Snook - Horrifying Search and Rescue Reddit Stories

Episode Date: August 28, 2026

These were some Horrifying Search and Rescue Reddit Stories! These stories were some of the most unsettling stories I have ever read! What was your favorite story? And would you like to see me make similar videos in the future? Leave your thoughts down below in the comment section, and make sure to like and subscribe! Credits!DarkNightTales - https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/xoyqld/im_a_fire_watch_lookout_and_i_think_ive_made_a/?share_id=y_R7UwAHLQVqWVhg73iRA&utm_content=2&utm_medium=android_app&utm_name=androidcss&utm_source=share&utm_term=1Also please check out DarkNightTales YouTube channel! Go give him some support! https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC_JIsvWfQr41ant2OGjmJkg EmmaWatsonButDumber - https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1fif2th/my_father_is_a_park_ranger_he_took_me_with_him_on/Also make sure to check out EmmaWatsonButDumber's YouTube channel! Go give her some support! https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCODd9_2mLJYmZxBcc2ktcqQSunHeadPrime - https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/nydg3y/i_was_a_park_ranger_in_a_fire_watch_tower_but_i/ letssplitup - https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/18d8w6b/i_took_a_wildlife_tracking_class_if_you_ever_see/ I was granted permission to use all of these stories. Make sure to check out all of the original authors. Timestamps!0:00 | Intro1:49 | I'm a fire watch lookout and I think I've made a terrible mistake.1:37:54 | My father is a park ranger. He took me with him on the night shift. I should have listened to his rules. (Go check out EmmaWatsonButDumber's YouTube Channel! https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCODd9_2mLJYmZxBcc2ktcqQ)2:26:57 | I was a Park Ranger in a fire watch tower but I was the one being watched2:59:54 | Outro Make sure to subscribe to the Patreon for early access videos and many more perks! https://www.patreon.com/SnookYT⁠ Also! Go follow me on Spotify and Instagram! Yes, my voice is human. The channels subscriber goal is 1 million, so subscribe! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Hey, what's up guys and welcome back to the channel. And today we're getting into some horrifying search and rescue Reddit stories. And oh boy, do I have some insane, scary, terrifying, and like the title says, horrifying stories for you guys today. And these are genuinely some of the best scary stories I have ever read hands down. And I know I say that a lot, but I genuinely mean it. The first story in today's video, actually all of the stories are just insane and like legitimately the best stories I have ever read. They had me on the edge of my seat the entire time. So make sure you stick around. And I appreciate you guys stopping by means the world. And make sure you like the video

and subscribe to the channel. The channel subscriber goals. One million subscribers before the end of the year. So please subscribe. I would love for you to join the community. And yeah, I love the forest range. and search and rescue and forest stories so so much i mean i even have the flannel on today to kind of match that vibe so i'm super excited to get into these and so if you'd like to see more of these in the future please comment down below and let me know if you'd like to see more i love reading these types of stories they're just my favorite and so hopefully you guys enjoy them as well but um yeah make sure you follow me on instagram and follow me over on spotify as well and rate me stars and if you'd like to get early access to every single video I release go head over to my

patreon I would love to see you over there but anyways that's enough yapping I'm super excited to get into this first story and yeah without further ado sit back relax grab a drink and grab a snack and get cozy because today we're getting into some horrifying search and rescue Reddit stories I'm a fire watch lookout and I think I've made a terrible mistake so I've been been a firewatch lookout for about a year now. I spend most of my life alone in a small window lined one-room shack atop a steel and wood frame tower in the middle of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. My only companions are my collection of cheap novels, a laptop computer with infrequent and unreliable internet service, and the two-way radio I use to communicate with

the few other nearby towers and ranger stations. Nearby is a bit of a misnomer, though. Using my high-power binoculars, I can just barely make out Tower 12 on a clear day, situated several miles to my west. Tower 15, the next nearest to my location, only appears as a glint of sunlight to my east, when the sun catches it just right. I've been told the Parks Department intends to put up some additional towers in this area, as soon as it gets the necessary funding, which is probably no time soon.

That's fine with me, though. I like the solitude. It helps quiet my mind, keeps the memories at bay, mostly. I occupy most of my days, either with simple maintenance in and around the tower, or else scanning the dense sea of trees all around me for any signs of trouble. It's been a dry year, So the threat to fire is a constant one. This particular afternoon, I was clearing some brush around one of the base of the tower that had begun to encroach on the fire road that led from my tower back to the main ranger station, 20 miles away. Even with the heavy suspension of the government-issued Jeep parked nearby, that was a harsh ride in the best of times. I had just finished dragging some brush cuttings off into the tree line

when the radio clipped on my belt squawked. Tower 9. This is Tower 9. Have copy? It was Billy Johnson, my supervisor. Nice enough guy, I suppose. Tended to leave me alone most of the time. I straightened up and stretched my back, wiping the sweat out of my eyes with my forearm and keyed the microphone attached to my shoulder.

Go for Tower 9. I replied as I replaced the shears and bow saw it to the small storage shed near the base of the stairs. John, de-oves on a bit of smoke north of your position? Stand by, Billy, I said. Snatching up my water bottle and jogging up the metal staircase that wound its way around my tower. I didn't bother locking the eight-foot chain-link fence that surrounded my little compound. Chances were that I'd be back down there soon enough. reaching the top I stepped through the trap door and onto the walkway that surround of the cabin,

closing it behind me. It was habit at this point. The last thing I needed was to take an errant step and tumble down through the open trap door. It probably end up paralyzing me. As I passed by, I reached into the open door of the shack and grabbed the monoculars hanging on a nearby hook, rounding the railed corner of the walkway and turning my attention to the dark green blanket of trees stretching out before me. I saw the smoke almost immediately.

A thin trickle of wispy white haze rose lazily above the canopy some distance off. Probably just some campers, I figured. Though there weren't any approved campsites in the area. We always had more than a few folks every season who decided that camping off trail in the deep bush sounded like a hoot. Most of the time, they come back just fine. oblivious to the danger that this wilderness presents to anyone not adequately prepared for its risks. Some of them have to be brought out by search and rescue. Some of them just don't come back.

A member of the Rangers, or maybe even a random hiker, will occasionally trip across the deserted remains of a campsite and report it in. Those are the spooky ones, the ones where the people have just vanished, and left behind a perfectly set-up campsite. No explanation, no clues, just a deserted clearing, often with perfectly intact tents and personal effects. But there are bears and mountain lions along with a handful of lesser predators that roam these forests, and sometimes they get angry enough to stock and even kill humans. And that doesn't even take into consideration the much more likely probability that folks step out of their tents at night to take a piss in the woods. woods and very quickly get lost and can't find their way back to camp.

Most humans aren't suited to survival in the wilderness, unfortunately. My radio squawked again. Tower nine, what's the word? Yeah, I see it, Billy, I said. Looks to be a couple miles due north of my tower. What's your plan? He asked, and I knew what he was asking. Keep an eye on it and hope for the best, or take a trip over and investigate.

After a brief moments pause, I sighed with resignation. It's probably just a campfire, but I guess I'd better head on over and take a look, just to be sure. I didn't relish the thought of a trek into that area of wilderness, to be honest. It was the only area I hadn't explored during my time here. There weren't many trails headed in that direction, and the ones that did were badly overgrown and too narrow for the Jeep. A couple miles hike might not seem like a lot, but when you're out here, alone, the dense trees seem to stretch on forever. Two miles can seem like a hundred. Roger that, John, Billy replied.

Take your pack and your rifle and check in periodically. We'll do, Tower 9 out, I said, replacing the binoculars to their hook and shouldering the red canvas backpack waiting dutifully in the corner chair. I grabbed the rifle from its rack over the doorframe, checked to make sure it was loaded, and headed out. As I locked the gate behind me, I threw my pack into the back of the Jeep and set the rifle beside it. The Jeep wouldn't get me too far before the brush made the trail impassable, but if it saved me even a half mile of hiking, it was well worth it. The sun was still high in the sky. I had plenty of time to get there and back before dusk as long as I didn't dolly. I started the engine and put the Jeep into gear, turning the wheels towards the unmaintained

trail to my right. After only a few moments, the trees and canopy obscured any trace of the watch tower behind me. I was actually able to push the Jeep farther than I had expected. A pleasant surprise. I was probably a mile along the trail before it chit the bed and a massive pine lay across the path, much too large to go over. The death. The death is definitely a dense. Since underbrush around me precluded the possibility of going around, and I immediately lamented not bringing the chainsaw with me. Cutting it up and winching the pieces out of the way would have been too difficult and would have saved me a ton of trouble. With a quiet curse, I stepped out of the Jeep and grabbed my gear from the back seat.

I smiled to myself as a quote from a certain fictional adventure-seeking archaeologist suddenly came to mind. We walked from here. making sure to mark the location of the Jeep on my handheld GPS so I could find it again, I stepped over the thigh-high tree trunk and continued along the path. According to the estimate I had made before leaving, the trail I was walking seemed to head in the direction of the smoke, which was a blessing in my book.

The last time I had to spend up bushwhacking, the better. The trail continued to narrow as I expected, and before too long I was brushing branches and leave, with my shoulders as I walked. The trees which had been alive with the chitterings and chirpings of animal life back of the tower now seemed muted. The forest around me was growing denser, feeling oddly claustrophobic at times. I checked in with Billy a couple of times, advising him of my progress and promising to

maintain periodic checks. He advised me that a weather relay had come in from the ranger station indicating an approaching storm that would likely reach us before. nightfall. A quick check of my watch made me wince. I had already spent more time than I had predicted it would take to reach the suspected campsite. Maybe it was best to turn around and head back. The last thing I wanted was to get caught out here overnight with minimal supplies and in a rainstorm. I wasn't worried, but it sure wouldn't make for a comfortable night. If I had been farther from my destination, I probably would have turned to you. I'd have turned

back right then. I wish I had. Within another 20 minutes, however, I smelled the faint scent of a wood fire. Not strong, but it was there. I was even more certain of what I would find when I reached them. When I stepped out of the now-almost-existent trail and found myself in a sparsely-treeed area amidst a dozen or so wooden shacks, I halted in surprise. I had reached the base. I had reached the base, of a hilly rise, covered in heavy forestry, and these old, forgotten cabins looked like they had been

some sort of small settlement. Perhaps an old logging camp, I thought to myself. I didn't know this place even existed and made a mental note to research it when I got back to the tower. I keyed the microphone. Tower 12, this is John, do you copy?

When Billy replied, his voice was staticky and distant, Hey John, Tower 12. What's your status? I frowned and looked around at the towering trees all around me. I suppose I was asking more out of the portable radio than was reasonable. I was lucky I still had any signal at all, to be honest. I found what looks to be an old logging or trapping camp, I said, meandering among the decaying and derelict cabins.

Most of them had decayed to the point of collapse. and there weren't any with intact roofs. The campfire has to be nearby. I'm going to take a look around a bit more. There was an odd pause before Billy spoke again. What's your current location, John? I glanced on my handheld GPS and relayed my position to him. Another pause.

John, I think you should probably just turn around and come back. You don't have too many more hours of daylight left and that storm looks to be getting worse. Something in his voice sounded off, but I couldn't quite place it. Nervous, maybe? I don't think I can blame him, though. My safety was his responsibility, and the prospect of one of his lookouts being caught out in the storm overnight, probably didn't sit well with him. Coincidentally, it didn't sit well with me either, I thought with a smile.

You may be right, Billy, I replied. turning around and letting my eyes take in the entirety of the area. I think I'll just head. I stopped as my eyes caught sight of the bright yellow nylon tent just beyond the last of the structures. Repeat your last, said Billy. I didn't get that. Stand by Tower 12.

I said absently. Making my way to what I now realize was a small cluster of three modern tents situated around a central fire ring. The fire had been extinguished, but the embers still smoldered lowly. The source of the smoke. I looked around for the campers but didn't see or hear anyone. Sleeping bags and electric lanterns were still in the tents,

though I couldn't find any backpacks or supplies. Hello? I called out. Turning in a circle and tried to pick out any signs or sounds of human life. I'm with the Forest Service. Is anyone there? Nothing but the muted echo of my own voice. I was about to just dump some dirt

on the remaining embers at the campfire and called a day when I noticed the narrow footpath heading towards the slope. I could see clearly the recent footprints in the soft dirt heading away from the camp. I keyed the microphone at my shoulder again.

Tower 12, this is John. I found the source of the smoke. It's a campfire all right. Nothing to be concerned about. Billy answered almost immediately. Roger that, John. Head back home. I paused a moment.

Curiosity pulling me towards the footpath. I'll be heading back shortly, Billy. I just want to check something out first. I wouldn't screw around out there, John. Billy replied, an edge to his voice. Better head back now so you can beat the storm. His last sentence didn't exactly sound like a suggestion. Something had him rattled.

I hesitated before I answered. Acknowledged, I said, knowing full well that I was going to check out the path a bit before heading back. Still, I didn't feel like arguing with my supervisor about something so silly. Just a quick walk up that path and then I'd be on my way. This path was even less established than the one I'd been on when I discovered the camp, but I could clearly see the prints of the campers in the soft dirt as well. Before long, I emerged into a small clearing, eyes widening with yet another unexpected discovery. The rough hewn timber that framed the entryway was set into the near vertical slope of the hill face before me.

It created a dark tunnel entrance that had been sealed off with a heavy iron gate many years before, likely by the park service to keep inquisitive hikers from falling to their deaths in an old abandoned mine shaft. So it had been a mining camp, not a logging camp. Huh, I didn't know there were any mines anywhere near here. Hell, I'm not sure what they would have been mining for. Coal, maybe? Gold? Did they even have gold mines in Tennessee? Who knows? Clearly not me anyways. Regardless, now that gate stood wide open on its hinges. The remains of a rusted chain and antique padlock

laying in the dirt nearby. Hell, now I couldn't just turn around and leave. Not if these dumbass campers had decided it would be fun to explore a closed and restricted mine entrance. Tower 12, this is John. Dee. Billy probably wouldn't be happy that I had continued my exploration after he told me to head back, but there was nothing to do about it now. I wasn't equipped or trained for any sort of cave exploration or rescue. The Rangers had very specialized teams for that sort of thing, but I could at least poke my head inside and see if I could hear the campers or at least confirm that they actually went inside. No answer from the radio. I tried again with the

same results. Nothing. I tried a different approach. Tower 15, this is John from Tower 12, do you copy? I said into the radio. I figured I might be able to at least get Nathan's attention if I was out of

range of Tower 12. There was a burst of static that sounded like it might have contained the hint of a human voice, but it was too distorted and distant to make anything out. There was only a moment of indecision before I made up my mind. I knew it was reckless to go into the mine, especially when my supervisor was under the belief that I was currently on my way back to my tower, but I just had

this nagging intuition that something might be wrong with this whole situation. Maybe someone was hurt and in need of help. I couldn't just leave them there, knowing that I might be their only chance of rescue. In retrospect, I should have turned back and called it into the Ranger Station. They could have mobilized the search and rescue teams that specialized in cave rescues. I should have, but I didn't. I pulled my powerful LED flashlight from my pack, turned it on, and headed into the pitch-black darkness of the mine entrance. The walls and floor had been smoothly carved many years ago, which made my footing uneventful. and the tunnel itself was mostly a straight shot. Several times during the first few minutes

I turned back to watch the bright square of daylight at the entrance gradually shrink to a pinpoint of light. By the time I had taken the first dog-leg turn of the tunnel, I was in complete darkness. It was a very strange feeling. Oppressive almost. At one point I turned off my flashlight experimentally, but after only a few seconds I quickly flicked it back on. In that time, my heart had been pounding in my chest and some primal fear had begun growing inside of me. I took a moment to calm myself. The darkness was absolute.

It was almost as if you could feel it pressing in on you. My footsteps seemed much louder than they should have on the dirt floor, and the air was beginning to grow cold and damp the feet. farther I went. After another hundred feet or so, the smoothly caved tunnel ended abruptly in a wall of rubble. I couldn't tell if it was a cave-in at some point or if it was simply where the miners stopped digging and hadn't bothered to remove the debris. But either way, it certainly appeared to be the end of the line. And then I saw it. I almost missed it because of the way the light and shadows played over the head-sized rocks strewn before me. But when I looked

closer, I realized I was looking at a ragged hole in the wall. It was only five feet across or so, and definitely didn't look like the deliberate formation of the tunnel I was standing in now. It almost looked like the miners had broken into a natural void of some sort. Interesting, but there was no way in hell I was going in there. I was definitely. I was down. I was down. I was definitely not trained or outfitted for any sort of spulunking trip, and it didn't seem the sort of thing suited to the learn-as-you-go method. Just as I was turning back to make my way out of the mine, I heard the distant sound of voices echoing from the opening in the stone wall.

The sound was faint, and may have just been my imagination, but I didn't think so. Hello? I called, pressing my face into the black abyss of the hole. Can you hear me? I'm with the park service. I'm here to help you. Nothing. The air from beyond the breach was cold and smelled stale. Old.

Wrong. I felt as if I didn't belong here. None of us did. There was a moment of unbroken silence, and then I heard a voice again. Closer this time. Did you hear that? It said. presumably to a companion it sounded like a young woman nervous uncertain hello is someone in there that settled it for me i carefully crawled through the opening and into the space beyond shining my light around i found myself in a small natural chamber maybe thirty feet across and with an uneven ceiling of jagged rock that barely cleared my head

The first thing that caught my attention was the cracked lantern lying on the ground. It looked old, very old, maybe a hundred years or more. A thick layer of grime and age covered its soot-blackened tin surface, and the glass was thick and uneven. Beside the askew lantern was a small leather-bound book, partially buried in the dirt and dust, with a moldering leather strap securing it closed. It looked like a journal, and without a thought I tucked it into my backpack, raising my light back up to scan around the room. Hello?

I called again. I couldn't hear the voices anymore, but the narrow beam of my flashlight illuminated another tunnel in the far corner of this room, mired in darkness. Can you hear me? Once again, I got the feeling that something wasn't right. Then the voice came again. closer this time. Did you hear that? Hello? Is someone there?

She asked. Her voice trembling with apprehension. I hesitated. Frowning. Something didn't seem right about the voice. But I couldn't put my finger on it. Before I could summon my words to respond, another voice called out. This time it was clearly the voice of a young man.

We can hear you moving around in there. Please help us. We're lost and our friend is hurt. Hear me moving around in there? I was shouting to them. I sure as hell wasn't trying to hide. Can they not hear me for some reason? I stepped forward to my secondary tunnel and raised my voice again.

I'm with the forest service. Can you follow my voice? It was then when I reached out to steady myself against the wall of the tunnel entrance that my hand met something wet and I recoiled and disgust, thinking I had just grabbed a handful of some subterranean slime. When I shone my light on it, however, it became very clear the reality was far worse. Blood. I stepped back, trying to keep the panic that was fighting to take control of my rationality at bay.

I needed to keep a level head now. Panning my light around, I saw an astonishing amount of blood, painting the wall and floor in front of me. Somebody had definitely been hurt and badly. With blood loss like this, I wasn't sure I'd be able to stabilize them long enough to get rescuing here. What the hell happened here? And why did the hikers continue into the cave after one of them was hurt and injured this badly? Unless they'd lost their light and gotten turned around, there was no way for them to get lost. There hadn't been any branches to this tunnel since I first entered.

All they had to do was turn around and walk until they saw daylight. The man's voice called again, colored with the unmistakable tinge of fear. What the fuck is that? Hurry up, Becky, take my hand. He seemed to be getting closer, at least. If I could guide them to my voice, maybe I could get them out of here, get to higher ground, and radio for a rescue evac. They had a helicopter permanently stationed.

at the main ranger station. It could be here in 20 minutes if I was able to reach them. The woman's voice came again, and this time I froze. Did you hear that? Hello? Is someone in there? All that once it hit me, and the indescribable unease I had been almost successfully in repressing now

fought back with renewed vigor. I realized at that moment what I had missed previously. The woman had repeated herself twice more now. No change in her inflection. No variation in emotion or urgency. It was exactly the same. Down to the syllable. It was like I was listening to a recording.

What the fuck is that? Repeated the male's voice. Now even closer. Hurry up, Becky. Take my hand. Below the words, I thought I could hear the stealthy sliding of something soft over rocks. It seemed like it wasn't too far beyond the tunnel entrance now, but I wasn't going to wait for it.

I didn't think that what I'd see emerge from the darkness would be a couple of college kids who'd had a rough time of it during a weekend camping trip. Now allowing my panic to run free, I turned and threw myself through the cave breach and landed roughly on the flat stone floor of the mine shaft beyond, skinning my hands to hell and banging my knee on a rock. scrambling to my feet with a hiss of pain.

I ran as fast as I could, not realizing until I finally burst into the waning light of the late afternoon light that I had lost my rifle somewhere in that cave. It was darker than it was when I first entered the mine, and a quick glance to the sky showed the angry black thunderheads that had moved in as promised, much faster than I had expected. I quickly swung the Iron Gate closed on screeching,

hinges and looped the chain between the bars as tightly as I could, securing it rather lamely with the hasp of the broken padlock. I stood there a moment longer, bent over and hands-on knees as he tried to catch my breath outside of the mine entrance. When I felt the first drops of the coming storm on the back of my neck, I straightened and looked through the bars of the gate into the ominous darkness beyond, realizing how ridiculous my barricade really was. It wouldn't do much good if something tried to get out, but at least it made me feel a little better.

Until I heard the voice echoing from the mind shaft, getting closer. It was unmistakable, uncanny. Hello? Can you hear me? I'm with the park service. I'm here to help you. Part two. By the time dawn arrived the next morning, I had clothe. climbed down from my temporary shelter in the low bows of a red cedar and tried to work out all the painful kinks from my stiff shoulders and neck. The night had not been kind to me, but I was alive, which is more than my fear-stressed mind expected after yesterday. The night had been harrowing. There was no better word to describe it. The rain hissed among the trees and stung exposed skin

angrily, driven by the banshee whale of the wind rushing through the forest, and was accentuated by the chaotic flashing of lightning and heart-stopping crack of thunder. Because of this relentless chaos, it's difficult to say with any certainty, but throughout the night I thought I heard something large trying to move stealthily in the forest near my shelter. I say trying because it felt like whatever stalked through the underbrush was more at home in the unnatural gloom of a cave, then under the watchful eyes of nature. Of course, it could have just as easily been my imagination. When the first dim light of dawn started to illuminate the sodden and dripping forest,

I spent the better part of 20 minutes straining my eyes with every ounce of concentration as I scanned the gray woodlands around me. I was only 10 feet or so above the ground, but there was no way I was going to step foot from my high. until I was absolutely certain I was alone. Once I was satisfied that I was alone for the moment, I climbed down to the muddy ground. I tried the radio several times through the night and into the morning

but wasn't able to get even a burst of static that might indicate someone trying to respond. A combination of the storm and the interference from the trees worked against me. My first thought was to try to get back to my Jeep as quickly as possible and run every drop of gas out of its tank trying to get as far away from this place as I could. When I checked the GPS to see how close I was to its marked position, however, I found the unit unresponsive

and with a disastrous crack across the screen that seemed to mock my dismay, probably caused by my less than graceful scramble from that damned cave. No rifle, no radio, no GPS. Perfect. I still had a compass and the rising sun to guide me, though, and that was something. I was only a couple of miles from my tower, which should have been somewhere due south of where I stood. I knew that once I got close, I should be able to either find the service road or the tower itself,

so there wasn't much danger of getting myself lost, at least. It was a small comfort, but one I gladly took. I moved through the trees and the undergrowth with more speed and recklessness than I probably should have. An ankle broken by an errant misstep would have been bad news. Still, even though I hadn't heard or seen anything of my late-night visitor, I couldn't help but feel like I was being watched. You know that creeping sense of dread you feel when you've just turned the lights off in a basement and now have to climb the stairs back to the light of the doorway?

Or when you're making your way from your car in a darkened, and lonely parking lot. It's the feeling that something is there, something much more suited to the dark than you are. It's the same feeling that pushed my footsteps almost to a jog as I traversed the uneven ground and storm felled,

deteriorous that tried to hinder my passage. For the next hour, I moved to this pace, aware with every rasping lung, full of breath that I should pause and rest for a few minutes. Knowing that pushing myself to fatigue would only increase my chances of falling. I imagine myself lying in blinding pain next to an unseen chuckhole,

clutching at a broken leg and watching as the sunlight began to dim with the onset of dusk. Waiting for whatever haunted my trail to find me. What would happen then? Would I even have time to look on its visage before it struck? Did those campers in this cave? A misstep instead of,

stumble that nearly made this nightmare a self-fulfilled prophecy jarred me back to the present. Against all instinct, I forced my pace to a slow. First to a trot, then to a walk. Then reluctantly, I stopped completely, trying to catch my breath while I scanned the dense woodland around me. Nothing. No, not nothing. As my heart began to slow, and my breathing returned to a more manageable cadence. I turned my gaze back in the direction I had been headed, and an unconscious smile found its way to my lips. The sun had risen high in the morning sky during my fight,

and now I caught the flash of its reflection on the windows of my tower, not 200 yards directly ahead of me. I laughed aloud with relief, fully aware that the fear-tinted eruption was closer to the manic cackle of lunatic, cackle of lunacy than anything else. I didn't care, though, and my feet started forward against on their own, quickly reaching a brisk pace. A few minutes later, I burst out of the trees into the maintained clearing surrounding my tower, feeling the full sunlight on my face for the first time since yesterday morning. Had it only been a day? It seemed like longer. I was so filled with relief that I

didn't even register the fact that a Forestry Department Jeep sat parked near my fence-enclosed tower until I started entering the combination into the gate lock. The faded white 12, emblazoned on the corner of the windshield, told me that it was Billy's Jeep, which wasn't much of a surprise. I realized after a moment, after not hearing back from me, I was more surprised I hadn't returned to find an entire searching rescue team making preparations. to search for their lost puppy. I punched the four-digit code into the mechanical combination lock on the gate and step through, making sure to close and lock it behind me.

I stood there a moment, staring through the tall, chain-link fence at the dense tree line, wondering if something waited just out of sight in the shadows, staring back at me with hungry anticipation. I shook myself of the sudden chill as best I could, and made my way quickly to the staircase. Taking the steps two at a time. Billy was going to be pissed at me. I was sure.

But the thought was a fleeting one that didn't take purchase. His displeasure was the least of my concerns right now. When I reached the top, I threw open the trap door and suddenly found myself looking down the muzzle of a very large rifle. Even in that brief moment of abrupt shock, I could register how the barrel trembled in the hands of his agitated master, and I wonder how close I came to dine. That would end in a bright flash of light.

The moment only lasted a second or two, and then Billy hastily swung the rifle away in a safe direction. Damn it, John! he exclaimed. His tone and incongruous mixture of relief and fear, I almost shot you! I stepped fully through the trap door and let it close drop behind me. Jesus, Billy, I breathed, leaning back against the railing. I suddenly felt weary and realized it was likely the adrenaline now rushing from my system that it kept me moving at such a hurried pace

throughout the morning. Where the hell have you been? he demanded, stepping back inside my shack and taking a chair at the small table in the center of the room. I noted with mild interest that he kept the rifle leaning against the table beside him instead of stowing back. in the rack above the door, but decided not to comment on it. Billy Johnson was in his middle years, maybe 45 or so, with a bit of a gut and grayish-brown hair trimmed close. He wore an impressive mustache that reminded me of something in old Western gunslinger might groom. He was dressed in typical attire, khaki forestry service shirt and brown cargo pants. In addition to the rifle, I'd had the unfortunate opportunity to closely examine a moment earlier.

I noticed that he wore his 500 magnum and a holster at his side. That wasn't too unusual when out in the bush. Bears and mountain lions can sneak up on you when you're unaware. Having a hand cannon within easy reach goes a long way towards taking the fight out of them if necessary. It was a little unusual for a drive over to another tower, I suppose, but not a exceptionally, so given the circumstances. I took the opposite chair, dropping my pack to the floor next to me. I realized my legs were still shaking anxiously, and I placed my hands on my knees to try to calm them. He was trying to deflect, but he was horrendously bad at it. He knew something. I was sure

of it. You know where I've been, I replied, gambling on instinct. I watched his face, closely for a reaction, and wasn't disappointed when he winced and turned his focus out the window and over the forest to the north. I told you to abort and head back to your tower. He stated, but you just had to feed that curiosity of yours, didn't you? You're damn lucky to be alive. You know that. From my chair, I reached under the cupboard to my right and pulled a half-empty bottle of Jameson in a couple of mostly clean glasses. Billy turned his head. and raised an inquisitive eyebrow. Alcohol was a no-no up here.

When I poured and handed him one of our glasses, however, he accepted it without a word. I took a pull from the other. It's my own damn fault, I suppose. He continued, turning back fully to me. It's been so long since anyone's even thought of Camp Leclair that didn't even click from me when you told me where you saw that campfire.

I took another drink and then poured a bit more of the whiskey. Camp Leclair, that old mining camp I asked? Logging camp, actually. He corrected me. The mine was here, long before the East Atlantic Logging Company set up out here. Nobody knows who dug it. Hell, nobody even knows when it was dug. A long time before the 19th century, at least.

Camp Leclair was established in 1872. and the mind was old even before that. He looked at me in earnest for the first time since I'd returned and frowned. You look like hell, John. Got caught up in the storm, I'm guessing. Hell of a storm. I only raised my eyebrows, as if to say, what an understatement that was. Billy nodded knowingly and took another swallow.

Did you find the campers at least? I shook my head and turned to look at the window to the north, where I could almost envision the black void of that mine entrance staring back at me. No, I tracked them to the mine, but lost them in the cave. I jumped when Billy's glass hit the floor and was out of my chair before I even realized it. Billy had it moved from his seat, but now both hands were splayed on the table before him, as if to steady himself. His pale blue eyes were wide and fixated on me.

You went into that cave, he said. A sudden and horrifying realization dawning on him. It was then that I realized my mistake. He hadn't known. He thought I had just discovered the camp and the mine and then got caught up in the storm overnight. A close call, but nothing that couldn't be undone. Yeah, I replied, nodding slowly, deliberately. Yeah, I went into that cave looking for the campers.

The gate had been cracking. open already. Not sure when or by who. I leaned forward in my chair and stared hard at him. Billy, there's something in there. I think it got those campers, but I think it followed me out. Billy Johnson's face had gone white then, and I thought for a moment he might pass out. He scooped his glass up from the floor with numb fingers and poured himself another splash of whiskey, downing it in a gulp. When he spoke again, it seemed far away, distant. Kuitami.

That's what the chick saw called it. And they were here long before we ever were. Anglers, what the white man called it, among other names. Kuitami? He nodded. False brother, line man or something like that. Hell, I don't know. What do I look like?

A translator? it means bad no matter what language you speak it means something is out there that isn't supposed to be something that was locked away a long time ago and forgotten it was then that he stood up and grabbed his rifle as if suddenly remembering something i need to get back to my tower and make a call now i gestured to the radio bay station sitting patiently on the table near the floor why not use mine billy shook his head. Sorry, John, but it doesn't work that way. Special phone, special number. I just hope I'm not too late. I started to stand. I'll go with you, I said. He pointed a stern finger at me or narrowed his eyes. Nope, you stay here. Strap on your handgun and make sure it's loaded. His voice was calm,

almost cold, and didn't leave much room for debate. Still, I had no desire to, and I had no desire to stay here alone with whatever this angler thing was roaming around out there. Billy, I can go with you, I can help. I started to argue, but was quickly cut off when he took a menacing step towards me, and I realized quickly how much I'd underestimated him because of his normally easy manner. You will stay in your goddamn tower, and you will follow your orders, he roared, and I unconsciously took a step back and reclaimed my seat, only managing a shaken nod in acknowledgement.

He took a trembling breath, pointed at the radio, and said it in a slightly less terrifying tone, and keep that thing on. As soon as I'm back to my tower, I will radio you with updates. A moment later, he was gone, and the trap door slammed shut behind him. I stood and retrieved the Pelican case from under my cot,

Inside was the same model of 500 Magnum Revolver that Billy had been wearing. Heavy and cold in my hands. I loaded it and belted on the leather holster, feeling the reassuring weight tugging at my waist. John! I heard Billy call from below and went outside to the walkway, leaning over the railing. He was standing beside his jeep 50 feet below,

shielding his eyes from the bright sunlight as he looked up at me. Make sure to keep everything locked, I'll come back for you, he shouted. I raised a hand to him and slid the latch shut on the trap door with my toe. I turned back into my shack as I heard Billy's Jeep fire up, and a moment later drive off down the rough service road towards his tower. I glanced back to the north, to the place where I had first seen the campfire smoke rising the day before and suppressed a shutter. I was alone again. safe in my tower and armed, but alone.

Abruptly, like an unexpected wave of nausea, the feeling that I was being watched, washed over me with a chill, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I looked back over my shoulder to where Billy had been only a minute before, but saw only the rough service road and dense and penetrable tree line beyond that. probably just my imagination, but the feeling didn't diminish, and with every passing breath, I was more and more certain that there was something nearby.

Just out of sight, standing stone still in the gray-green foliage, waiting. I stood there a long moment, eyes straining for any hint of movement or alien shape among the shadows, but if it was there, my human eyes weren't sharp enough to pick it out. I stepped back through the open doorway of my shack and dropped down into the chair again. My eyes catching the bottle of whiskey before me. I was tempted to pour another drink to help settle my nerves, but I could already feel the tickle of a buzz at the edges of my mind from what I had already drank

and quickly decided that the last thing I needed was for my reflexes and awareness to be dulled right now. I'd made more than one poor decision in the last 24 hours. I didn't think adding in any of another to the pile was such a great idea. Grabbing the bottle, I screwed the cap back on, and reached to return it to the sparse cupboard to my right. As I did so, my boot caught my pack, knocking it over. Without a thought, I reached out to move it out of the way and then remembered the old weather journal,

tucked inside the front pocket, the one I had found in the cave. I reached into the unzipped front pocket, for a frustratingly alarming moment, my searching hand couldn't feel anything in the compartment, and I feared that I had lost it in my chaotic escape. But then my fingers brushed the familiar shape, and I withdrew it,

setting it in front of me on the table. I could see the book much more clearly now in the daylight. It wasn't overly large, a little larger than my hand and maybe the thickness of my thumb. There were no markings on the front, except for a simple, grimy, brass loop that secured the leather strap holding it closed. I wasn't sure I wanted to see what was inside, but I needed some answers. Anything. A stray sound from the trees below rose to my ears, and I froze.

Listening intently for more, but none came. The forest around me was silent again, and I turned my attention. back to the journal, pulling the strap free from the cover, and turning to the first page. From the pocket of Andrew Robinson, it read, The writing was neat and compact, and distinctly male. The ink was a rich black, scrawled upon brittle yellow pages, and, though faded with the years, was still mostly legible. I turned to the next page where the entries began. I felt as though I had dropped into his account midway,

as though this was just the latest in a series of journals that this Andrew Robinson had been keeping. 23 July, 1891. After nearly a week of hard overland trekking, we reached the abandoned camp this afternoon, exactly where the old trapper said we would. Sikwahi, Our Pawnee Tracker has once again astonished me with his overland navigation skills. I must admit, I was skeptical at the yarn the old trapper had spun in the crowded confines of the common house in Dunn Creek,

especially after I smelled the liquor on his breath. But the professor never doubted a moment. The man's instincts for reading human character are absolutely singular. The camp looks to have been abandoned, and I have to admit to a certain unease as we inspected the rough cabins. There isn't a soul to be found, but it looks years abandoned, yet everything stands as if awaiting the logger's return at any moment. Strange

24th July, 1891. Our small troop of interpid adventurers made camp in the center of Leclair last night, though the cabins likely would have been more comfortable. I doubt any of us would have felt at ease in treating upon them. Richards laughed it off when someone mentioned how peculiar it was that the loggers had departed in such a hurry that they abandoned their personal possessions. But I could see in his eyes that he felt it odd as well. Sequally, our ever courageous and stolid guide, seemed ill at ease and unusually withdrawn, refusing all conversation and only responding to queries.

with quiet grunts. Something of concern hides behind his eyes, though. And I wonder at what it is. Only the professor seems unmoved by the unusually still atmosphere of this place.

And his typically infectious positivity keeps working at our unease, keeping it from expanding beyond its current state. Today we spent much of the day exploring the area surrounding Camp Leclair, and the sunlight was nearly spent when Dobson burst back into camp with news of his discovery. We, all of us,

race at a moment's notice behind him as he led us along an ill-used and nigh invisible footpath that led ever ascending upon the side of the northern rocky slope. When the path terminated, we were deposited before a truly curious sight. A barricaded tunnel entrance had been bored into the rock face by some unknown hands. I suspect some sort of exploration, and tunnel or at it dug in search of precious ores, especially given the nation's more recent history with gold fever. The wooden barrier that had been roughly assembled from a hodge of heavy timber beams was curious, and several of our group commented on it. But the professor dismissed it as triviality, so the matter was dropped. It is far too late in the day to

perceive further. But we plan to penetrate the barricade and enter the tunnel in the morning, morning. The excitement among the men is palpable. 25th July, 1891, Sequally is gone. He took his supplies and his prized Winchester Rifle and fled sometime during the night like a phantom. This is a shocking blow to us all, but none more so than to the professor, with whom the Pawnee Tracker had partnered for a number of years across much of the eastern states. We have no explanation for his sudden desertion. and it sits unwell with the entirety of the group. The overall mood has darkened, I fear.

Still, we must push onward. 25th July, 1891. Addendum. It took more than two hours of hard labor, but we are finally able to gain entrance to the mine shortly before noon today. Richards managed to get his boot caught between two heavy timbers as he stumbled forward,

straining his ankle with a terrible cry. We feared it broken, but Dr. Franklin assured us that the bones seem intact. Regardless, Richards was taken back to the camp, where he will convales while the rest of us make our entry. His part in our exploration has come to an end for now. We made our way in a single file through the added tunnel for some way before reaching its carved end. the light from our oil lanterns providing regrettably inadequate illumination over the rocky surroundings. When we reached the terminus of the mine tunnel, our heart sank for a moment before the professor gave a explanation of discovery,

and suddenly disappeared through a nearly hidden rift in the wall, surrounded by jagged rocks. We eagerly followed him through, careful of our footing as we went, and found ourselves in what I can only assume to be an accidental breach by the miners into a natural cave system. The air was chill unmoving, but our excitement at this discovery allayed any concerns or discomfort this might have caused. The professor directed us to set a secondary camp in this new chamber, which will be used as a staging point for further exploration. So we spent the rest of the day bringing supplies from our main camp and constructing a smaller version in this moderately sized chamber. By the time we completed this endeavor,

the efforts of the day precluded a start to the exploration until the group has had the opportunity to rest and replenish their energy. I feel I will sleep well tonight, despite the anxious excitement buzzing around my mind. 26 July, 1891, another shock when we woke this morning. O'Connor is gone, the Irishman,

who has ever been with, reliable and constant as the North Star. Was assigned first watched last night. There is no trace of him, and no indication that he took any provisions or even his personal rucksack with him. I fear his natural inquisitiveness may have gotten the best of him and led him to explore the deeper caverns beyond our ad hoc base camp, for his lantern is the sole item that has gone missing with his person.

The professor immediately rallied the rest of our small group, seven in all now, and mounted a search for our lost companion. I tried to caution him against rushing into action, but he was not to be deterred. To my dismay, I was the sole man ordered to remain here at camp whilst my companions took up their supplies and launched deeper into the cave system in the event young O'Connor returned in their absence.

I was understandably disappointed, but grasped the logic of it well enough. I would loathe to think of O'Connor, returning only to find us all gone, and then losing himself again trying to find us. I shall endeavor to rest a bit. With luck, my companions will return before long with our lost compatriot. 27th July, 1891. I am at my wits end and am unsure how to proceed. It has been more than a day since the professor led the rest of the men in search of poor O'Connor, and I have felt their absence as keenly, as I am aware of my own solitude in this cave. I have seen nothing of our missing companion or of the other party that delved deeper into the system

yesterday morning, and I know their lanterns did not have sufficient fuel to carry them this long, without other means of illumination to guide their return. I fear they are hopelessly lost. I, myself, had to return to Leclair for more lantern oil for my own waning light. I must admit, with no little embarrassment, some reluctance to my return to this dark place, which no longer carries any of its former adventurous excitement or fascination. It is now nothing more than a doorway into the deep places below the earth, where men were never intended to tread.

But the growing apprehension is not the worst of it. The sounds, by heaven's grace, the sounds. I first became aware of them last night, as I dimmed my lantern and tried to set myself to sleep. At first, it was only an indistinct and muted echo that may have been interpreted as nothing more than the distant whistle of wind or other natural sound, distorted by the unique acoustics of this place.

But then I heard the distinct tonal qualities that could only be a man's voice. I instantly rose and took up my lantern, raising the flame and rushing to the entrance of the cave that had swallowed my companions. There I stood, listening with such keen focus that I felt beads of sweat upon my brow. I would swear upon a holy book that it was the distant calls of the professor himself. and I eagerly called back with as much fervor as I could summon, hoping desperately to guide them back to me. However, the instant I called them out, the voices vanished, and I was met only with the suffocating silence of an open tomb. There I stood, straight as a centennial, praying for a response from my friends. After several minutes of absolute silence, my thoughts began turning to dark things.

I became painfully aware that anything beyond the weak cast of my lantern would be utterly invisible to me. But I, on the other hand, would be lighted as a beacon to it. I pushed these thoughts from my mind as forcefully as I could, inwardly chastising myself as seeing ghouls where none existed, and was about to call out again, to my lost companions when I heard it. The voice came again, echoing from the claustrophobic abyss that lay before me, mired in the blackest darkness one could imagine.

It was still some distance away, I estimated, but I was certain it seemed closer now. When the third time I heard it, I was just barely able to make out the words, but it was enough to be sure. My own words echoed back to me from the depths of that damned cave and in my own voice. I staggered and nearly dropped the lantern at that moment.

Could the legends be true? The professor always seemed to believe them, though I must admit I attributed his faith to the unwavering certainty he held in those things lost to antiquity. He had always maintained that a legend, especially one whispered by so many indigenous people without mutual contact, must have some roots in truth. But that line of reasoning is antithetical to modern civility,

and I must reject it and focus on the more probable explanation that my already stressed nerves were turning my fears against me. The voices must be those of my companions, lost in the dark, but near enough to hear their calls. They must be. I am not certain what lies next, but I know that I cannot abandon my companions, my friends, to wander the darkness until they fall from exhaustion or dehydration. Not while I might yet help them. I will leave this written account at the entrance to

the cave. This lantern is nearly spent, but I have another with a full vessel that I will take in its stead. If I do not return, at least someone may know of our passing here. May God be with us all. I closed the journal with a trembling hand, momentarily lost in what I had just read. How is it possible? The journal was more than 130 years old. No animal alive then could be what pursued me now.

What if it's not an animal? The sudden burst of static from Billy's call that simultaneously erupted from my radio base station in the portable handset clipped at my shoulder, made me jump and drop the journal on the floor. Heart pounding. I cursed under my breath and keyed the microphone. Go for Tower 9, I answered.

My voice tight. As I spoke, my eyes drifted out across the sky to the east, where darkened thunderheads had been unknowingly gathering and marching slowly in my direction. I shook my head. I seen on the cake, I thought. John, what's your position? Asked Billy.

the self-assured authority that had filled his tone before was strangely absent now, replaced with something else. Fear? I frowned a moment at the question before answering. Where do you think, Billy? I'm in my tower just like you told me. A strange pause before he spoke again. John, this isn't some sort of joke, right? You're not outside of my tower?

I was growing more agitated by the moment. What sort of question was that? I had no Jeep. There was no way I could have made it to his tower in such a short amount of time, even if I wanted to. No, Billy, I answered with more force than I'd attended. I'm not outside of your fucking tower. Why? I stopped mid-sentence.

A horrified realization. sweeping over me in that moment. I tried to speak, but my mouth had gone dry. Billy was all I could muster. The radio was silent as my eyes slowly drifted to the west, where I could just make out the small, lonely shape of Tower 12, barely visible over the darkening blanket of green. Was that a gunshot?

Part 3. Another night. Another goddamn night. Stuck in this window-line prison. At least I have a good view, so I guess that's something. The storm raged all night again last night. Going on vacation? We're here for it.

With kids who turned backseat into a courtroom drama over whose tablet is louder, whose charger is faster, and while watching the same cartoon for the hundredth time is a human right? Yep, we totally have vehicles to handle that. Because whether it's a road trip or a business trip, where your flights delayed, your phone's at 2% and your dinner is, whatever is open?

Yeah, here for that too. Enterprise, we're here for it. And only let up just before dawn. At one point, the winds were gusting hard enough to rock the tower, which was a bit disconcerning to say the least. as I stand out on the wet catwalk around my shack I see that the clouds haven't let us go yet and look every bit as pissed off as they did yesterday afternoon

it seems like the dry season has come to an end which is good since I've been slacking a bit on my fire watching duties over the last couple of days gallows humor right it's either that or sitting in the corner in a futile position crying and I've been told by my ex-fiancee that I'm not an attractive crier. I haven't heard a peep from Billy since his last terrifying broadcast to me yesterday.

I've tried to reach him several times since then, but no dice. I've also tried reaching Nathan in the Ranger Station, but all I get is static, even from my bass radio set. When I first started here, I remember Billy telling me during the brief orientation that the radio should be able to reach out 50 miles or more. So I'm not sure what's going on with it. Update. I just took a quick look at the base station and found that the cable leading up to the antenna on the roof of the shack

is now just a dangly thing swaying in the breeze. The storm must have decided it needed the antenna more than I did because it's gone. I can see where the screws were torn out of the wooden mast. And before you say anything about whatever this thing is, that's been stalking around deciding to sound. Amortage my radio, I should probably tell you that the wooden antenna mast looks like it's been around for a long time. The wood was probably dry-rotted to begin with. And now that it soaked,

it crumbled away in little wet brown bits as soon as I probed at it with my fingers. Speaking of whatever this Kuitami or angler thing is, I'm just going to call it a mimic, I think. I haven't heard or sensed anything weird since yesterday. I'm assuming it's still out there somewhere, but I don't think it's nearby. If it's still anywhere around here, it's probably somewhere over near Tower 12. Or at least that's what makes the most sense to me anyway. Which brings me to my new, shiny, lunatic idea. My Jeep.

It can't be more than a mile down the northern track. Still sitting there in front of that fallen pine. I could probably get to it in less than an hour. even with the wet and muddy ground. It had almost a full tank of gas, and I'm pretty sure I could outrun this mimic thing if I can get into a straight shot of service road. I definitely don't relish the idea, mind you.

Every instinct is screaming at me to sit my butt right where I am in this tower. I know that the Ranger Station can start getting a little antsy when Billy doesn't check in after a few days, but I'm also thinking they might extend it out a day or two in light of the foul weather. maybe five days at the outside, and then I'll have a ranger truck parked outside my tower. The question is, what they'll find when they get here. See, I've been thinking about it. Billy definitely knew more about this thing than I do,

certainly enough to not open the door for it when he heard it outside pretending to be a Girl Scout selling cookies. That makes me think that maybe the fence in the trapdoor might not be enough to stop it if it really wants in. as pants shittingly terrifying as the prospect of leaving the tower and making for the Jeep is sitting here cornered in my window line shack just waiting for it to show up in the middle of the night is even worse at least i have a chance out there i still have the magnum it's been holstered on my belt since yesterday they don't issue pea shooters for bear protection out here this thing is the most

powerful handgun in mass production it'll put down any North America. As long as you can hit it right, any normal animal anyway. Who knows what this thing is capable of. Still, it does provide a sense of comfort and gives me some confidence that my plan may work if luck's on my side. For now, I'm going to try to eat a granola bar to put something in my churning stomach and try to build a little energy. I don't think I've eaten anything since early yesterday. After that, I'm grabbing my pack and heading out. Wish me luck. I left my tower shortly after 10 a.m. and let me tell you, those were some of the most difficult first steps I've ever taken in my life. Stepping out through the chain link gate into the

open space beyond my small compound felt like I was stepping off the roof of a skyscraper. When I closed the gate behind me, I just stood there motionless for what must have been five minutes. frozen in place with my hand, clenching the grip of the revolver still holstered at my belt. Even with all the stress and anxiety swirling around in my head, I was amazed at exactly how keen my senses seemed in that moment. It felt like I could hear every rustle of leaves and smell every damp patch of moss in the thousands of acres of wilderness surrounding me. In that moment, I felt very small.

Very insignificant. Trivial. When my chest began to ache, I realized that I had been holding a breath in, subconsciously afraid to make even the slightest sound. I let it out slowly and forced myself to breathe normally again. Scanning the trees, I turned slowly in a circle, eyes searching for anything that seemed out of place, like it didn't belong. But there was nothing there. Everything seemed normal, at least to me. casting one last look over my shoulder at the refuge of my tower,

I started off along the seldom used service road to the north, careful of my footing on the muddy and uneven ground. I allowed myself to move at a slow jog, fast enough to make good progress, but not so fast that I was announcing my presence of the world, not so fast that I couldn't hear the forest around me over my own breathing. I stopped a couple of times during my trek to catch my breath and take a drink of water, and thankfully still seemed alone and unpursued for now.

I wondered if it was out there somewhere, among the dense trees, hiding in the muted gray shadows of the forest. Maybe it was looking for me at that moment. Perhaps it had returned to my tower in my absence, found it empty, and was even now tracking my flight along this trail. If I paused long enough. Would I see it suddenly rounding the gentle curve behind me as it caught up? Or did it prefer to move more stealthily, among the trees and underbrush, laying in weight alongside the path ahead, ready for my approach? I had to forcibly shake myself out of that line of thought. It wasn't doing me any good now. I was committed to my plan. The thought of retracing my steps and returning to my lonely watchtower held just as much terror because now it sat there unmanned, unwatched,

abandoned. For all I know, the mimic could be there at this very moment, ransacking my shack. I definitely didn't want to walk back in on that little scene. I can promise you that much. I ended up making surprisingly good time on that northern part. It was only about 30 minutes before I saw the dim shape of my Jeep. waiting dutifully in the middle of the path ahead. The matte tan paint job and black cloth roof stood out remarkably well

against the muted greens and browns of the surrounding forest. Urging my pace to quicken, I covered the last hundred yards before I even realized it and found myself standing at the door, hand on handle. I paused. A chill ran down my spine, inciting an unbidden shiver. I realized then how,

quiet the forest around me was and wasn't sure how long it had been this way i felt that something was out of place and so did the native thwana on any given day the trees were alive with the sounds of wildlife squirrels and chipmunks chittered insects buzzed and a thousand variety as birds called and sang from the tree tops not now though it was as if they had all left and i felt very alone in that moment. Only, not quite alone. Somewhere out there,

in that sea of trees, something stocked, something that didn't belong in the light of day, something that didn't belong under the watchful eyes of a mother nature. I was pretty sure she wouldn't have let something like the mimic evolve, had it not been hidden in its underground realm.

The door of the door of it, the Jeep was thankfully quiet as I depressed the latch and swung it open. If this had been a horror movie, I'm sure an ear-splitting screech would have erupted from its hinges, but in real life, we tend to take care of these vehicles pretty well. In the best of times, they are the only convenient transportation for 20 miles or more. In times like this, though, it was likely the only thing that would save my sorry ass. I jumped in and pulled the door shut behind me with a dull thunk. subconsciously locking it. I almost laughed aloud when I did that.

The entire top of the Jeep was nothing more than canvas and plastic windows. A feisty hamster could probably have penetrated my little haven. I doubt the mimic would even think twice about it. The Jeep fired up immediately when I turned the kitty in the ignition, and I threw it in reverse for the most ungraceful 14-point turn you've ever seen on the narrow and muddy surface road. Once I got turned around, I didn't waste any time directing it back the way I'd come. The service road was really little more than an uneven and ill-maintained dirt trail and was only ever used infrequently by the rangers and lookouts.

As I'd previously mentioned, it was a rough ride, even for the heavy suspension of my trusty steed, so I had to keep it at a reasonable speed. The very last thing I needed was to snap an axle or bounce. myself right off the road and into the trees. Compound the condition of the trail with the fact that it constantly wound and curved as it progressed, and it meant that even my best speed wasn't too much faster than I could run on foot. That's okay. Once I got past my tower, the service road was generally better maintained and followed a more or less straight path.

I'd be able to build some decent speed there, and I'd be out of the wilderness and standing at the ranger station in an hour or so. The abrupt appearance of my tower caused me to feather off the gas as I rounded the last curve from the northern track. I slowed to a crawl and squinted through the now dirty windshield. From here, everything looked exactly like I had left it. The gate still stood closed and, looking up, I could see the trap door also appeared shut. Maybe this thing hadn't returned. Hell, maybe this thing wasn't ever going to return. For all I knew, I was headed in the opposite direction.

It's not like it had a GPS or anything. It was at that moment that I nearly pissed myself when the radio still clipped to my belt, squawked, and I heard probably the last thing I'd expected to hear. Billy. John, are you up there? The signal was pretty clear. but his voice sounded weak, strained. I almost didn't respond.

I was frozen. Indecision clouding my mind. I didn't know what I could trust to be true, but I doubted that the mimic had read the radio manual and learned to operate the handset. I snatched the handset from my shoulder and keyed the mimic. Billy, holy shit, is that you? He answered me right away,

and I thought I could hear, relief in his tone, buried under his pained words. John, thank God, I was afraid you were gone. My eyes drifted to the trail leading past my tower, toward the Ranger Station, towards safety. Another five minutes than I would have been Billy. I've got my Jeep and I was just about a haul-ass for the Ranger Station, I replied, what's your status? There was a moment of silence and I wondered briefly if he'd even heard me.

But then he answered, I'm not doing too hot, John. I'm in my tower, but that thing hurt me. I've lost a bit of blood and been drifting in and out. I've patched myself up as best as I could, but I can't stop the bleeding from my leg. I frowned and closed my eyes a moment, asking a question that I was pretty sure I knew the answer to.

Are you able to get to your Jeep? I thought I heard a coughing bark of laughter before he answered. I don't think so. I'm pretty banged up. What happened, Billy? The son of a bitch got into my tower. I managed to get a shot off at it, but not before it got the jump on me. He explained.

It took off before it did me in, so I think I hit it. I don't know where it is now, though. My tower is wide open, though, and it hasn't come back, so maybe it's dead. I doubted that. Things never work out that simple. Are you stable, Billy? Can he be moved? Another silence. And then, I know what you're thinking, John. Turn your Jeep Beast and I'll ask to the Ranger Station. That's an order.

I dropped my forehead to the steering wheel, closing my eyes and cursing. It would have been easier if Billy hadn't radioed me. I know it's selfish. I know I'm in an asshole for even thinking it, but I could have been blissfully out of range if he had only waited another ten minutes. I could still put the throttle down and get out of here. I could still race for the ranger station and have them mobilize a chopper to come back for Billy. But they were at least an hour away. Factor in the spin-up and travel time for the helicopter, and you're talking more like an hour and a half before anyone gets to him. He doesn't sound good. Something told me it was unlikely he would last that amount of time. I could still turn left. I would likely live, but

could I live with myself, knowing that I left Billy to die alone in his tower? What if our situation had been reversed? Sure, I might be saying the same words he was saying now, but in my heart I would be pleading for that voice on the radio to help me. I couldn't imagine being in his position, lying there, hurt and bleeding out, knowing that his safe haven was wide open. and that thing was out there somewhere. Look, I know what you're going to say. I know what you're probably already saying. Don't be a dumbass.

This is exactly why everyone dies in a horror movie. I get it. Believe me. I get it. But this isn't a movie. And my friend was lying there, dying in a shack. If I could get to him and get him into the Jeep, we could both be out of here, leaving all this twisted nightmare bullshit behind us.

Billy, I'm headed your way. Get ready because we're going to wrestle you down the stairs and into my Jeep as quickly as we can, I said. Cranking the wheels to the right and taking the Western Trail with more speed than I should have. John, I gave you an order. Get out of here now. Despite the situation, I managed a sardonic grin as my rig bucked and bounced over the uneven trail. Billy, I'd like to take this opportunity to officially tender my resignation from the Firewatch. Now, shut your mouth and converse your strength. I'll be there in 15 minutes. Fifteen minutes turned out to be a pretty good guess,

and before long I skidded to a halt outside Tower 12. Next to Billy's ride. I opened the door and stepped out into the quiet air. My handgun coming out of its holster and held before me like some sort of shield. I took a quick moment to let my eyes roam over the surrounding woodlands for any sign of movement before quickly jogging around my Jeep and towards the compound's entrance. I passed through the open doorway, taking note of the heavy chain-link fence that was laying twisted 15 feet inside of the fence. Another dozen paces and I was at the base of the stairs, craning my neck to make sure nothing was awaiting me above.

I keyed the mic at my shoulder and said in a low voice, Billy, I'm outside of your tower right now, heading up. For Christ's sake, don't shoot me. I turned the volume on the speaker down just in time for his response. Damn it, John, I told you to leave. But despite his words, the gratitude and relief were clear in his voice. I started up the stairs. Revolver still held at the righty as my other hand ran lightly along the railing. My eyes were drawn to the red-black spots,

staining the gray paint of the steel steps. I found even more of the vicious fluid on the railing, as I continued my scent. Blood, but not billies. Good, I hope that fucker's laying in the woods, breathing its last breath. He definitely hit it, but I had no way of telling how seriously it was hurt.

In a human, bright red blood indicated an arterial bleed, which was typically a fairly significant injury. With this thing, who knew what black red meant? I climbed the rest of the staircase as it wound, around the tower and stopped just below the open trap door. Billy? I called out cautiously. A pause.

Then came his reply. Shaky and with a wheezing sound that I didn't like at all. How do I know it's you? Say something this fucker couldn't have urged you say before. I've always admired and respected you. I answered without hesitation. "'Asshole,' he said it under his breath. "'Come on up.'

I took another couple steps, cautiously poking my head through the trap door. Billy was sitting upright, more or less, resting his back against the doorframe of his shack and aiming his own handgun generally in my direction. As soon as he saw my face, he dropped his hand to his side, the stainless steel barrel clanging against the metal walkway.

As I stepped fully through the trap door, I noted two things immediately. Firstly, there was a significant amount of that black-red ooze splattered around. Secondly, I realized how badly injured Billy was. His face has gone gray with a sickly paleness, and his breaths came in ragged hitches. Blood-soaked bandages wrapped of both forearms, and the side of his face was covered with a crimson rag, taped half-hazardly down. His entire khaki Park shirt was painted in a hellish-tied eye of shades in red, but it was his leg that worried me most.

A tourniquet had been tied around his thigh near his groin, but the pants' leg was a cherry red below that and was glistening in the late morning light. Jesus, Billy, I exclaimed, holstering my gun and rushing to his side. He waved me off as I knelt beside him. I know, it looks bad. Save it for later.

Let's get out of here before that thing decides to come back for another round. I nodded and stood again, taking a quick glance past him and into his shack. A twin to my own tower normally, Billy's looked like a war zone now. His table and desk had both been overturned and smashed, along with his bass set radio. On the floor nearby was a satellite phone. Its antenna in display, obviously smashed during the attack. lifting his arm over my head I helped him to his feet he grimaced in pain but threw his remaining strength in with mine

and we began the precarious descent through the trapdoor did you at least get to make your phone call I asked him as we took these steps carefully and agonizingly slow he shook his head it got here just as I was getting ready to it was using your voice telling me that you were from the park service and that you were here to help He looked at me with a shaken astonishment.

It sounded just like you, John. What I looked over the catwalk railing down at it? He went again as we half-stumped on a step. Almost there. John, he continued. Holy hell. I've never seen anything like it. I shook my head as we reached the bottom step and moved on to the rain soaked ground

and grunted with exertion. Save it, Billy. We have a long ride ahead of us. Plenty time for that later. He just nodded as I maneuvered him around the passenger side of my Jeep and helped him climb in. Once he was in, I hurried back around to the driver's door and got in, starting the engine as I pulled the door closed behind me, throwing it into reverse. I felt the wheels break loose as I stepped on the gas with a bit too much enthusiasm.

I swung the 4x4 round and put it into drive, pointing it back towards my tower and beyond. Safety. I only had a heartbeat's warning from Billy before I saw it, barreling from the underbrush at us. It threw itself, a great mass, crashing into the side of the Jeep, and Billy scrambled to get away from it, damn near climbing over the center console in the process,

and knocking my hands off the wheel in his panic. The Jeep swung wildly left, and I stomped down on the brakes to avoid careening off into the trees. One of the front wheels dipped off the road and the steel bumper crashed into a small cluster of oak saplings, halting us abruptly and stalling the engine. Everything went silent in that moment as we froze. My breath hitched in my lungs and my eyes widened in shock as I laid eyes upon this abomination

for the first time. My first impression was that it was much larger than I had thought, but the nightmare visaged before me, eclipsed such a pedestrian observation. The thing stood in the air. the middle of the trail still, shaking its head as if trying to recover its senses after the collision with the two-ton vehicle. It looked vaguely humanoid in a sense, but it walked on all four limbs clearly proportioned to such a task. It was hairless and with modeled pink gray skin stretched tight over muscles, bones, and odd, unidentifiable bulges. The limbs seemed to have

joints that bent in all the wrong directions and ended in what should have been claws. But instead of the distinctive keratin-composed sharp nails that seem so familiar in the natural world, these seem to be extensions of the creature's skeletal structure, protruding painfully through its vainy, translucent hide. But worst of all was the bulbous and disproportionately large head that topped an oddly gaunt-appearing neck. It was oblong and reminded me of the shape of a feline skull in general appearance. Its ma seemed a jagged tear across its face, with ill-fitting and chaotically positioned teeth

that didn't seem to allow the mouth to close properly. I couldn't see any eyes, but where they should have been were instead too bulbous and cyst-like organs, seeming to bulge and flattening a slow rhythm, as if bladders filling with air liquid. I reeled back in revulsion as it turned its sightless head in our direction searchingly. Flaps of skin on either side of its malform snout open slowly like some obscene blossom composed of milky gray bat wings.

And I had the sense that it was using them to try to somehow locate us. It was then that I saw where Billy's shot had struck the creature in the face. One of the snout flaps was nearly completely severed. hanging limply in contrast to its sibling, in a gouge furrowed by the bullets' travel, screeced along the right side of the thing's head, piercing and ravaging the bulbous organ on that side, and leaving it a deflated sack.

When it turned its head farther in our direction, I could see clearly where it bled significantly from the shot. Bo was horrified to see that the wound had already sealed itself in a shiny silver scar, was left to mark the incident. I know I hit you, you bastard, Billy whispered, half to himself. The mimic stopped its motion, and we watched as the uninjured bladder on its head expanded like a half-filled party balloon. It dipped its head a bit, and we saw the two slits in the top of its head dilate.

A moment later, the twisted sound of a human voice assaulted our ears. you're out there. The voice was unmistakably billies but was distorted and wrong. I thought that the wound from his gunshot probably had something to do with that. The thing raised its head again, turning a bit more in our direction, and took a few experimental steps forward. Again, it paused and lowered its head. This time we heard what sounded like the pained roar of a bear, almost perfectly replicated, except for that same distortion that we had heard previously. Had this thing killed a bear? I held my breath as we watched it again, raise its head, and take a few more contemplative

steps in our direction, slowly swinging its grotesque snout back and forth. I could see how the flaps of skin that were flared open where its nose should have been twitched minutely back and forth, and I felt like it was using them to listen for us. and knows we're here somewhere, but it can't see us, whispered Billy, leaning close, but if it gets close enough, I'm thinking we're done for. I looked over at Billy and realized that there was no way he'd be able to make a run for it in his condition. From the look of the thing growing ever closer to where we coward in the Jeep, I thought it was likely we didn't have much time before it got close enough to hear our breathing or heartbeats,

or whatever, even inside the 4x4. When that happened, I knew what would come next. Billy closed his eyes a moment and turned to me. There was something in his eyes then, some sort of acceptance that I didn't like one bit. You're ready with that cannon, he whispered. You're only going to get one chance of this fucker. What are you talking about?

I asked, a moment later. I had my answer. Billy took a deep breath and mustered every bit of his strength, flinging the door open and staggering out of the Jeep. I'm right here, asshole. He shouted at the thing, limping weakly across the road away from the Jeep. The mimic whipped its head in its direction instantly, but tilted its head to the side,

seemingly momentarily puzzled at this unexpected turn of events. Billy held his own magnum in his hand. But he was too weak to raise it towards the beast. Still, he pulled the trigger, and a resounding boom seemed to shake the air. The mimic flinched at the deafening sound of the gunshot. The flaps of membrane at its snout snapping shut protectively. But its stunned hesitation didn't last very long. In an instant, faster than I would have thought possible,

it launched itself on powerful limbs at Billy. knocking him to the ground and tearing at him with teeth and claws. I heard my friend start screaming then, a horrible soul-rendering sound that I'll never forget as long as I live. But now is my chance, and I took it. I swung the door and stepped out of the Jeep, my gun coming free of its holster in the same movement. The creature was preoccupied with what was left of Billy.

But as soon as I brought the gun up and thumbed back the hammer, its head whipped around at me. It crouched like a compressed spring as it prepared to launch, but that was quicker. The report of the gunshot was incredible, and the recoil of the powerful round rocked my wrist back painfully. The beast staggered, and I saw a burst of blood and tissue explode from the wound near where its shoulder met its neck.

It howled out an otherworldly cry, sounding like a bedlam mixture of man and beast, but though the wound seemed terrible. It tried once again to throw itself at me. I was set in my course, though, and took step after step towards the creature, pulling the trigger again and again until the gun ran dry,

and all I was left with was the clicking of the hammer and the high-pitched ringing in my ears. The acrid smell of gunpowder stung my nose, and by the time I finally stopped, I found myself within a few feet of this horde thing. Six blackened holes Stippled the neck and torso of the creature Where the bullets had entered

And I knew that the destruction of their exits On the opposite side would be far worse The mimic lay sprawled across the ruined body of Billy Johnson Its weight crushing What whatever had been left of my friend Black red blood spread out from beneath the things bulk Like an oil Your playlist might get you through the workday

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Visit Ancestry.ca for details. Terms apply. I'll spill across a smooth floor. I noted with some muted surprise that the creature still twitched and slowly flexed his powerful muscles and a wheezing sound was quietly emanating from the slits on the top of its skull. I holstered my empty gun and scanned around the sodding ground for what I knew was there. A moment later I spotted it. Billy's own magnum.

Laying half buried in the muck where it had been torn from his grip under the weight of the monster. I snatched it up and shook it clear of most of the mud and grass. Opening the cylinder, I saw that only one unfired round remained. That was enough, though. I approached the whore before me without apprehension or pause. My eyes followed on this thing that it caused such pain in terror. I thumbed the hammer back and placed the muzzle against the mimic's head, which still convulsed with some small.

remaining life. I didn't know if it would be able to heal from the wounds I had already inflicted. Logic told me it was unlikely, but the silvery scar I had seen from Billy's previous encounter caused me to question everything I thought was possible. I felt the tremors from the creature vibrate through the gun as the barrel rested against its skull, right between where its eyes should have been. I tensed my finger on the cool steel of the trigger. and the crack of the gunshot echoed through the forest.

It was done. But even as I walked back numbly to the Jeep and restarted the engine, I wondered if that was true. I thought back to the journal I had read, written more than a hundred and thirty years before, and how it had alluded to tales of this creature going back long before then. As I drove the Jeep along the rough and winding service road, I wondered at the possibility that what we encountered was the only one of its kind,

that this same beast had somehow terrorized cultures separated from each other by great time and distance, spawning the legends that the author of the journal and his companions had pursued. It didn't seem likely, and now the door was open. My father is a park ranger. He took me with him on the night shift. I should have listened to his rules. Written by Emma Watson, But Dumber, and make sure to check out the author's YouTube channel.

This is how the human mind works. When you're walking through a forest, you don't think too much. You just let the silence surround you. Feel the soft breeze and the branches that crack under your feet. It's in our nature to yearn for. for such scenery. No matter how much we thrive in busy, concrete-soaked cities, forests are always welcoming and refreshing to us. The air is clear and crisp, and daylight plays hide and seek

through the tall branches. It's inspiring and beautiful. Sometimes, though, as you walk on your path, your mind begins to focus on small things. Noises, gusts of wind. shadows in the trees. Such silence can be both welcoming and unsettling. Depends on how you view it. Forests are double-sided coins. They hide you away from the tiring city landscape, but expose you to another environment.

You're not in control anymore, because this is not your home. You can lie to yourself and build a house there, but you don't belong in a forest. You are merely a visitor. That's national parks for you, an illusion of being in control. The fake freedom you feel when you walk on those marked paths

and camp in the square sides to you when you think the silence around you is peaceful, but even the silence is an illusion. Visit a forest again. Even when it's silent, is it really? It's not. Complete absolute silence means death. Fear it.

My father taught me that. He's a park ranger, and he's been doing this job since forever. I wasn't much of a fan of national parks, especially because most of the time there's no service and the hikes are killing me. I'd rather enjoy nature by swimming in a lake or skiing. Why break your legs to end up to a high point? just to see a random valley. Not to mention the animals, they were everywhere,

and the insects always got on my nerves. I never understood his love for the forest. I guess that was one of the reasons why I started telling me scary stories from his night shift. Looking back, they were obviously made up. But to younger me, they seemed believable. I used to think he was so brave for working the next. night shift. As I got older, I got into horror, and even if I didn't believe in his forest creatures anymore, I still liked the idea of spending the night in a small cabin in the

middle of nowhere, just for that dose of adrenaline. When my father said he wanted to take me with him, I accepted immediately. I knew why he offered. See, over the past years, our relationship had taken a big hit. I guess I was growing up, and I was growing up. and he didn't know how to handle that. He'd become emotionally distant and seemed to repel any of my tries to open up to him. In return, I'd become uninterested and irritable. In the words of my mother,

this would have been a fun way to bond, I guess. We arrived at the park around 9 p.m. His shift started at 10 p.m. and ended at 6 a.m. His jeep pierced through the darkness and ventured into the woods. The headlights flashed the trees, turning them white against the black sky. I had never been on this route,

but again, my visits to the park were rare. We drove for a while. Most of the time, people underestimate the size of national parks. It took us an hour and a half to get to the cabin, which wasn't even in the heart of the forest. I saw it, one single trace of humanity, in the middle of nowhere.

A tiny, wooden cabin with flickering light bulbs and watchdogs. Before we got out of the car, my father stopped me. Listen, there's some instructions you need to follow here. I know it might seem unimportant, but they're crucial. Then he handed me a piece of paper, a list of handwritten rules. At first, they were ordinary. Don't go out alone in the park. don't leave food out etc i thought the rest of the rules had been put there to just to freak me out

dad i'm not 12 anymore you can't freak me out with this shit i'm not trying to who wanted to come here with me so act accordingly what even is this if you see a man without an arm don't help him we have all kinds of weirdos around here in this if the whistling is near you? It means they're far. My father smiled, but his eyes didn't. Some of these are added by superstitious fellas. It's more of a what if. It's not going to happen to you. Number one, don't go out alone in the park. Always have a working contact device. Number two, don't leave marked paths unless instructed to and or with proper equipment. Number three, don't leave food out and lock the trash bins.

Number four, always keep on the whistle and the badge. Number five, if you see a man without an arm, don't help them. Number six, your family is not in here. Remember, there is no reason for you to hear their voices from outside. Number seven, lock your car doors, even when you are driving. Number eight, check the marks on the trees. There are only three types of marks, all triangles. Red, yellow, and green.

Other marks are not ours. Don't follow them. Number nine, if the whistling is near you, it means they're far. If it's far away, it means they're not. near. Number 10. Beware of Dead Blue. What is Dead Blue, I asked? My father sighed. You know, when you're out in the woods, when you think what you hear is silence, but you realize there's dozens of sounds around you from birds to crickets to leaves rustling. Yeah, that's because there's no such thing as silence. Absolute silence.

Never. There's always sound. Movement, life, dead blue, is complete and utter silence. That's our, um, that's our code for it. Death-inducing silence. Unnatural. Right. And when that happens, it won't. But what if it does? He paused, staring at the steering wheel. Then his head turned to me. His eyes darted from mine to the window behind me. You leave. That being said, he got out of the car and I followed. The cabin was dusty and cramped. I couldn't understand how he could spend eight hours in here.

He had a small TV, but it wasn't working. A desk and a mini-fridge. You sit here all alone, I asked. Yeah. Why, that freak you out? Don't you get bored? Martin's post is 10 minutes away. Sometimes I just drive over.

Nothing really happens out here anyway. My spot is pretty far from the campsites. I just have to patrol from time to time to make sure no one wanders off into the night. But that rarely happens. This is one of the wilder areas, less explored. You haven't explored it at all? His eyes sparkled. Would it be possible?

So you don't know what's out there? that's the fun of it. You said you wanted an adrenaline? There you go. I nodded. He opened the mini fridge and threw me some juice. Orange juice. I had mentioned I liked this brand once,

and he'd remembered. Maybe our relationship wasn't so bad. We sat next to each other in the small cabin. Dad locked it. I'm not going to lie to you. Most of the time I just sleep. Literally, nothing ever happens. So, you really didn't see any creatures out there?

Like the ones you told me about when I was little? I jokingly asked. The only creature out there is my manager, and I'd rather face a million cryptids than talk to him. I laughed. I leaned in to look out the windows. I can't see anything. Just my reflection. Want me to dim down the light?

Yeah. He did. And darkness crept inside the tiny cabin. The woods became more prominent, more vivid. The light made by the moon was unbelievable, and the stars were actually visible compared to the polluted city. The cabin was on a hill, propped up a tree with a trapdoor and a ladder leading to our car. We could actually see above the tree line, into the valley.

We spent the first hours talking. Somewhere around midnight, I began dozing off. I didn't want to, but I caved in. and fell asleep with my head on the desk. He woke me up. I rubbed my eyes and confusion. What time is it? I got a call from Martin.

Right. Who was Martin? I mumbled. The other one in the area? He says he got a call from the campsite and someone's missing. When you go search for him? We? As in us?

Yep. You'll stay in the back seat. I'm on the phone to the Martin. right now. I could hear Maron's muffled voice through the speaker. Wait, don't take the kid. Why not? He'll stay in the car.

Paul, it could be one of those nights. We won't get out of the car. You can't guarantee that. Well, I can't leave him here. Alone in the dark. A pause followed. Look, Paul, I understand you wanted to take your

kid to work today, but I don't know about this one. It could be dangerous. We're literally just going to drive around for a bit. It's fine. Leave him in the cabin. Dad put his hand over one of the speakers, so I didn't understand what Martin told him. His eyes kept darting to the window behind me. He sighed. Martin will come pick me up. You're staying here, locked. Turn the lights off and wait for me to return. It's going to take a minute, and you'll be safe here. What? I'm not staying here alone. What did Martin tell you to change your mind? It doesn't matter. I'll return in maximum half an hour. You can go back to sleep if you want, or I can call you and we can talk. I was afraid, truly afraid. I did not want to show it, especially after I'd complained that nothing interesting happened around there, so I reluctantly agreed. My dad opened the trap door and climbed down the ladder. Then his face disappeared into the darkness. I saw Martin's car pick him up and drive away.

Silence followed. I wish I'd been home, in my bed. Instead, I sat stiff on the chair and waited. And waited. I began imagining the worst. What if they'd crashed? What if a bear had found them? I didn't want to let the fear get the best of me, but I thought about its legends.

and the set of rules. I hope the riders were just paranoid. At around 2 a.m., I heard a knock on the trap door. I felt my chest tighten. Another knock followed. I wanted to respond, but something in me didn't allow me to. Then I heard my dad's voice. Kev, open. It's cold out here.

It echoed through the cabin. My eyes were dry from the lack of sleep, but my mind was fully awake. I stared at the phone. Then at the trap door. Kev, open, please, I know you're in there. I just saw you at the window. I turned off the light, completely. I don't know why I had this urge, but if my dad could see me from the window, anyone could.

Or anything. and I didn't like to be on display like that. You don't have a key? It locks from the inside. Shit. Yeah. How was it? Did you, uh, did you find him?

Yeah, we did. He was drunk off his ass. We helped him return to his friends. Could have been a lot worse. As I was talking to him, I searched for the key in the drawer. It was strange because I hadn't heard anyone climbing the ladder. or seen Martin's car drive my dad back to the cabin.

How did you get back here without Martin? What do you mean? Open up, Kev. I'm freezing. Answer the question. He did drive me here. Didn't see any headlights. They were off to not draw the attention of animals. Bullshit.

I pulled out the crumbled piece of paper. Six. Your family is not in here. Remember, there is no reason for you to hear their voices from outside. My hand was shaking so bad. I could barely grab the phone. I skimmed through my contacts. Cade F.

Connor, Dad. I called him. The phone was ringing. Yet no sound came from beneath the trap door. My dad picked up. Anything okay? in the blinding darkness of the cabin surrounded by the howling wind i toned my voice down to a whisper dad someone out there is pretending to be you a long pause followed when he spoke his voice was trembling don't open turn off the lights did you did you turn them off when i told you i i turned them off now No, you should have turned them off when I left.

I'm sorry. It's fine. Just don't talk to it. Did you talk to it? Guilt crept up my spine. I don't know why, but I lied. I did not. Good.

Stay put. I'm coming after you. But what if the thing sees you? You'll have to face it. We have ways to distract them. It's fine. Don't be scared. I lied again.

I'm not. Good. I love you. I'm coming. I wasn't scared for me. I was scared for him. The voice from below continued. Kev, please open. Please, it's cold. I didn't answer. Knox followed. The voice went on. Did you talk to someone on the phone?

Kev, I lost my phone in the woods. Whoever is out there and has my phone is not me. It's not me. It's not me. It kept repeating. It's not me. It's not me. I began feeling lightheaded.

Fear is one thing, but this was a combination of anxiety, stress, and guilt. I tried to control my breath, but to no avail. The cabin was spinning around me. It's not me. It's not me. It's not me. It's not me. It's not me. It's not me. Shut up. Shut up. And it did. Silence followed. I pulled out the list again and started reading and rereading the rules like a lunatic. I kept listening for noises from outside. The wind was still going. Good. No dead blue.

Then I heard a loud thud from my wall. Another followed. And another. It sounded like footsteps. They moved to the roof of the cabin. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears. Whatever was out there was now climbing around my cabin. I could hear the scratching outside.

I started to cry and covered my mouth with my hand. I just wanted my dad. I wished I could see his face again. The universe somehow ironically responded because my dad's face suddenly appeared at one of the windows. He raised his hand and knocked. I stared at him through my eyebrows,

my head tilted, scarcely breathing. I remained still. He kept knocking. That wasn't my dad. The cabin was. was tied to a tree at around 10 meters from the ground. He could not be at the window. The creature knocked and knocked,

and for what seemed like an eternity, we just made eye contact. Blood was dripping from one of its nostrils. Another phone call woke me from my trance. Kevin, are you there? Are you in the cabin? Yes, and the thing looks like you. And it's at the window.

I'm coming right now. I'll shoot it. Don't worry. I'm just about to turn a corner. Dad, I'm really scared for you. Martin's coming too. It's all right. Truly, in a few minutes, Martin's car pulled up. I cried in relief. The thing turned its head to look, then back to me. It reopened its mouth wide and using its fingers, pulled the corners upwards to form a smile. then jumped into the woods, into the darkness. Gunshots followed. After a few silent minutes, I called my dad. He picked up.

Where are you? I asked. I'm coming to get you. I saw him walk towards the cabin, then heard him climb up the stairs. I unlocked the trap door and hugged him tight. What was that, please? Tell me we're going home. We are. I'm so sorry. I should have never put you through this. Come on now.

As we walked towards our car, my blood ran cold. It was not something I'd seen or heard, but the opposite. See, the wind had stopped. The crickets had stopped. Dead blue. I sprinted to the car, got into the driver's seat, then locked the doors. My dad was standing in front of the car. confused. That's when I got a text and I hit the gas. I ran him over, then turned the car around and

sped up into the night. I barely knew how to work it out since I didn't have my license, but I left as quick as possible. Behind me, a car followed. When I got to the nearest checkpoint, I stopped. The car was Martins. He got out, alone. Where's my dad, I asked. He took a, uh, he took a an ATV to get you, said he'd get there faster. I'd texted him to turn around and that you were safe. The text he'd sent me. Martin and I split up. He may get there faster than me, and if he does, he'll text me to turn and head to the checkpoint. There is no one with Martin. He's alone. I thought I unlocked the trap door to my dad when he'd actually taken an ATV and turned to the checkpoint. The thing I'd ran over wasn't my dad.

and I'd known it since I felt that unnerving silence. However, no one at the checkpoint had seen my father. As I'm typing this, I'm afraid for him, but a part of me knows he's alive. Maybe he took another route or got lost. Whatever he did, I'll find him. Part two. So much has happened since my last update.

While I tell you what happened, please keep one thing in mind. Stay away from the forest. Forget everything that I told you the last time, about recreation and nature and all that. It's not worth it. It really isn't. I didn't want to say it, but deep down I knew. It was my fault that my dad was missing. No matter what cryptic creatures roamed the park, he'd been safe until I showed up.

Through me, he'd showed them he had a weakness, and they fed on his fear. Now, it was possible I would never see him again, and it was all my fault. I knew it. I just chose to bury it deep down on my chest and let it sink deeper in my stomach, a knot that would never disappear. As I was sitting there at the checkpoint, covered in a blanket and shivering from the stress, Martin approached me. As much as I wanted to ask him about the park, the rules, my dad,

something inside me didn't know whether trust him or not. Was he the real Martin? He sat down next to me. I'm sorry. The night was still cold and unwelcoming. The trees stood tall and sober in front of us, crowned by the dark, never-ending sky. No stars, just a year.

black soulless night. Maybe clouds had rolled in. I kept thinking of how four hours ago I'd been searching for constellations with my dad. What do you mean? I'm sorry for your dad. Don't say that. You say it like he's dead. Martin didn't answer and didn't look at me either. I turned my body towards him. He's not dead. He isn't. Martin remained silent. Then, without thinking, I punched his arm. He pulled away and frowned. It's not my fault. He shouldn't have brought you here.

Tell me everything you know about this stupid park. I deserve it. You owe it to me. And it's the only way I can actually find him. He stared at me for a while. And so long it passed until his response that I thought he had... Across Canada in a Volvo. Destination.

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Learn more at VolvoCars.a. I decided not to answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was toned down to whisper. We thought they were lying, both me and Paul and the others. When we got hired here, we heard the stories, the legends, and everything. But assumed those were horror stories passed around. We didn't stop to listen. And didn't believe anything until we saw it with our own eyes.

See, this park is huge. Huge, and no one ever bothered to explore it. I thought they lacked the resources, but now I see they were just afraid. He stopped to look around. It would be ridiculous of him to hide from anyone right now. Why would he feel ashamed of telling me these? I thought, but then realized he was probably looking around himself to stay aware, not of someone, but of something.

That's the thing. Even when you've been face to face with the supernatural, your mind still searches for a logical explanation. We started writing down the occurrence, try to find a pattern or a way to avoid them. We thought that if we wrote down those rules, we might be able to not get inconvenienced much. He wiped his face with his hand.

We never knew this could happen. None of us had ever disappeared. We just thought the worst they could do was annoy us, creep us out, hurt us. He was sweating, even if it was freezing outside. He kept shaking his hand. Paul always refused to believe. He'd never actually seen anything.

I sighed. I felt too alert to let my guard down and cry, but I caved it. Why do you let tourists here? Campers. They only care about those who wander off. They search for it in your soul, the desire to get lost, and then they help you. A shiver ran down my spine for no reason. I hugged myself. and sneezed.

I need your help to find him. Tomorrow morning. No, Martin, he could get hurt. I turned towards the dark mass of trees. He's out there. Alone now. Who's out there? Said a woman.

Coming out of the cabin? My dad. He's missing. She frowned. Then looked at Martin. Which post? 62, he replied. Shit, that's my next shift.

I could look for him with you if you want. I'll take my car and go to the post, tell you if anything shows up. Byron looked back at the cozy cabin, warmly lit, then to the dark woods. With a sigh, he stood up and started walking to his car. I followed. He locked the car doors, and then I called my dad. my heart was beating so fast I thought it would break free from my chest

no answer I took a deep breath right we should look for his ATV first we drove back to his post then we started checking the other paths around the main road his ATV couldn't have gotten too far

we found it parked in front of a big oak tree but no trace of my dad the trees surrounding it made it impossible for the car to pass through. So we came to the grim conclusion that we had to get out and search for him by foot. We ran over the rules one more time

to be sure. No weird markings. Dead blue. Whistling, loved ones, one armed man. Got it. I held on to Martin's arm as we sunk deeper into the dark trees. Our flashlights drawing

out more shadows than usual. Calling out for him. begging him to come out. I yelled his name over and over again until my throat started to hurt. I could feel branches hanging onto my clothes in unnatural, twisted angles. At one point, we stopped dead in our tracks.

Ahead of us behind a tree, something was moving. Who's that? Oh, wouldn't you like to know? We both froze. What? The old lady voice continued. Who could it be?

It was as if she was hiding behind the tree. One of her bony hands appeared from one side and the other from the other side. She moved them around, tracing the outline of the tree with her fingers. It looked as if she was playing with us. To make the tree seem like it had hands. I knew I had to try. Have you seen my dad? Have you seen my face?

She replied instantly. No? Would you like to? I turned to Maron, right when the old lady, or whatever it was, jumped from behind the tree. Even though I hadn't seen her face, I could make out how grotesque it looked judging Maron's expression. He fired a few shots, and I heard a whale like nothing else I'd heard before. It felt as if my ears were ripped off. Then silence. I don't think this is safe, Kev. No shit. I'm sorry about your dad, but I'm sure he's fine if we just search for him in daylight. No, he could die by then. Every moment is precious. I thought Martin was looking at me angry, but I realized two things. One, he wasn't looking at me, but behind me. And two, he wasn't angry, but confused.

Kev, don't move. Right in that moment, I heard a whistle far in the distance. If the whistling is near you, it means they're far. If it's far away, it means they're near. I opened my mouth to scream, but right in that instant, as Martin reached for me, I blacked out. When I woke up, I had a terrible headache. I was still in the woods, but Martin was gone. and so was his car.

I felt incredibly drained, and my hands were shaking so badly. I could barely lift them up. I started walking back to my dad's ATV, hoping I could take it and move on with my search. I checked the time, but something else stood out on my phone. The date.

It was one day later. I'd been in the woods for a whole day. my head foggy my body's stiff i got on the at tv and figured out how to start it then drove back to the main road into my father's post i could see the light on and make out a silhouette i stopped studying its outline it looked like it had only one arm if you see a man without an arm don't help him it was too late he'd seen me and was climbing down the ladder. I got back on the ATV and drove away. Right when I was halfway through, I ran out of gas.

Behind me, footsteps. Kid, hold on. I see you met my wife earlier. What a fine woman she is. My head was pulsating. Don't fucking come near me. Come on, you want to find your dad or not? You wouldn't know where he is.

Bullshit, I spoke to him this morning. Rage filled me and replaced the fear. I got down and turned to the old man, who had been limping behind me, and hit him. Don't speak about him. Don't you dare. The old man laughed, and I saw his only tooth staring back at me. I pushed him away and started running back to the post. I ran and ran and ran without looking back.

Until my limbs ached of a pain I'd never known before. I got to the post and climbed up the ladder. Then lock the trap door and called my mother, who was worried sick about me. I barely managed to get a word out before I collapsed from exhaustion. When I woke up, morning was creeping in. I called my dad one more time. The phone rang a few times. Yeah, Kev?

Tears gathered in my eyes. My throat hurt to speak, but I did. Dad, Dad, is that you? Where are you? Kev, get out of the forest. They'll let me go. They want you. Part 3. It didn't make any sense. I stared at the floor, phone in hand. Speechless. What do you mean? Where exactly are you? Kev, don't come after me. I can't do that. I can't just leave you there. I could make out heavy breathing on the other side of the phone.

Dad, just tell me where you are. I won't come after you. I promise. I'll be safe at the checkpoint. I'll send Martin. His voice was trembling. I don't know where I am. I've never been on this side of the forest. I think it's somewhere east.

Do you see any markings on the trees? Yeah, but none of the good ones. These markings aren't our... ours. These markings aren't ours. I paused and so did he. I had my phone to my right ear and suddenly someone whistled right next to my left, startling me. I took a deep breath. Relax. It means they're far. There's something else, my dad said. The cabin felt cold and yet I was sweating, suffering from an unexplainable fever. I could barely hold the phone anymore.

Kev, I'm not alone here. Something else is with me. I can't get out either. It feels like I'm walking in a circle, back and forth, and I'm afraid to go too far. It's as if it's guarding me. It doesn't want me to get out. I heard another whistle to my left.

Only this time, it didn't feel like it was directly into my ear anymore. They're getting closer. Right, I have to go. I wanted to hang up, but my hand wasn't listening to me. I just let the phone fall to the ground. In the reflection of the window, I saw myself, pale, dark veins under my eyes and dry lips. What was going on? I felt like puking.

I kneeled, then started rocking back and forth, unsure what to do. how to play this out. I knew that was surely my dad because the creatures can't talk on the phone, but I didn't know where he was, and something inside me told me they wouldn't just let him go unless I personally went out to look for him.

I don't know whether Martin would help me out again, and, judging by how fast he left me alone there, it didn't seem like he was too eager to reach out. My stomach turned, and my chest tightened as I puked on the floor of the cabin. The next minutes were a blur. I remember my hands and my knees crawling to the trap, then basically falling down the ladder and breaking my ankles on the ground,

then trying to stand up and failing. I remained laying on the leaves, staring at the sky. I could just fall asleep here forever. Another whistle to my left, this time further away. I didn't have much time until they found me again. Hey, kid. Fuck no. So soon.

I lifted myself from the ground enough to look at whoever was coming. It was the lady from the checkpoint. The one who said her shift was about to start. I mean, that's how it looked. I didn't know whether it was really her. I didn't answer, just blankly stared at her gray leather boots and ginger ponytail. Are you okay? I stood up.

She tried to help me, but I yelled at her not to touch me. Stay away. Now. A look of confusion swept over her face. Where'd you come from? I want to ask you the same thing. What? She smiled a bit amused.

My dad is missing. You find that funny? She scratched her head. Who's your dad? We had this exact same conversation back at the checkpoint with Martin. You should have remembered. I know he's missing, but I don't know his name. I don't know everyone around here.

She replied, annoyed. After I told her, she shook her head. Never heard of him. Why isn't anyone talking about this? Your park rangers just go missing. Hell, I've been here for two days now, and he don't even seem to care. What about my mother? Did you talk to her?

Did you talk to Martin since his egotistical ass left me here? Martin didn't come back to the checkpoint. She answered stoically. After that night, we didn't see him again. I stared at her in disbelief. Take me there, if it's really you. I need to talk to more people. I can't be alone here with you.

I understand your dad is missing, but it's not exactly like it's so uncommon around here, and please be polite. Don't let frustration cloud your judgment and make you unnecessarily irritable. unnecessarily, I have every right to be angry. What do you mean it's not so uncommon? Martin said no one went missing here.

She frowned, tilting her head, then looked away. I was still feeling sick, but at least I could stand on my own legs. Another whistle echoed, this time deep into the woods. Tall trees surrounded us in the familiar cabin seemed now desolate and rotten. Nothing made sense anymore. Your dad is not the first to go missing. Many went before him, and many will follow. It's not something you can negotiate.

It just happens. Martin said, She slowly shook her head. It's not something well known. We don't want to scare our rangers. When I spoke, I sounded choked out. Who else went missing? She hesitated.

Silence filled the space between us, and I could tell she was uncomfortable. I did. I didn't give her time to finish. I'd been running for so long that my legs had gone numb, hitting my shoulders on tree trunks and struggling don to trip and fall on the ground. I felt like running was the only thing that could save me. Deep into the forest, I wondered how long someone could go without water or food. At some point, I stopped to sit down.

I couldn't take it anymore. My heart was literally telling me that if I didn't stop soon, it would. The moment I sat on the moss, I realized I wasn't alone. I swallowed. I swear to God. In front of me sat the ginger lady. Go away, please, leave me alone. I just want to help.

I don't believe you. I went missing a long time ago I don't remember what I was doing patrolling around I think anyway post 62 is notorious for interesting stuff happening around 62 2446 they're not haunted generally speaking

but energy points and them as far as they know they come from the earth their corpses forests used to be humanities cemeteries and ritual dumpsters in general. I don't know what went on around here, but these woods have swallowed so much blood.

It's like mass, this blood, this death. The more it gathers, it creates this gravity and asks for even more. More blood, more death. She was softly murmuring, as of telling a bedtime story, I saw those markings, and even if I didn't recognize them, I was ashamed to call and ask. I thought they'd been part of my training and not recognizing them would have made me look bad.

Back then, no rules were written down. She sighed. Anyway, I came to this clearing in the woods, and, well, I don't remember how I died. All I know is that I was following my mom's voice. I don't remember how it sounds like now. How long have you been here for? She ignored my question. You are still alive. You could leave.

I want to, well, tell you it's not that bad here. She smiled, but her eyes didn't. There's always something to do here. They're always looking for another. I shook my head as she nodded. Okay. Well, you're looking for your dad. I think you already know what you need to do.

Look behind you. I did. Behind me a blue triangle, almost fluorescent. When I turned back to her, she was gone. I walked and walked, each step muffled by the damp earth and fallen leaves. You know, I'd never been in such woods before. They didn't feel alive in the usual way. millions of little lives roaming around but they felt like a being of their own and the earth rose and fell under my feet almost mocking my breaths

i passed a bridge then a tunnel in one of these godforsaken mountains when i got out i could hear whispers and whistles how are you why i'm fine just a little ravished well well wait it's soon i believe i I believe too. Do you believe? Yes, yes, soon, soon, soon, soon, soon, soon. What was about to happen soon? I tried calling out for my dad since my phone and flashlight had died, but someone else answered. And it wasn't him. So I decided to keep my mouth shut. I passed through this garden of roses, clinging onto my clothes.

roses are most popular who love flowers who never miss a chance to draw blood in the distance more trees one of them looked broken coming closer I realized something was coming from it or someone I didn't recognize their face

I kept walking and saw more coming from the trees I stopped looking at the trees looking at their faces, afraid I'd see my dad. Eventually, I reached this hell and smelled something burning. Coming closer, I saw this fire, and... Martin! The minute I said that, pain pierced my shoulder.

My back hit the tree. I smelled something metallic. Go away, said Martin. No, it's me. Believe me, I could not do this now. I already saw you five times. I don't believe you anymore. No, I'm telling the truth. Another knife flew to me, but I dodged it.

I started crying and fell to my knees. I told them about the ginger lady and my dad and the stars and my life in a way that no doppelganger could. They could try to kill me, but they didn't know anything about it. Martin's gaze softened. He sighed. I saw over 12 sunsets here. I had to kill them to eat, the mimics, I ate their meat. They mimicked my family, loved ones, they even mimicked you.

I've killed my family countless times here. Countless. We talked for a while. He told me he didn't want to go any further because he'd seen a clearing and had a bad feeling. And I understood. At one point he interrupted me. Can you hear the fire? Truly, I heard no rustling.

Not of leaves, not the fire. No wind. Dead blue. Run. I did. With Martin behind me, we ran until the moonlight shone freely. Without the burden of the trees. We'd reached the clearing.

I stopped. Breathless. My dad was laying there, unconscious. I threw myself on the ground. and grabbed him, shaking his shoulders. My voice was hoarse, and my eyes stung from the tears. Wake up, Dad, wake up, please. Now, he didn't.

Suddenly, Martin let out a whale. I turned around and saw him and... Some sort of figure over him. I don't know what it was. Choose. I froze. Someone had whispered right into my left ear. Choose.

One or the other. Martin was yelling. My dad was silent. I understood then and there. Dad, I chose to him. Let him live. Martin's screams stopped and my dad started coughing behind me. I turned to him and hugged him tight. He was confused and dizzy. Martin, on the other hand, was laying on the cold earth. His eyes open. His skin bruised. roosed. Gilt washed over me. However, I didn't have time to process it because a powerful light shone on to us. A helicopter. I grabbed the ladder without thinking and helped my dad up. The next thing I saw before I looked up was a ginger lady sitting cross-legged on the grass next to Martin's body. We were taken back to the entrance of the park. The next hours were filled with questions about the

park, about our disappearance, about Martin's murder. We are now the prime suspects, but I'm just glad I got out, and I know it's because of his sacrifice. However, I'd really like to speak to him again. I can't rest knowing his innocent soul is out there. I plan on giving more updates on my account. There's one other thing. I'd never dare to admit it. Sometimes when I look at my dad, even weeks after what happened, I wonder if it's really him. I was a park ranger in a fire watchtower, but I was the one being watched, written by Sunhead Prime. When I was in my 20s, I took a job as a park ranger at a state park. It was the perfect job for me at the time.

I love working outdoors. Every day presented new challenges and I got to work alone. On days when I could get my work done early, I would find a beautiful spot somewhere in the park and read or listen to music. It was therapeutic. I had just gone through a tough year. School kicked my ass and I had just broken up with my long-term girlfriend. I needed an escape and the park provided it. While working during the day was amazing, the night shift at the park wasn't as relaxing.

Do you know how uncomfortable the night can make even the most comfortable spaces in your house feel? Well, the pitch black of Mother Nature is like that feeling on steroids. The absolute worst place to sit during a night shift was the North End Watch Tower. Everyone who worked there called it the Centennial, because it was massive and looked out across the whole of the forest that made up the park. It was tall, just over a hundred feet above the ground, and made of old pine that seemed to retain the scent as if it had just been cut the day before. It was basically like a little cabin on top of really tall stilts. However, inside wasn't exactly like a luxury box.

The wall that faced the forest was one large window that gave pretty breathtaking views but was also really good at giving you feelings of vertigo. Inside, there was relatively meager furniture. There were just two chairs, one for sitting in good weather, and one insulated one for bad weather. An old desk, a single bare light bulb overhead, and a small fan to help you keep cool. I always brought something to read or write because the night watch in the tower is dull as hell. It was quite a hike, too. It took about 10 minutes or so to walk the 10 stories. When you had to do it in the dark at night, it tended to take a little longer.

Each story you climbed disappeared into the darkness below you. It could be a bit unsettling. Once you're at the top of the tower, your job for that shift is to basically look for fires or anything else out of the ordinary. When there was a full moon, you could see so much of the woods. but when there was a new moon or cloudy, you couldn't see a goddamn thing. If it wasn't for the bare light bulb in the cabin, you couldn't see anything.

Typically, you keep in touch with people on the walkie and just idle the hours away. I'm not going to sit here and tell you that I never dozed off for a while, but if you had come to visit me some nights, I might have had sleep creases on my face. Most nights when I was in the centennial, I brought a book

and write a journal to write in. Basically, occupy my mind for the shift and ignore the dark. Rangers, especially older ones, love to tell stories about the weird stuff they've seen over the years. People tend to think of parks as safe zones, where the most deadly thing that can happen is an animal attack. And yes, while animal attacks do occur, most of the violence comes from people.

Campers. drunks, and they'll get into fights or fall into fire pits or get lost on their way to the bathroom. Drifters will sneak into the park and stay in unoccupied cabins or buildings. I can not tell you the number of times I've walked into squatters, chilling in a distant ranger cabin, and have had to evict them. But one thing no one outside the world of park rangers likes to talk about is that parks, especially at night, tend to be a haven for criminals. I know it sounds crazy at the outset, but it happens.

Murders, R-word, drug activity, you name it, it happens. I was lucky to never deal with anything more heavy stuff. A few times we found drugs to be sold or a small patch of marijuana growing in the woods, but nothing horrifying. But if you've put your time in at the park, eventually you'll run across something that will haunt your dreams. Not too far from where our park was. There was a correctional facility. It wasn't Alcatraz or anything that high security,

but the people there were serious criminals. It was a distance away. On clear nights, you could barely make out the light from the yard along the horizon. But it loomed large in your imagination. Your rational brain knew that any criminal could have to brave the dangerous forest in pitch black before they ran into you, but a tiny flicker of light kept in a corner of the, your brain illuminated. It could happen. It won't, but it could. It was near the end of the summer,

and some of the staff had already split for the year. I was on for a few more weeks, but I was going to get night duty for most of these days since I was lowest on the totem pole. Worse, I would be on centennial duty those nights. I know having the least amount of seniority was the main reason, but I know that my boss and a few older rangers play poker those nights as well. Since I had no money or skills, I was sent up into the tower. As the sun was starting to set, I walked into the central station at the park entrance. A few rangers were milling about, shooting the shit. The day shift was relaying night shift things that they should be aware of, that kind of stuff.

It mainly was nothing, not a ton of campers in the park this time of year. Just a few sightings of bears nearby. Someone also swears they saw a bobcat, but wasn't sure. But then someone walked into the station, and the tenor of the night shifted. Excuse me, a woman about 40 said in an overly polite way. She was dressed in leggings, and my guess was she was there to walk the trails. My boss and wannabe Casanova, Jonesy noticed the outfit and lack of a wedding ring and shot her his 10-cent smile.

Welcome to the State Park. How can I help you today? He said. His words dripping with Sackarin. Uh, hi, she said, a little taken aback. I wanted to report something. Well, maybe report is a bit extreme, but just make you aware of something I saw out on the trails.

Sure. What did you see? She shifted her weight. a little uneasy, it seemed. I clocked it and thought it was a little unusual. Sometimes when people see a bear or a bobcat, two things that have been spotted recently, they might have their adrenaline pumping and be a bit jittery,

but this wasn't that. It sounds crazy, but I think I saw something stalking me out in the woods? I'm sorry to hear that, probably gave you a bit of a spook, Jonesy said. We've had a few bear and bobcat sidings lately. No, she said definitively. It wasn't a bear or a cat. I think it was a person.

What trail? Sandlewood Loop B, I think it's called. That's not that far from where a few campgrounds and fishing cabins are. They didn't look like a camper. Everyone in the cabin had stopped talking and turned their attention to the woman. She noticed and you could see the red rush to her cheeks. What did they look like? Um, they looked shadowy, she said, like they were afraid of the sun or something.

And they were following you? I caught something in the corner of my eye around the last turn of the loop, I stopped and pretended to stretch, and I saw something in the woods just off the trail. They were hiding behind a tree, eyeballing me. Jesus, Jonesy said, I'm sorry that happened to you. Thank you, she said, her voice going soft. They followed me until I nearly got to the end of the loop. I started running, then, and lost eye to them.

Jonesy turned back to the two of the older rangers and told them to hop in a gator cart and check out the woods for anything. He told them to keep their walkies on and take a sidearm just in case. They left in a flash, and Jonesy turned his attention to the woman. Can you tell me anything that might help? Did they have any kind of identifiable clothes? Did they speak to you? Did they?

She interrupted. They made noises. Noises, Joneses asked, slightly confused. Yes, a few. They made a kind of chittery noise and, a faint, um, yelling kind of sound. Possibly cicadas, another older ranger said. A group of them could scare the fur off a cat. Maybe, I don't know.

They also whistled, but not like they were whistling at me. It's like they were trying to blend in with nature. Can you describe the noise? She whistled something that I knew right away. That sounds like a wood thrush. How do you know that, Jonesy said? Not being able to help himself.

My grandpa was an avid birder. He turned his attention back to the woman. Did you want to file a police report or... No, no, no, no, no, no, no, she said quickly. I don't even have that much information. I was just, I was just scared and wanted to let you guys know just in case. Are you sure? Yeah, she said.

I don't think anyone else was on the trail after me, but I didn't feel right, not telling you. I'm so sorry that happened to you here. The park is supposed to be a place to relax. She laughed nervously. Jonesy shot her a calming smile. here's my card he said handing her one if you change your mind please call me she pocketed it and nodded she turned to leave and then stopped she turned back and after a brief pause said something else that was weird i saw this thing on both sides of the trail he crossed behind you i didn't notice him doing that

but he must have because I saw him on both sides. Unless there was more than one of them, I said, instantly regretting it. Jonesy turned, he gave me a Jesus dude, look, and I clammed up. Do you need someone to escort you to your car, ma'am? No, I'm right out here. Thanks, though, she said as she walked out the door. We heard her motor away a few moments later.

sorry i said before jonesy could say anything he sighed no worries just don't go freaking out guests like that we need people like her to come back people like or her to come back right was i too obvious jonesy said with a smile what do you think she saw i asked when to go one of the other rangers said and everyone laughed Having read about Wendigo's and Skinwalkers and a mythology class, I didn't find it so amusing. Might have been her eyes playing tricks on her. If someone is out there, those two will find them. They're good at tracking and whatever's out there couldn't have gone far.

Great night to be up in the tower, I said with a smirk. That's probably the safest place to be, Jonesy said. No one climbs ten stories if they don't have to. I hung out for around another half hour or so to see what came out of the trackers. They came back and said there wasn't anything around the sandalwood loop. No footprints or were anything they saw. Granted, the leaves had started to fall, so it was hard to see anything on the ground. But I trusted their tracking skills.

Not going to lie, even with the guys coming back empty-handed, I was still a bit nervous about the shift. Jonesy was right. No one climbed stairs unless they have to. This is still America, after all. Laziness always wins. Also, there was nothing in the cabin above the trees except me. A book and a journal.

Nothing worth making the journey. As the sun slid behind the horizon, I started my trek to the centennial. When I got to the platform at the bottom, something caught my eye. The tower base is lousy with... stickers, tags, and names carved into the pine. Usually, it's Joe plus Jane Forever, or something along those lines, but what had been freshly cut was a bit different.

It was a pair of eyes. Had the earlier events not happened, I probably wouldn't have even noticed the eyes. I chalked it up to my mind, already being primed to see some spooky shit. I assumed it had been some kids earlier or one of the older rangers looking to give me a scare. Whatever it was, I did a quick glance around me before I started up the stairs. From the vantage point, high above the trees, you can see storms come rolling in.

Tonight was no exception. It was a waning crescent moon tonight, so it would be a bit dark. But those rain clouds made it pitch black. The only natural light I would see would be the occasional burst of lightning inside the clouds. The wind had picked up too. You can tell because there is a slight shift in the tower when the winds gust. Not a lot, but just enough to notice. You get used to it, but when it first hits, it can be a bit jarring.

There were a few wind gusts, but I settled in for the evening and stopped noticing. About an hour later, my walkie crack to life. How's the view? It was Jonesy. Great, I said. We're about to do a pass around the park, wanted to give you a heads up. I lead forward in my chair

and glanced through the window towards the base. I saw Jonesy and a few other rangers getting into their gator carts to head out. Their headlights were bright, but only because there was literally no other light down there. The beams themselves only saw a few feet in front of you. Thanks.

You guys need me to scout anything for you? No, we'll be fine, but hey, if you see any windegos, let me know, huh? Funny, I said. If you hear any thrushy singing, run. Those boys should all be in bed by now. I'll keep that of mind. Be back in half hour, 45 minutes tops. Over and out, I said, and I placed down my walkie and watched those tiny ants drive off into the woods and out of sight. I kicked back in my chair and started reading again. That's when I heard a bored creak.

At first, my mind assumed it was probably just the wind pushing the tower. It can cause a creaking sound in the tower. But my brain pushed away the fog of rationality, and a more terrible thought became clear. What if someone was outside the door? I would have heard them walking up the stairs, right? I looked around for anything I could use as a weapon. Outside of smashing my walkie or flashlight into this potential person's head, there wasn't much.

If I did need to escape, light and communication would probably be a good thing to have. Didn't want to go and break essential equipment. I grabbed my walkie and pressed the button. Jonesy, I said. Trying to sound confident. Jonesy, you out there? I knew there was a chance he might be out of rain. Sometimes these wonkeys can be wonky in the forest, and I was praying he would respond.

But the longer I heard the static, the less hope I had he could hear me. Jonesy, just curious if you guys had circled back this way. Finally. Yep, Ned forgot his light and we came back, but we're heading out now. All right, I said. Hey, odd question, but did anyone come up to the centennial by chance? Just you, he said. and then added, why?

Thought I, uh, thought I, uh, I heard a board creek. It's breezy to night, storm coming in, probably just the wind, or the wind to go, he said, chuckling to himself. Have fun, I said, ending the conversation. I put my walkie back down and stared at the door that led to the stairs. The odds that someone would have walked up here to put a scare in me was remote. Like Jonesy said earlier, no one walks 10 stories unless they have to. But what if the woman from earlier had seen someone or a group, and they were looking for a place to hide out?

Would the centennial be a good choice? Maybe. I don't know how the criminal mind works. Regardless, for my own sanity, I would have to swing that door open and see if anything was there. It was probably nothing, but I needed to be sure. If not, the rest of my shift was going to be miserable. I quietly walked across the cabin to the door and grabbed the handle. I counted it down from three in my head and swung the door open.

There was nothing there. In the distance, a flash of lightning crashed and thunder rolled, but no person was standing there. I sighed and then stepped out on the distance. at the landing. You could really feel the breeze up here now. That storm was moving in quickly. You could smell the rain coming. The earthy scent that the raindrops stir up was all around me.

Even though I was sure no one was outside the cabin. I wanted to check out the stairs just in case. I walked over to the stairs and stared down. In the darkness, the stories below me just merged with the night. I couldn't see anything. I pulled out my flashlight and shone the beam down the stairs to the next landing. The flashlights we had were decent, but not ideal. Cops got 1,000 lumined flashlights to shine in your eyes when they pull you over,

but we were lucky to get half that. It's not like we'd need adequate lights working in the pitch black or anything. I walked down to the first landing and glanced around. Nothing seemed out of place. I flashed my light down to the next landing and something caught my eye. The light reflected off of something on the stairs. Not unlike a toddler, I made my way to the shiny object. I was a little surprised to find a small piece of reflective strip on the stairs.

I didn't remember seeing it on the way up. I would have picked it up to throw away. It looked like it had been ripped off of a jacket or uniform or something, but how did it get here? The wind might have blown this up from a campsite, but that felt wrong. It was. I turned to climb back up to the cabin when I froze. On the railing, someone had carved another set of eyes.

I didn't move. I stood there as my brain tried to piece together an excuse that made sense, but it was failing. Even when I started to feel the patter of rain on my face, I didn't move. What the hell was going on? fearing that someone might be looking at me, I clicked off my flashlight. I know I said it earlier that I didn't want to waste essential tools, but at this point, I was ready to brain someone until the damn thing broke. The rain started to come down a bit harder, which helped to break me from my fugue state.

I was about to start back up towards the cabin when I heard the floorboards above me squeak. There was a crash of thunder nearby. and it barely registered in my mind. I was so tuned into the symphony of pine stairs that a bomb could have blown off near me and I'd miss it. After what felt like 17 hours, I hadn't heard anything else. I relaxed a little bit. It was probably nothing.

My mind was overreactive. And I was red stringing together, disparate events into a cohesive narrative to scare myself. I was sure that was it. Then I heard something drag across the pine above me. It sounded like someone was gouging out the wood. I didn't know what to do. My legs felt like jello.

I wanted to go streaming down the stairs, but I was afraid I would make too much noise. Plus, the idea of running down eight stories of now wet steps didn't sound ideal. I slowly started making my way towards the stairs heading down when the gouging noises above me stopped. After a slight pause, I heard footsteps head towards the door of the cabin. Someone was up there. I was sure of it. What they wanted to do, well, I didn't want to think about that. I slowly started down the stairs, careful to not let any of them squeak underneath me.

I kept my flashlight off and just ascended to the darkness. I reached for where my walkie should be and cursed myself when I realized I had left it up there. as if on cue, I heard the cabin door swing back open and heard an object crashing through the trees towards the ground. As it passed me, I heard the familiar static of the walkie. Whatever was in the cabin had just tossed my only lifeline to the outside world. Well, fuck. That wasn't good. I hastened my trip down the stairs.

As I rounded the landing for my sixth story, I suddenly heard the familiar call of a wood thrush three landings below me. Only the thrushes were gone at this time of night. This. This was a person. He made the noise again, and it clicked as to why they would give their position up. He was signaling to the person above me. He was letting him know where I was.

One above, one below. I was trapped. Above me, I heard someone start down the steps. They moved slow and steady, deliberate. Whoever was up there was coming down to me, and I had nowhere to go. I thought about trying to slide down the rails and grab a branch on the way down, but knew that would end poorly for me in the best of scenarios and deadly and the worst. They rounded the second story down.

I was running out of time for a plan. I could run down the stairs and try to bull rush whoever was down there, but the rain was coming down harder now, and we could slip and fall off the tower. The only thing I had going for me was the darkness. I had the only light, and outside of the occasional lightning flash, it was dark as hell. It would cloak me if I could find a spot to hide. As he rounded the landing above me, I made a decision that, looking back, was one of the wildest things I've ever done in my life.

I wake up some nights gasping for breath because I dreamed about doing this. The instinct to survive is so deeply ingrained into our animal brain that I suppressed all the fear I would usually have and just acted. As quietly as I could, I climbed over the handrail on the landing and held on to the side of the stairs. My feet felt for the handrail in the landing, alone me to help steady me, but my toes just grazed against the wood. I couldn't reach them. My arms started burning as they held my weight. I clod into the wood with my hands,

hoping my nails digging into the pine would counteract my wet palms. I closed my eyes, partially to shut out the pain in my arms and partially because I was afraid the whites of my eyes would get noticed. I heard the footsteps turn the corner and start to come down these stairs right next to me. I held my breath. My arms were burning, and I was so afraid I would lose my grip. The person took these steps one at a time, slow as possible. They were looking for me on the landing, but they didn't see me. Suddenly, whatever it was started chittering into the darkness. A few seconds later, the wood thrush called back. The footsteps stopped coming down the stairs and started going back up. No, no. In a flash, a solution came to me. I used my right foot to kick off my left

boot. Suddenly, I was glad I didn't take Jonesy's advice to keep the laces as tight as a drum. I kicked my boot onto the landing below me, and they landed with a heavy crash. The footsteps stopped going up the stairs. I freed my other boot as it crashed down next to their partner on the landing. It sounded like I was down there. The footstep, walked right past me, heading down quickly to surprise me on the landing below. As soon as they rounded the corner, I called upon all the strength in my body and quickly pulled myself back up over the railing. I landed with a thud which gave away the ghost. I popped up and dashed up the stairs to the top of the cabin. I knew they'd be right behind me,

so I didn't hesitate. In seconds, I was at the top of the stairs and outside the cabin door. I was met with another pair of eyes carved into the wood. They stared back at me, watching and waiting to see what I was going to do next. I dashed into the cabin and leaned against the door to brace against anyone trying to burst in. I knew two people. At least I hope they were people, were coming, and they were going to not stop until they got into the cabin. Another bolt of lightning flashed nearby, and the ensuing thunder shook the tower. Things were close.

I glanced up and noticed that someone had carved another set of eyes staring at me just above the window. Only this time, they left a message with the picture. You watch us, but who's watching you? I could feel the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I swallowed hard as I heard two sets of footprints reached the top of the landing. Sure enough, they charged into the door. pushing it open slightly. I braced hard against the door and started yelling.

Just the most primal screaming I've ever done. They kept thumping the door. Whomp, wamp, wamp, wamp. Each thrush pushed the door open a bit more and a bit more. I was struggling to hold out against them. I was tired, and my socks were slipping on the wood. It was only a matter of time until they burst through. I thought about my life.

I thought about my parents, my friends, my friends. all the things I would never get to do. Then the hair on my arms started to stand on end. Then my leg hair. Then my hair started to rise. Only, it wasn't fear that was causing this. It was something much more primal, much more natural,

much more powerful. I dashed across the room and sat on the insulated stool. They beat up wooden seat with glass legs and held my feet up. As the door burst open, I saw two sets of eyes staring at me. The two faces grinned, and the cabin light reflected off the blade of a knife. I screamed as everything went white, and what sounded like the sky splitting and two erupted around us. Lightning had struck the tower. I was safe.

Glass and wood are shitty conductors, but the two men who were standing in a puddle weren't as lucky. The blast had shocked them and sent them tumbling down the side of the tower. When I opened my eyes, I could see the burn marks across the pine and smell the fire that had been started. Without giving anything a second thought, I dashed out of the door and ran down the stairs of the Centennial. It may take ten minutes to climb up, but it took me about two minutes to get down. As soon as I hit the bottom landing, I saw the lights of the gator carts, pull up. I collapsed on the ground as Jonesy and the other rangers rushed over to me. I glanced up and saw his face, and I started to sob. Above him, the flames licked and ate away the tower floor by floor.

It would burn for over an hour. I later learned that the two men killed by the lightning were escaped convicts from the jail. Both of them had beat up a guard, grabbed their clothes, and headed out into the woods three days earlier. The escape had been kept quiet because they didn't want to spook anyone and thought they'd track them down in the woods sooner rather than later. Why scare people if you didn't have to? Also, fuck that noise. They both had been convicted of murder, and I swear to God,

this is what the police told me. The criminals had ill intent for me. I told the officers I had gathered that. Thinking back, they probably watched me climb up the tower later and saw an easy target. When I had first heard the floorboard squeak outside the door, the criminal that had followed me up made a quick decision to climb up onto the roof of the cabin to prevent me from seeing him until he was ready. I probably didn't hear anything on the roof because of the fan in the rain.

I think about what he could have done to me had he caught me by surprise. Jumping down from the roof and shutter, at best, I'd be stabbed by a madman. At worst, I tumble ten stories to my death. Either way, not a great thing to linger on during idle hours. That was my last day as a ranger. I was due back to school in a few weeks, and I needed time to calm my nerves. Everyone understood. They even paid me out for the week, which was nice. I also took a small part of the centennial as a memento of the ordeal. Every time I look at the piece of wood I took from the tower, I wasn't reminded of what could have happened to me,

but instead of what I did to survive, someone was watching me that night, but it wasn't just the criminals. It was nature herself. And all right, guys, that wraps up some horrifying search and rescue Reddit Stories. I really hope you enjoyed today's video. If you did, make sure to like the video and subscribe to the channel. The channel's subscriber goals won million subscribers before the end of the year. So every single subscription really does mean the world. And yeah, I just absolutely

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