zapsplat  Music: Lucas King - YouTube Myuu - YouTube  Incompetech Thank you for listening to this scary story! If you enjoyed this new creepypasta story, please check out some of my other horror stories. We'll be uploading new scary stories, new true stories, and new creepypasta stories every day!

From the earliest age that I can remember, becoming a park ranger was my life goal. My father and I spent every weekend hiking, fishing, and camping in Arlo Bennett National Forest. Not everyone is as lucky as we were to have access to 560,000 acres of pristine woodland, streams, and hiking trails. But with it being only a 20-minute drive away, we practically live there from Friday to Sunday evening. While I could recount hundreds of stories of our exploits in the park, I think it would be best if I stick with the information pertinent to the dangers I want to warn you of. When I was about 10 years old, my father and I had just finished setting up camp for the night.

Our tent was placed, the latrine dug, and our campfire was burning warmly in front of us. After dinner, I walked to an area away from the campground, and then as I was heading back, I heard a soft whistling coming from the forest behind me. Looking over through the trees, I could see my father, pipe in mouth, sitting on the ground by our fire. Turning my head back to the direction of the whistling, I squinted my eyes and peered into the distance to try and identify the source of the whistling. It was likely a bird, I thought to myself, but there were hints of a subtle melody that

kept me from being certain. The fading light of the sun didn't provide me with much of a view. So I continued listening to the soft whistling. Having decided it warranted no further investigation, I resolved to return myself to the safety of my father's company and the much-desired illumination of our campfire. I turned around and began to shuffle through the undergrowth of the forest. When over my shoulder, I was certain I heard someone shout from a distance, It's this way. Come and see!

My fight, flight, or freeze response immediately chose the worst of all options as I stopped dead in my tracks. Turning around quickly, I looked in the distance and saw what I thought was the silhouette of a person waving far in the distance. They didn't call out again, but a single arm continued to wave above their head before they eventually dropped it and stepped backward, disappearing behind a monstrously large oak tree. Without another thought, I bolted the short distance back to our campsite, and in a panic told my father what I thought I'd seen and heard. He smiled and reassured me it was likely nothing more than another camper, but he would

investigate, shouldering the strap of his rifle and digging the flashlight out of his bag. We trekked into the woods in the direction I thought I'd seen the figure. My heart hammered against my chest as we slowly made gains in that direction. As we neared the mass of oak I'd seen from the latrine, my father began to sweep the ground with the beam of the flashlight, searching for signs of a disturbance. There was no sign of a recent activity. The dried leaves and fallen branches seemed to be completely undisturbed.

We continued maybe a quarter of a mile beyond the oak, and still found no sign of another camp or any human action. activity at all. My father ruffled his hair with his hand and assured me it was just my mind playing a trick on me. I really wanted to believe him, but something in my heart told me I had seen someone, or more unsettling yet, something. After getting back to our camp and settling beside the dwindling embers of our fire, my father did something he'd never done before. He began telling me a ghost story. In these woods he started. People for over a century had told each other tales of wanderers in the woods. Beautiful melodies

whistled through the trees. Strangers in the distance would wave and beckon travelers to come and see incredible things. Anyone foolish enough to follow them vanished, never to be seen again. Not understanding why he would tell me these things, I began to panic as my eyes searched the surrounding forest. Seeing my visible. discomfort, he smiled and told me that as a boy he thought he'd seen the same thing. My grandfather had told him the same story when he was my age, or perhaps a bit younger. Every time they would tread the same trails that he and I hike now, he always imagined hearing or seeing the wanderers in the woods. When he told my grandfather what he'd heard and seen, he took it as

an opportunity to teach him that the whistling sound was a known call of the of a local bird. He would also find shapes in the distance and show him how inanimate objects at a distance could produce the illusion of a man or woman watching them. I began to calm down a bit. We were deep within a massive national forest and the odds of encountering another person was slim at best. My youthful fears had gathered natural occurrences around me and organized them into an unnerving and unlikely scenario. I eased my posture substantially, and I smiled thankfully at my father. In all our trips together after that, I never had the same experience again. When I started working as a park ranger at Fire Tower One, the experiences became so

much worse than my younger self could have ever imagined. I had just finished college with a degree in wildlife conservation a couple years back, but it was a hard time and difficult to find a job. Being hundreds of miles from home and the not so proud owner of a rapidly dwindling bank account, I spent hours each day filling out job applications, sending out resumes, and cold calling every national park and forest I could find. Desperation was mounting daily until I'd finally resolved to pack up my belongings and move back to my hometown. My parents had passed away in a car accident during my sophomore year. I wouldn't be returning to a stable support system, but I was at least confident that

old friends and extended family may be able to help me find gainful employment and find steady footing in my post-college life. Moving day arrived, and I finished boxing up the last of my possessions and stacking them haphazardly into the back of a rented box truck. After managing to get my beater of a car into the car toadlly on the back of the truck, I could feel my phone buzz in my pocket. Slumping down onto the tailgate of the box truck, I fished it out and saw a red notification bubble on my mail application, and I clicked on it.

The feeling of joy I experienced can't be accurately described as I read the attached email. From Arlo Bennett National Forest Hiring Authority. Subject, your application has been chosen for Fire Tower One in Arlo Bennett National Forest. Congratulations and welcome to our team. We're excited to inform you that as a new park ranger for wildlife services, you will be stationed at Fire Tower 1. You are expected to arrive at Ranger Station 3 at or before 0800 hours EST. Uniforms, equipment, shelter, and necessities will be provided as this is a 24-7 live-in posting. If you require storage for personal items you do not wish to keep in your on-site residence, accommodations will be made upon arrival. Please bring a

valid driver's license, Social Security card, and a copy of this email to be presented upon arrival. We thank you for your time and look forward to meeting you. Welcome to the team. Dennis Garland, Superintendent, Arlo Bennett National Forest. I read the email over and over, no less than ten times. Only minutes ago I was getting ready to drive a box truck home, and now I couldn't wait to travel down the road to my new career and what I thought would be a bright future. Two days and one terrible roadside motel later, I pulled the box truck into a nearly empty parking lot in front of a log-sided building with a side.

Sign reading Ranger Station 3. Two well-aged jeep sat park side to side in front of the station, but marked clearly as Ranger Patrol vehicles. I could help but smile. Here I was right where I'd always wanted to be. With a mixed sense of pride and terror, I made my way into the Ranger Station and introduced myself to a man with salt and pepper hair, sitting at the desk in the entryway. I introduced myself and was greeted with a vice grip of a handshake.

and he identified himself as Superintendent Garland. He explained to me that while he was generally not stationed at this location, he made it a goal to personally meet every new hired ranger and walk them through the process. Over the course of the next few hours, we filled out a seemingly endless pile of paperwork, drank bad coffee out of chip mugs, and I listened intently as he explained my job duties at Fire Tower One. None of the duties sounded unusual in any way. I would work in a three-by-three grid with fire towers one to nine. For the first two weeks of the month, I would man the tower from 5 a.m. to 5 p.m.

A reserve staff member would report to the station to give me a day off to readjust my sleep schedule for the last half of the month. The following two weeks, I would work from 5 p.m. to 5 a.m. Each tower in the grid was staggered by shift to watch neighboring off-duty sectors around. them as well as their own. The primary concern was to watch for the inception of forest fires. Lightning strikes and unauthorized campfires were a constant concern in this area, so 24-hour surveillance was necessary. All fire tower rangers were provided with a two-bedroom one-bathroom cabin located at the base of the tower. The cabins were fully furnished, and basic supplies

were provided for your first week on the job. With the expectation you will provide your own groceries and other provisions thereafter. Routine maintenance of the cabin and tower was to be performed by the occupying ranger. Mr. Garland also informed me that I would work four weeks on duty with one full week of duty. Reserve staff would report to the cabin at each tower to relieve the primary attendant to allow them some rest. The second bedroom was to be reserved for them and we were to keep it free of personal items. One exemption to the rule was, in the event a camper or hiker was retrieved during a search and rescue operation. They would stay until they could be evacuated to the nearest town by medical staff. As we wrapped up, I was smiling

ear to ear. Dream job, check, rent-free living. Check. After a worrying season in my life, everything seemed to be going my way. I was already making a mental checklist of what personal items to keep in the cabin and what I would need to store in the provided shed. When Mr. Garland, Gawain's gruff voice unexpectedly pulled me out of my daydream. One more thing, he said, eyes locking with mine. Don't travel any farther than a half mile or so north of Tower One. Oh, yeah, sure thing. I replied.

No problem at all, but is there any particular reason? Mr. Garland stared at me in silence for a moment, and I could tell he was trying to sort out the answer. Dangerous woods that way, son. He finally replied, Bobcats and bears. Nasty business. I nodded politely, but it wasn't a terribly satisfying answer. My father and I had camped in this very forest for years and had always known predatory wildlife lived throughout the entirety of the reserve area. Unless the bobcats had learned to team up with the bears to hunt people down, it seemed unlikely to be any more dangerous than any other area. Regardless, I wasn't about to argue with my new employer.

He shook my hand and gave me a few pointers as he walked me to the door. I picked up a duffel bag they'd prepared for me. Heading out to the truck, I tried to reignite my excitement and evigoration for my new job, but the warning he'd given me still circled in my mind. Don't go north of the tower. At that moment, I fully intended to adhere to this direction, but that would change. My first week at the cabin and tower was a whirlwind of information. Thomas, the ranger currently occupying my new tower, was a reserve ranger who filled in

the off weeks of fire towers one to three. As he helped me unload my box truck and unhook my car, I picked his brain for every piece of advice I could think to ask for. He'd worked for a ranger service here for almost a decade. I was surprised to learn that he had originally been offered the permanent role in Fire Tower 1, a significant pay increase from reserve status, but had declined, stating that he loved traveling to the different towers and the change of scenery. He seemed like a very genuine and helpful man, but at the back of my mind, I couldn't help

but wonder if whatever could be found north of the tower drove him to decline the position. So, uh, you ever do any hiking or camping when you're off duty? I asked on our last day together as we sat in the lookout booth of the fire tower. Yeah, yeah, at least once a month or so. Thomas replied, I'd say I've probably hiked or explored everything within about five miles of the fire towers. This seemed like a good chance to ask Thomas about the area north of the tower.

Yeah, I've got a pretty good grasp of the territory to the east. south and west, but is there anything worth checking out north of the tower? I looked intently in his direction, but he never returned my gaze. Thomas stood up quickly, began to pack his hiking bag without making eye contact. He tossed the filled bag over his shoulder and made his way to the door and the narrow walkway, leading to the wraparound stairs. Once he made it out the door, he turned and looked at me with a determined face. North of the tower isn't safe, he said, and then turned and started down the stairs.

Bobcats and bears that way. Stay clear. A few minutes later I could hear the roar of an engine and the sound of gravel scattering beneath tires as his jeep made its way down the deserted road. I was surprised by his sudden departure and lack of formal farewell. It wasn't as if I wouldn't see him again, but for such a friendly guy, he was a very much It seemed like a rude exit. A bit of clarity from Thomas had been what I was anticipating, but now I was just left

with a lead weight in my stomach and a slight feeling of dread. The answer had been so quick, it almost seemed like he practiced it. Matched with a dash for the door, I was sure something worse than wildlife must be up there. That evening after my shift ended, I radioed the two towers in my grid, to verify they were safely on shift, after receiving an affirmative. message from both, I began to shut down all the tower equipment other than the radio and gather up my belongings. There was still a bit of daylight left, so I seized the opportunity to grab a few odds and ends from the storage shed to bring into the cabin. My personal quarters

were mostly organized, but there was still a barren bookshelf in the corner that was begging for some more tattered paperbacks. I dumped the old cardboard box on the floor by the bookshelf and squatted down under the hardwood floor. Sitting cross-legged, I over the over open the box and put some novels on the bookshelf. The bottom shelves were full, and I was just beginning to load up the top shelf. When I noticed something was sitting behind the bookshelf, I reached my hand into the corner, and I pulled out a worn leather book. There were no markings on the front or back of it. Thumbing it open to a page marked with an attached leather strip bookmark, I could see the winding loops of cursive handwriting. Not a book, so to speak, but a journal.

It must have belonged to the ranger who manned the station before me. I considered reading it, but decided against it. Tossing it on the top of the bookshelf, I made a mental note to give it to Mr. Garland the next time I saw him so he could return it to the rightful owner. After stowing away my books, I took the cardboard box outside and started walking down the gravel path to the storage building. There was a steel cage to place garbage in to try and keep larger wildlife from rifling through I reached down to my hip to retrieve my keys, setting the box down.

I slid the key into the lock and opened the gate to toss it in. But just as I reached down to retrieve the box, I heard something off in the distance. By now the light of day was a distant memory, and my eyes had not yet adjusted to the darkness. Years of living in the city had made me forget just how dark the forest could be. I'd still gone on the occasional hike or camping trip with classmates. but it usually been to a Peta-site campsite and passed lit with soft wattage bulbs. It hadn't occurred to me to switch on the light that extended to the storage shed. My visibility was aided only by the light bulb on the cabin's front porch,

which was being swallowed up by the darkness. And that's when I heard the whistling. It was soft and indistinct, but I could hear it. The crunching of leaves and snapping of twigs in the distance, accompanied by that tune, I was unable to move as I attempted to locate the direction it was coming from, but I couldn't. While the sound seemed to be coming from one point far off in the distance, I could also hear traces of it all around me. Before Thomas left, we'd gone over the camping permit logs for our grid, and there were none requested within ten miles of my post.

All of the most popular hiking trails were equally far away. So there was little to no reason for anyone to be traveling in this area at this time of night. The only trails around here were less traveled and given to more experienced hikers. Any hiker with a skill to travel these trails would also have the common sense to have set up camp for the night. As I stood there listening and squinting in the darkness, I couldn't help but feel like the 10-year-old boy from so many years ago, but this time I didn't have my father to comfort me. The night around the fire he was able to explain all of this, in a way that made me believe

my imagination had just run away with me. Standing here by myself, I didn't feel like that anymore. The whistling was becoming louder, where before it was disembodied in a distant sound, I could tell that the source was now moving in my direction. There was a haunting yet beautiful melody. I was able to hear it more clearly. I could also hear the more defined noise. of crunching leaves. It was almost hypnotizing. My eyes began to close and relaxation began

to settle into my bones, where icy fear had been only moments earlier. I felt like it may be a good idea to just walk towards the source of the beautiful melody. It's this way, I heard a soft voice say. Come and see. The feeling of relaxation drained out of me almost as quickly as it had begun. where the melodic whistling had lulled me into a stupor. The sudden call from the darkness sobered me to the situation. I stumbled backward toward the cabin and began to run towards the safety of the burning bulb. The sounds of my heavy footfalls as I ran ensured that any whistling or footsteps would

be impossible to hear. All the while, though, I could imagine someone, or something mere steps behind me. A clawed hand outstretched toward my back and still beckoning me to come and see what was in the darkness. Once I reached the front door, I pushed my way inside. Slam the door, engage the deadbolt, and slid onto the floor. My back against the door, I simply sat there, panning and trying to listen for any signs of activity outside. There was no whistling, no footsteps on the walkway or the porch, No knocking.

It was just the noise of my gulping breath and the thunder of my heart against my rip cage. After a few minutes, I was finally able to collect myself enough to put a plan together. If there was someone out there, maybe they were in danger. If they weren't, well, they shouldn't be wandering around in the middle of the night. I went to the control room in the cabin and threw on the breakers to the floodlights located around the perimeter. Before leaving the control room, I grabbed a floodlight and grabbed a hunting rifle off the rack. Uneasily and slowly, I disengaged the deadbolt to the front door and stepped outside. The forest was now a combination of artificial light and long shadows.

I made my way back down the gravel trail towards the storage building. The whistling had begun just beyond the storage shed. I began to sweep the tree line. Nothing. Not a single damn thing. For all the crunching leaves and breaking branches I thought I'd heard, there was no sign of anything. I continued sweeping the distance with the floor light.

When I heard the ping of an incoming call on the fire tower watch radio, the sound made me jump, and I was relieved to realize it was an incoming radio signal. Already out of breath from running from the storage building, the end of the end of the The ascent to the top of the tower was slow. I finally reached the lookout box and turned on the light. Tower 1, this is Tower 5, you copy? I punched the button on the radio mic. I read you, Tower 5.

Go for Tower 1. Status check. The voice said, I can see your floodlights over here at Tower 5, everything all right? I immediately felt embarrassed and I didn't want to explain this to my coworker who I hadn't even met yet. Yeah, yeah, everything's all clear. I just, Thomas explained to me how to use the flood system and I wanted to give it a hands-on

run. I'll cut them now. Everything's ten-four. Tower five radioed back that they understood and wished me luck. I thanked the Ranger and headed back down to the cabin to the control room to cut the flood system off. Reaching for the controls, I hesitated. As scared and tired as I was, I knew I had to take.

take one last look outside before I shut them off. Pulling the cord on the blinds, I opened them to look outside. And in the distance, at the edge of the floodlights, I thought I could see something roughly the size of a human walking into the darkness past the tree line. My heart began to hammer all over again. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and tried to snap a picture before it disappeared, but it was gone before I managed to. Before I returned my phone to my pocket, a curious thought occurred to me. Thumbing through my applications, I found the one I was looking for. A digital compass popped up on my screen, and the needle bounced side to side, as my hand shook. Once I was able to settle my nerves, the needle finally came to rest. It pointed north. To see,

say I was on edge for the next few days. Would have been an understatement. The remainder of the week was my last week on the day shift before I transitioned to my two-week rotation of evening watch. While I hadn't seen anything alarming since the night Thomas had departed, I had also taken special care to avoid the opportunity. No more nighttime travel to the storage shed, no taking the trash out in the evening. If I needed to complete any outdoor task, I made sure to do it during daylight. I'd mostly convinced myself that it was all in my imagination, but the thought still rolled around in the back of my head that maybe I saw and heard exactly what I thought I had. Immediately after my shift each day, I shut down all lookout equipment

except the radio and headed directly down to the cabin. My evenings consisted of a steady schedule of TV show, binging, dinner, a shower, and reading in bed. The small supply of books I'd brought didn't provide as much entertainment as I'd hoped. Most of them I'd read dozens of time already, and I quickly thumbed through the few that hadn't lost all their appeal. And then as I was reading, something caught my eye. The journal. Shuffling out of bed into the bookshelf, I scooped it up and returned to bed.

Initially, I told myself it was immoral to read someone's private journal, but the odd feeling this place gave me, and the lack of other engaging activities. made it easier than it should have been to justify reading just a few pages. Settling back in under the blankets, I flipped open the cover to the first page and ran my hand over the cursive writing. The beginning introduced me to its writer, Gary Vincent, and his arrival to this cabin. Entry 1 was dated roughly two years before I arrived, and it told the uneventful story of his early life, education, and accepted. of the ranger position at Fire Tower 1. Our stories were fairly similar in many respects, but Gary seemed to have skipped the period of frantic job searching in desperation before his employment

here, while not the most energetic or entertaining read I'd ever come across. There was something enjoyable about learning the personal thoughts of someone who I assumed was my predecessor. Thomas had trained him as well, and the two of them seemed to have developed a good friendship. The two of them camped and hiked the area together and enjoyed their shared time at the cabin when Thomas came to relieve Gary for his R&R days. I was beginning to nod in and out of alertness when I'd finished about a third of the journal, when an entry jolted me back to attention. It read, So there seems to be something strange going on around here.

I love everything about living and working here in the forest, but now and again I just get a feeling that something's watching me. Can't quite put my finger on it. It's the same feeling you get when someone stands behind you in a room but doesn't say anything. Just an electric charge sensation. Last night, I was hauling the kitchen trash out to the old dumpster dungeon when I heard someone whistling out in the woods. I always check the camping permits at the start and end of my shift, so if there was an emergency, I can get help out to him. The thing is, There are no permits out this far that we had on record today. I tried calling out to the person whistling, but they would just fall silent whenever I did.

A few minutes later, the little tune would pick back up. I'd try calling out again, but it was just the same. No more whistling for a minute. There was a time or two I thought someone was telling me to come and look at something, but I'm not sure. I headed into the control room, grabbed the flashlight and start to be. the area, but after a while a stumbling around in the woods I called it quits. Didn't see anyone or hear any more whistling. Haven't really been out here all that long, but maybe

the lack of daily interaction with people is just making my mind kind of funny. I don't know. I'm not too worried about it. If whistling is the worst thing I hear, well, I think I'm in pretty good shape. I read the passage over and over again. Almost the same. thing had happened to Gary. The only noticeable difference between the two events was my total panic compared to Gary's cool and collected approach to investigating the area. A second difference dawned on me. Gary hadn't seen anyone in the wood line. I wasn't positive that I saw a person, but I was certain I'd seen something. Too engaged with the

similarities of the journal, I knew I'd be up the rest of the night until I finished it. I got out of bed again, headed to the kitchen, and made myself a pot of coffee. I started reading again. There were no strange entries in the journal until about three months later. This is the entry. This place is starting to mess with my mind. I was outside last night doing my usual dumpster run when I started hearing that damn whistling again.

Honestly, I'd forgotten about the last time it happened until ten or so last night. I could hear the whistling louder this time, and something about it, it just made me happy. Just felt like I could wander in that direction and listen to it a little closer if I could find who was making that beautiful tune. It kind of made me sad, though. I'm not sure why. I clicked on the flashlight. I started walking north into the woods to see if I could find who it was.

I called out, and I asked if anyone was there. the whistling started again. This time someone shouted back, it's this way, come and see. I asked them what it was, but no one answered. When I started walking towards the sound of the voice, I could hear footsteps walking away from me, so I called out again for them to wait so I could talk to him. They just repeated the same thing, it's this way, come and see. By now, I figured there must be something to check out, so I kept walking after him. Maybe. Maybe someone was hurt. The sound of that whistling, it made the traveling a little bit easier.

I felt kind of happy, like something good was about to happen. The woods were starting to get thicker by now, and I wasn't gaining on them. They always seemed to stay just ahead of me. Occasionally, I would catch a glimpse of someone in my flashlight beam, and I'd call out, but still the same old thing, it's this way, come and see. Eventually, I came to a cluster of oak trees that were so tightly packed together, it looked like one monstrous tree. When I got to it, the whistling stopped for a little while, and suddenly I felt sad and

alone. My eyes teared up, and I wasn't sure why. And then that tune came back. It sounded like it was up in the top of the trees. I tried shouting for them again a few times, but no one answered it for. First. After a few minutes of trying to get their attention, I finally heard someone reply, It's up here, come see.

Up where? I asked the voice. In the trees, they said. Use the stairs. The voice called back. I ran the flashlight around the base of the trees, and in the center of them, I could see what looked like a step, inching closer and leaning between them. between two of the oaks, I could see a damn spiral staircase running up the center of the trees

and into the foliage. For a moment, it felt like the right thing to do. Just grab onto the banister and climb my way to the top. My foot was just settling under the bottom step, when a sudden beeping and vibrations startled me back to my senses. My smart watch was beeping loudly. And when I looked down at my heart rate, it was nearly 150. I saw the time, too. It had only been 10 o'clock when I headed out, but it was almost 11.30 now. Seemed like I'd only been in the woods for maybe 15 minutes, but it had been an hour and a half. I panicked, and I ran back to the cabin. As I made my way back, there was the remnant of an old hiking trail that took me within a stone's throw of the cabin. Took me almost. It took me almost.

almost two hours to get back. My body aches, and I feel like I have the flu. I'm not sure what the hell was out there, but I'm going to have to call this in. My heart raced as I continued to read the journal. On the next few pages, Gary recounted how he'd called in the staircase to Superintendent Garland the next day, and that a team of Rangers had met him at the cabin. They traveled back to the location where Gary had seen the stairs, but nothing to the same. Nothing was there. Gary begged them to come back at night because that's when it would be visible. The other rangers agreed to this to help calm Gary's concerns, but when they arrived

there later that evening, there was still no staircase. The journal entries from this point on became almost incoherent. Gary was fixated on how the stairs had disappeared and why nobody else could find them. He admitted to traveling back multiple times, but never seeing them again. The absence of the whistling also seemed to bother him rather than soothe his concerns. He wrote endlessly about how he missed the beautiful melody, and that it maddened him that he couldn't remember all the notes. And then there was no entry for a long period.

When Gary wrote what would be his final entry in the journal, he seemed to be a man who had lost his grip on reality. It read, The music didn't return to me. The gentle melody haunted my mind, even though I couldn't quite remember how it sounded. So I traveled back again, down the forgotten path. I traveled north, traveled to those unusual trees. And there it was. The stairs were there. Thank God they were There. No one was whistling and no voice invited me up, but I knew I needed to go. I belonged there. With them. With him. He was waiting for me. The banister felt so good under my hand as I made my way up. Into my new home. Everyone's

in unison there. The many are one. I just came back. here to say goodbye to someone. Was there someone here I knew? I guess I'll just say goodbye to you, journal, because I'm going back, and this time I will stay. Maybe I can help others find that way. So many souls can be one if they can let themselves go. To anyone who reads these words, I tell you it's all true. And it's this way. Come and see. The journal ended.

Nothing but blank pages followed this final entry. I was shaking as I closed the leather cover and stared into my empty coffee cup. The sun was coming up now. I clutched the journal in my hand, as though it were some sort of talisman. I didn't exactly know what to do, but for now. I had to get to my post. Months passed, since I'd discovered the journal, and with time came the spring. Every once in a while, I'd hear the whistling in the woods on evenings when I didn't have to work in the tower.

I think it was too hard to hear from up there, but I always assumed it was there. In the evenings after my shift, I'd taken to wearing earplugs. It seemed to keep me from feeling that unreasonable sensation to follow the same. sound. I'd shared the journal with the others. Mr. Garland explained that Gary Vinson had been a stellar employee for the department for about two years, but confided in me that he had a history of mental illness. While they explained his complicated situation, Thomas handed me a photo of Gary. He was a few years older than me, with bright red hair and a huge smile. They told me that Gary suffered from schizophrenia and that it was controlled with his medications.

Once Gary went missing, Thomas said he discovered that Gary hadn't been taking his pills. He'd taken to traveling into the northern forest more frequently in the last few months he remained at his post. Thomas Garland and a host of other rangers had traveled to the location of the stairs with Gary, but there was never anything there. Each unsuccessful search seemed to cause him to become a little more distant with them, until eventually they all quit talking unless it had to do with work. The two of them implored Gary to seek help, but he never did.

And then he just vanished. The subsequent search for him only turned up his tattered uniform jacket and his wallet. For my part, I continued doing my job. I like the night shift the best because there was no whistling, staring out into the darkness for hours, looking for potential fires with some. soothing. My phone ran a constant stream of music to keep me company. When I worked the day shift, I'd bring Gary's journal with me, and I'd study it, as though perhaps I'd discover some secret to his madness, but I never did. It just seemed to provide a kind of madness of my own. I became

obsessed with finding out what happened to him. I can't honestly tell you why I decided to do what I did next, but the mystery had become more than I could take. Thomas arrived to start my week of R&R, and I told him I planned to do some camping, and he'd have the cabin to himself for a few days. The day earlier, I'd already loaded the ATV and the storage shed with camping gear and extra gas. I was going to find the staircase, and as soon as Thomas started to shift, I fired up the ATV and headed on the trail to the east of the tower, so he'd be less likely to surmise my plans. I drove the ATV in a wide arc around the Tower One sector until I was about a quarter mile due north of the tower. It took me a while, but eventually I found the rutted trail

that Gary had written about in his journal. The trip was uneventful. But with the use of the ATV, I finally reached the trees he'd mentioned. I slid off the ATV and approached the cluster of trees with caution. They formed a circle with a three-foot gap facing towards the south. The canopy shadowed the inside, which made it hard to see. With a lump in my throat, I pulled the floodlight off the ATV, and I looked into the circle of trees. Nothing. My pulse relaxed, and my body tension eased. The staircase wasn't here. I felt a mixture of joy. and sadness. Gary had seemed so sure of what he'd seen, and now I felt sure he'd been suffering from some sort of mental illness. Walking inside the circle of trees, I couldn't find

anything out of the ordinary. Feeling content that the staircase was a fantasy, I decided to make the most of my days off and follow through with a camping trip. The day was warmer than the seasonal average, so I chose to forego the tent and camp under the stars. I set up a nice fire Even with the unusually warm day, I still gathered firewood, just in case it got colder that night. After a quick meal and a few chapters in one of my paperbacks, I decided it was time to turn in. I settled into my sleeping bag and enjoyed the heat from the fire. Sleep came quickly, due to the exhaustion from my recent sleepless nights, and the revelation that Gary's staircase to nowhere had never been real.

Some time during the night, I awoke to a familiar sound. The melody I'd avoided for so many months now was filling my ears, and it was coming from directly behind me. I rolled over and looked into the trees and standing between the oaks was Gary. I recognized his wide smile and fire red hair from the photo. This hair was sprouting in crazy directions and his tattered rangers uniform hung off his emaciated frame, but it was Gary. Gary just continued to smile. As he stepped backward into the darkness, I could hear what I swore were the thuds of hiking

boots on wooden boards. It's up here. Come see, Gary said. I turned on the floodlight and aimed it into the trees. expecting to see him hunkered inside. But to my shock, the beam of the light gleamed off a polished mahogany banister. There was a beautifully crafted circular staircase in the center of the trees. Lifting my light, I caught the bottom of Gary's boot as he ascended the trees, shouting his name. I sprinted inside. I wanted to help him. I could only hear the thud

of his footfalls as he continued up the stairs. My pulse was racing and I clung tightly to the banister. Leaves and branches traced the side of my face as we both climbed higher into the trees. The beam of my floodlight bounced and weaved between smooth mahogany wood and dense foliage. As fast as I climbed those stairs, I could hear Gary getting farther and farther ahead of me. My pace was beginning to slow, but I still clung to the banister and used it to pull myself up as I tried my best to reach this man racing ahead of me. The smoothness of the banister began to change under my hand as I climbed higher. What had been an unblemished surface had started to feel bumpy and rigid on my palm. I was starting to breathe heavily,

and I knew I'd have to stop soon to catch my breath. I pointed my light down. down towards the stairs. But they looked different now. Where they'd been a rich brown at the bottom, they now appeared the color of half-burnt charcoal. I traced the light up higher to get a better view of my surroundings and discovered why the banister felt so different. The smooth wood had changed into what I can only describe as an unending spinal cord. The bones curled upwards by the charcoal-colored steps. The foliage around me, which had been budding and green when I started my ascent, was now the sickly purple of a healing black eye with throbbing veins running through it. Black dew dotted the tops of the leaves, and I noticed that anywhere this dew made contact with

my clothes, they were now developing small holes and the smell of decay. The branches of the trees made sudden pattern changes from obsidian to ashen white. Terrified, I turned to go back down the stairs. When I saw the section of steps below me crumble and fall away into nothingness, there was no way I'd climbed more than the equivalent of six flights of stairs, but I watched as chunks of burnt stairs and spinal cord banister drifted off in a hellish-purple chasm. As I tried to gain my composure and figure out what to do, I could feel the step below me beginning to crack and sink. Without another thought, I began to run up the stairs as quickly as I could, but all the while I could hear the steps behind me crumble.

There would be no more breaks to catch my breath. I couldn't even afford a glance backwards. The air seemed to get thinner, and it had the tang of rotting meat. I could feel my legs buckling and struggling to keep up with the stairs. and I knew I'd soon fall back into that hellscape below. Just as I felt the last of my strength give way, my hand reached for another section of the spinal cord banister and found nothing. I fell forward, and I hit level ground. My floodlight was flickering, but I could see the ground was made of something gray and wriving.

It was damp to the touch, and I could feel it pulsed beneath my ground. my palms. I jumped up in panic to get my hands off, and then my eyes met the horizon. The sky was a flowing purple and filled with thick fog. There was no variation to this gray terrain I was standing on. Endless planes in all directions were all I could see. Dotted over the entire landscape were what I thought were leafless trees. As my eyes focused on the unearthly light. I could see that they were instead people with their arms raised, reaching toward the sky. I could see some of their feet were held in place by skeletal hands emerging from the ground, while others seemed to be growing into a gray mass like a plant. Their eyes glowed softly,

with the same purple light as the sky. A few yards in front of me stood Gary, the same purple glow flow flowed from his eyes, but he stood with his arms to his side. He motioned with both hands to a spot just beside him, and he smiled at me. On the ground where he pointed were two writhing skeletal hands, and I knew he wanted me to take my place there and become a part of this twisted place. Only I was starting to feel like perhaps it wasn't as twisted as it first seemed. The The melody I'd heard so many times in the woods echoed everywhere now. The forest of skyward-reaching people produced an overpowering wave of sound as they all whistled that same beautiful melody.

Slowly, I started moving toward Gary and thought that maybe this all made sense. Everyone here was happy after all. The purple of this world was beginning to look beautiful to me. I was about halfway to Gary when I halted for a moment and looked over my shoulder. There was an opening on the ground where the stairs had been. My head darted from side to side and I could see more of these openings. There must be hundreds of these staircases leading up to this world, I realized. Looking back at Gary, I could see that same smile as before.

but there was a nervousness to it. It was almost like he was pleading with me to step beside him and accept those skeletal hands as they wrapped around my ankles. When I noticed the tears running down his face and the ever so subtle shaking of his head, I realized he was trying to tell me no. Before I could ask him what was going on, I was startled by the deafening sound of a foghorn.

The ground beneath me shook, and the beautiful melody suddenly turned into a blood-curdling shriek. Their hands dropped from the sky and covered their ears, and I did the same. A second boom of the foghorn came, and they lifted their heads and opened their mouths. Thin streams of blue and yellow smoke drifted out of them and into the distance. The smoke merged, and as I looked through the fog, I could for the first time see the outline of the thing. There was a colossal silhouette in the fog. It towered above the field, higher than anything I'd ever seen. It seemed to sprout out of the ground.

I could see its long, bony arms and claws scooping up people. It had two curling horns protruding from its open. oval-shaped head. A cavernous mouth full of slender, sharp teeth opened. It shoved handfuls of screaming people into its mouth, and it seemed at the same time to breathe in the blue and yellow smoke. The appearance of this Eldridge horror was more than I could bear. I pushed myself back toward the hole, and I looked back towards Gary. He was still crying, but he was nodding in agreement now as I closer. I could see now that he was held in place by those same writhing skeletal hands. I broke my gaze with Gary, and I looked into the sky at the impossibly large abomination

towering over the forest, and I saw its massive hand reaching through the fog towards me. Without another thought, I pushed myself back into the hole, and I closed my eyes. At this point, floating in an endless void was better than allowing that ageless horror to consume me or add me to its garden of souls. The sensation of falling was terrifying, and my stomach began to ball up tightly. I could feel myself moving faster and faster as the sickening purple void swirled around me. I closed my eyes and prayed that I would just die. And that's when I felt a sharp pain in my back as something scraped against me.

I opened my eyes, but it was almost completely dark now. My descent began to slow, and I could feel things brushing against my face. My eyes began to focus on a growing light, and I could see that I was slamming into tree branches. Extending my arms, I was able to briefly grasp onto them and slow my fall. what felt like hours of falling, I eventually landed with a thud out of the ground, and everything went black. When I came to and opened my eyes, I was in front of an abnormal circle of trees lying in the dirt. I could see the smooth mahogany stairs only feet in front of me. My entire body ached as I pushed myself up and staggered to the ATV to retrieve the gas can. Fuel spilled

out of the upturned can as I dumped the contents at the foot of those hellish stairs. I pulled a book of matches from my pocket, and I flicked it into the trees. A rush of warmth hit me as the fire engulfed the stairs. I must have blacked out then, because the next thing I knew I woke up in a hospital. Thomas was asleep in an armchair beside me. My left arm and left leg were in a cast. Reaching up to scratch my head, I could feel missing patches of hair. My entire body seemed to be covered in bruises and cuts. Thomas told me they'd found me, after he spotted rising smoke from the lookout and fire

tower one. When the rangers and forestry services arrived, they found me at the foot of the blazing trees. I'd been in the hospital now for three days and had been in and out of consciousness. He asked me repeatedly what had happened. But for now I just lied to him and told him I wasn't sure. Mr. Garland stopped by as well. And I just told him I'd gone camping and woke up in the hospital. I wasn't fired from my job, but I never returned.

The ranger service investigated the fire. And while they were able to ascertain that it had been intentionally set, I wasn't suspected due to my battered state when they discovered me. The last time I spoke with Thomas, He told me he'd accepted the full-time position at Fire Tower One, and I wished him luck. As for me, I've taken a traveling position with the forestry service. I travel the country now, performing studies of the forest under our care. It's been nice to see the country, and I still spend every available moment I have hiking and camping.

My motivation is a bit different now. Every time I travel to a new town, I always ask the people there if there are any local legends about a whistling in the woods. And I'm always looking for staircases in places they shouldn't be. I'll never forget what I saw in that purple hellscape. What haunts me the most is remembering those hundreds of holes that I knew must lead to hundreds of different staircases. I always listen now for whistling in the woods, and I always carry an extra can of gas.