I've always had a soft spot for the wilderness, a kind of
sanctuary where the world's chaos takes a back seat.
That's why I became a park Ranger.
The year was 1986, and let me tell you, it was a time unlike
any other neon lights, cassette tapes and movies that have now
become classics. But even in that vivid era, the
park was my refuge. It was a place where time seemed
to slow down, where the air was crisp and the pine trees stood
tall and proud like Sentinels guarding a sacred place.
My colleagues and I had a routine.
After a long day of patrolling, maintaining trails, and ensuring
the park was as pristine as Mother Nature intended it to be,
we'd gather at the Ranger station.
It was a humble building, but it was ours.
We'd pop AVHS tape into the VCR and let the flickering screen
take us to galaxies far, far away, or to the heart of a love
story. Those movie nights were a simple
pleasure, but they meant the world to us.
They were a slice of normalcy in a job that often reminded us how
unpredictable nature could be. But even in the most serene
settings, oddities have a way of creeping in.
It was late spring and the park was alive.
The air was filled with the scent of freshly cut grass and
pine, a combination that always made me feel more alive.
I was walking past a cluster of picnic benches, lost in thought,
when something caught my eye. A Halloween mask, the kind that
covers your entire head, was lying on the ground, as if
discarded in haste. It was designed to look like a
vampire, complete with exaggerated fangs and a menacing
expression. I stood there for a moment,
puzzled. Halloween was months away, and
even if it weren't, what was a mask doing here in a place where
the only masks you'd expect to see were those of animals in
their natural habitat? I radioed it in base.
This is Stewart. Found something odd near the
picnic area? Over.
Go ahead, Stewart, came the reply, crackling through the
radio. It's a Halloween mask.
A vampire to be exact. Just lying here on the ground.
There was a pause. Well, that's a new one.
Log it and keep an eye out. Could be kids messing around.
Will do, base over and out. I picked up the mask, it's
plastic surface, cold to the touch, and logged it as
instructed. But as I went about the rest of
my day, the mask stayed on my mind.
We've all got stories, little oddities that punctuate our
daily routines. But this felt different, like
the opening line of a story I wasn't sure I wanted to read to
the end. That night, as the credits
rolled on another movie, I looked around at my colleagues,
each lost in their thoughts or in casual conversation.
I wondered if any of them felt it too.
The subtle shift in the air, the sense that our sanctuary had
been touched by something we didn't quite understand.
And so the mask became a part of our lore, a small mystery in a
place filled with ancient trees and timeless landscapes.
But as I'd soon find out, some mysteries have a way of digging
their claws in, refusing to be forgotten.
Little did I know this was just the beginning.
The lake had always been a place of solace for me, tucked away
and surrounded by a quarry, It was a hidden gem in the park.
The water surface was like a mirror, reflecting the sky and
the surrounding trees. It was a place where you could
lose yourself in thought, where the world's problems seemed far
away. But that evening, as the sun
dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the
water, the lake felt different. It felt like a place hiding a
secret. I was making my rounds, the
setting sun painting the sky and hues of orange and pink.
The air was cooling down, a welcome respite from the day's
heat. I drove my truck down the narrow
path that led to the lake, the tires crunching on the gravel
Rd. I parked and stepped out, taking
a moment to breathe in the fresh air.
That's when I saw it, a small object on the wooden dock that
jutted out into the lake. Curiosity peaked.
I reached for my binoculars. As I focused the lenses, the
object became clearer. It was another mask just sitting
there, as if waiting to be discovered.
My heart sank. This was no coincidence.
Someone had been here, in a place that required a key to
access, a place that was off limits to the public.
I grabbed my radio base. This is Stewart.
I found another mask. This time it's by the lake on
the dock. Are you sure?
The voice on the other end sounded incredulous.
As sure as I'm standing here. We've got a situation.
This area is supposed to be locked up.
Understood. We're sending a team to your
location. Stay put and keep an eye out.
Roger that. I stood there, watching the mask
from a distance. It was unsettling, this
intrusion into a place I'd always considered safe.
I felt exposed, like a deer that senses a predator but can't see
it. The team arrived and we
documented the find, snapping Polaroid photos and sealing the
mask in an evidence bag. But the questions remained.
How did it get here? Who had the audacity to breach a
restricted area? As we left the lake, I couldn't
shake the feeling that we were being watched.
I scanned the tree line, half expecting to see a figure
lurking in the shadows, but there was nothing, just the
rustling of leaves and the distant call of a night bird.
The lake had given up its secret, but it felt like there
were more to come. Back at the Ranger station, the
mood was somber. We were all thinking the same
thing, but no one wanted to say it out loud.
This was more than a prank. It was a violation, A breach of
the sanctuary we were sworn to protect.
And it was my job, our job, to find out who was behind it.
As I clocked out for the night, I looked back at the park, it's
dark silhouette framed against the night sky.
It was still beautiful, still a place of refuge, but it had lost
some of its innocence, and I couldn't help but wonder what
else it was hiding. What other secrets were buried
beneath its tranquil surface? This was no longer just about
masks. This was about preserving the
sanctity of a place I loved, and I was determined to get to the
bottom of it, no matter what it took.
Summer had settled over the park like a warm, comforting blanket.
The days were long. The air was thick with the scent
of blooming flowers, and the sound of laughter from families
enjoying their vacations filled the air.
But for me, the season had lost some of its luster.
The masks had become a dark cloud hanging over the park, a
Riddle with no answer. I was driving my truck through a
particularly dense section of pine trees, the air conditioning
fighting a losing battle against the heat.
The towering pine seemed to close in around me, their
branches forming a natural tunnel.
It was a part of the park that always made me feel like I was
entering another world, a place untouched by time.
But today it felt different. It felt like the trees were
whispering secrets. Secrets I was not Privy to.
I parked the truck and stepped out, my boots crunching on the
bed of pine needles that carpeted the ground.
I was about to head back when I saw it, a mask propped up
against the trunk of a pine tree, as if it were casually
resting there. My stomach lurched.
This mask was eerily similar to the first one I'd found, but
distinct enough to be a different one altogether.
I grabbed my radio base. It's Stewart Found another mask.
This one's near the pine Grove. A sigh came through the speaker.
Copy that, Stewart. Log it and bring it in.
We'll have to discuss this at the next briefing.
Will do. I approached the mask
cautiously, as if it were a wild animal that might bolt.
I picked it up. It's plastic surface now warm
from the sun. I looked around, half expecting
to see someone watching me, but I was alone.
Or at least it felt like I was alone.
Back at the Ranger station, the mask was logged and sealed in an
evidence bag, joining the others in a growing collection that no
one wanted. The room was thick with tension
as we discussed the fines. Halloween was still months away,
and the nearest store that sold masks like these was miles away.
The Internet wasn't an option. This was 1986, after all.
Someone had gone through a lot of trouble to place these masks,
and the why of it was driving us all a little crazy.
We need to increase patrols, said my supervisor, breaking the
silence. And let's get some volunteers
from the community to keep an eye out.
We can't let this go on. Nods of agreement filled the
room. We were all thinking the same
thing. It was time to take action.
As I left the station, I couldn't shake the feeling that
we were missing something, something crucial.
The masks were a message, a signal of something darker
lurking in the shadows, and as much as I wanted to believe it
was just a prank, a voice in the back of my mind kept whispering
that it was something more. I looked out over the park, it's
beauty now tinged with an undercurrent of menace.
The pine trees swayed in the wind, as if nodding in
agreement. This was a mystery that refused
to be ignored, and I had a sinking feeling that things were
about to get a lot more complicated.
I needed answers, and I needed them fast.
The park was my sanctuary, a place I devoted years to
protecting. These masks were an intrusion, A
violation that I couldn't let go unanswered.
That's why I found myself driving to the local college,
where a man named Eric Pierce was said to have the kind of
knowledge that could shed light on our mystery.
The campus was quiet, the academic year having ended a few
weeks back. I parked my truck and made my
way to the History Building, a brick structure that had seen
better days. The hallway smelled of old books
and floor Polish, a scent that took me back to my own college
days. I found Pierce's office at the
end of the hall, its door ajar. Come in, he said before I could
knock, as if he'd been expecting me.
Eric Pierce was a tall man, his hair graying at the temples.
His office was a labyrinth of books and papers, a lifetime of
knowledge crammed into a small space.
He gestured for me to sit, and I took a seat across from his
cluttered desk. Nick tells me you're dealing
with a rather unusual situation. He began getting straight to the
point. That's one way to put it, I
replied, recounting the events of the past weeks, the masks and
the growing sense of unease among the Rangers.
Pierce listened intently, nodding as if he'd heard this
kind of story before. When I was done, he opened a
drawer and pulled out a folder, handing it to me.
Ever heard of James Finley? He asked.
I opened the folder to find newspaper clippings about a
local criminal who had vanished without a trace years ago.
What caught my eye was a detail about Finley's modus operandi.
He wore Halloween masks during his robberies.
This is starting to make sense, I muttered, the pieces of the
puzzle falling into place. Pierce nodded.
Finley disappeared in the woods near your park.
Some say he buried his loot there, but no one's ever found
anything. So you think these masks could
be connected to Finley? It's a possibility, he said,
pushing another folder toward me.
But there's more. I opened the second folder to
find missing persons, reports three men, all in their late 20s
to early 30s, had gone missing in the area over the past few
months. These men were last seen near
the park, Pierce continued. Locals say they were looking for
Finley's treasure. A chill ran down my spine.
So you think they might have found something they shouldn't
have? Pierce leaned back in his chair,
his eyes meeting mine. When people go looking for
things, they often find more than they bargained for.
I thanked Pierce for his time and took the folders with me, my
mind racing as I drove back to the Ranger station.
If Pierce was right, we were dealing with something far more
sinister than a simple prank. These masks were a warning, a
sign that the park secrets were darker than any of us had
imagined. And as I pulled into the
station, I knew one thing for certain.
It was time to dig deeper, to unearth the truth hiding beneath
the surface, because whatever was going on, it was far from
over. The Ranger station was buzzing
with activity. When I walked in, folders in
hand, I could feel the tension in the air, a palpable sense of
urgency that had settled over us all.
I briefed my colleagues on my meeting with Professor Pierce,
laying out the clippings and missing persons reports on the
table. The room fell silent as they
absorbed the information, the weight of the situation sinking
in. We need to involve the
community, said my supervisor, breaking the silence.
We can't keep this under wraps any longer.
We need eyes and ears out there. And so we organized a community
watch, reaching out to locals who knew the park like the back
of their hand. Hunters, fishermen, hikers,
people who had a vested interest in keeping the park safe.
We held a meeting at the Ranger station, laying out the facts
and asking for volunteers. The response was overwhelming.
It seemed the masks had struck a nerve, turning a local oddity
into a community wide concern. Armed with flashlights and
walkie talkies, the volunteers patrolled the park and shifts,
their eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary.
We set up a hotline for tips and the calls started coming in.
Most were dead ends, strange noises that turned out to be
wildlife, shadows that were just tricks of the light.
But then we got the call we've been waiting for.
A local fisherman was out on the lake, his boat drifting near the
quarry when he saw it, a figure standing on the dock, shrouded
in darkness. He couldn't make out any
features, but the figure seemed to be staring right at him.
Then, as quickly as it appeared, it vanished into the trees.
My heart pounded as I listened to the fisherman's account, my
mind racing with possibilities. Could this be the person behind
the masks? And if so, what were they up to?
We organized a search party, combing the area around the lake
in the dock, but it was like looking for a needle in a
haystack. Whoever this person was, they
knew how to cover their tracks. We found nothing, not even a
footprint. It was as if they'd vanished
into thin air. The community watch continued,
the volunteers more determined than ever.
But as the days turned into weeks, the leads dried up.
It was as if the park itself was keeping its secrets, refusing to
give up the ghost. And then, just when we thought
it was over, another mask appeared.
This time it was found hanging from a tree near one of the
hiking trails, it's empty eyes staring down like some sort of
twisted guardian. I stood there, looking up at the
mask, a sense of dread washing over me.
This was far from over, and the message was clear.
We were not alone. Someone was watching us, toying
with us, and there was nothing we could do but wait for their
next move. As I drove back to the Ranger
station, the sun setting behind me, I couldn't shake the feeling
that we were on the edge of something dark, something that
threatened to consume us all. And as much as I wanted to
believe we could stop it, a voice in the back of my mind
whispered the chilling truth. We were in over our heads, and
the worst was yet to come. The summer was drawing to a
close, the days growing shorter and the nights cooler.
The community watch had been disbanded, the volunteers
returning to their lives, the sense of urgency fading away
like the setting sun. But for me, the mystery of the
masks was a wound that refused to heal, a puzzle with missing
pieces that haunted my every thought.
I was on the night shift. The park bathed in the soft glow
of the moonlight. I drove my truck down, the
winding roads, the headlights cutting through the darkness.
I was about to call it a night when my radio crackled to life.
Stuart, you there? It's Paula.
I'm here. Paula.
What's up? I think you should come to the
station. There's something you need to
see. Her voice was tinged with a note
of urgency that sent a chill down my spine.
I turned the truck around and headed back to the station, my
mind racing with possibilities. When I walked in, Paula was
standing by the table, a look of disbelief on her face.
Laid out before her was a series of Polaroid photos, each one
more unsettling than the last. They were pictures of us, the
Rangers, taken from a distance. Our face is clearly visible in
the frame. Where did you find these?
I asked, my voice barely above a whisper in the mailbox.
No return address. They were wrapped in a plastic
bag. Along with this.
She handed me a note. It's message scrawled in a shaky
hand. Stop looking, or the masks won't
be the only things you find. My blood ran cold.
This was a threat, a warning that we were getting too close
to something we weren't meant to see.
We need to go to the police, said Paula, her voice tinged
with fear. I agree, I replied, grabbing my
jacket. Let's go now.
We locked up the station and headed to the parking lot, our
footsteps echoing in the empty night, and that's when we saw
it. A mask hanging from the rear
view mirror of my truck. It's hollow eyes staring back at
us. I felt a wave of nausea wash
over me, my legs trembling beneath me.
This was no longer a game. It was a hunt, and we were the
prey we need to get out of here, said Paula, her eyes wide with
terror. But before we could move, the
sound of footsteps echoed from the darkness, slow and
deliberate, drawing closer with each passing. 2nd we turn to
look, and there, emerging from the shadows, was a figure
wearing a mask, its face a grotesque parody of a smile.
I reached for my radio, my hands shaking, but it was too late.
The figure raised its hand, and in it was a camera, it's flash
bursting forth, blinding us in a burst of light.
When my vision cleared, the figure was gone, vanished into
the night, but the message was clear.
We were not alone, and the eyes that watched us were not those
of a friend, but of a predator, lurking in the shadows, waiting
for the perfect moment to strike.
And as we stood there, trembling in the darkness, I knew that the
masks were just the beginning, a prelude to something far more
terrifying, something that lurked in the depths of the
park, a darkness that now knew our names.
I sat down at my old wooden desk, the one that's seen more
years of service than any piece of furniture should.
The creaking chair beneath me felt like it was sharing my
burden. As I opened my laptop, I
navigated to the online community that had become my
confessional, my sanctuary. My fingers hesitated over the
keys before I began to type. Hey, everyone, it's Ryan again.
I can't thank you enough for the support you've given me.
Your words have been a lifeline in a sea of chaos.
I finally told Jen, my wife, about everything.
It was like lifting a boulder off my chest.
But I've got more to share, and it's heavy.
I paused, thinking about Lisa. She was a good Ranger, one of
the best. But she'd been different lately.
Haunted. I continued typing.
First off, Lisa, my fellow Ranger and friend, has resigned.
She's been having nightmares, the kind that follow you into
the waking world. Nightmares about the Whistler.
I remember the last time I saw her.
She looked like she hadn't slept in weeks, her eyes ringed with
dark circles, her skin pale as winter.
She'd pulled me aside, her voice trembling.
Ryan, it's getting worse. The Whistler, It's like it's
coming closer. Even in my dreams.
Last night it was right in front of me whistling that God awful
tune. I felt calm.
Too calm, like it was lulling me into something terrible.
I'd wanted to help her, but what could I do?
We were Rangers, not Ghostbusters.
And now she was gone, resigned, and retreated from this cursed
place. I couldn't blame her.
I miss her, I typed. But I'm glad she's out of this
hell hole. She deserves better.
We all do. I thought about how I'd finally
spilled everything to Jen. It was a hard conversation,
filled with disbelief, fear, and, finally, a quiet
understanding. She didn't fully grasp it.
How could she? But she knew I wasn't a man
given to flights of fancy. The relief of sharing it with
her made me feel like I'd shed a couple of decades.
I told Jen everything I wrote. It was hard but necessary.
She's worried. But there's a newfound openness
between us. Secrets are heavy, folks, and
we're all carrying too many as it is.
I wrapped up the letter. I'll be partnered with a new
guy, Zach, starting tomorrow. He's young, fresh out of
college, and I worry for him. This place, it changes you.
I'll keep you all posted. Until then, stay safe and keep
your eyes open. You never know what's lurking in
the dark corners of the world or your mind.
I hit submit and leaned back, staring at the screen as if
expecting immediate answers to unasked questions.
The room felt colder, as if acknowledging the weight of my
words. I shut the laptop with a sigh.
It was done, another chapter in a story that seemed increasingly
like a horror novel. But this was no fiction, and the
next chapter was waiting to be lived, whether I was ready or
not. And so, in the dim light of my
desk lamp, surrounded by the wilderness that was both my
workplace and my haunting ground, I braced myself for
whatever would come next. The night was darker than usual,
the kind of dark that swallows up the stars and leaves you
feeling like you're standing at the edge of an abyss.
I was paired with Ranger Jack, a grizzled veteran who'd seen more
years in the park than most of us combined.
His eyes had that far off look, like he was always seeing
something the rest of us couldn't.
Quiet night, I said, breaking the silence as we patrolled the
trails. Quiet's not always good, Ryan,
Jack replied, his voice tinged with a gravity that made my skin
crawl. Sometimes Quiet's just the deep
breath before the storm. I glanced at him, intrigued and
uneasy. You speak like a man who's seen
that storm. He sighed, as if debating
whether to open a door Long kept shut.
Finally, he spoke. Ever heard of the Whistler?
I felt a chill run down my spine.
I have. Lisa told me about her
nightmares before she left. Jack nodded, his face a mask of
grim understanding. Well, I've got a tale of my own.
Happened back in the 90s. I was a rookie, eager to prove
myself. Got a call about a bear near one
of the cabins. Turned out it was no bear.
He paused, as if reliving the memory.
It was a stormy night, much like this one.
I reached the cabin and found a family and a young couple, all
scared out of their wits. They told me about a creature,
something that stood on 2 legs and had eyes like burning coals.
And then, in the middle of the storm, it broke into the cabin.
I felt my heart pounding in my chest.
What happened? It took the young woman, Jack
said, his voice barely above a whisper, broke the glass door
and took her. Just like that.
We heard her screams, and then nothing.
Just the wind and the rain. I was speechless.
The weight of his words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.
And management? I finally asked, My voice tinged
with anger and disbelief. What did they do?
Jack chuckled, a dry, humorless sound, What they always do,
covered it up, said it was a bear attack.
But those of us who were there, we know the truth.
We heard the whistling, that eerie tune that still haunts my
dreams. I looked at him, seeing the
years of burden etched into his face.
Why are you telling me this? Because you need to know, he
said, locking eyes with me. You need to know what you're up
against, what we're all up against.
I nodded, A newfound sense of dread settling over me.
Thanks, Jack. I wish I could say it's good to
know, but he cut me off. No need to say it.
Some truths are better left unspoken, but now that you know,
you can't unknow it. Remember that as we continued
our patrol, the silence returned.
But it was a different kind of silence, filled with unspoken
fears and haunting melodies. And somewhere in the dark
recesses of the night, I could almost hear the faint strains of
a whistling tune, a lullaby from the depths of a nightmare.
And so we walked on, two men bound by a secret, a terror that
neither of us could escape. The night was thick with mist,
the kind that blurs the line between the earth and the sky,
making everything feel close yet infinitely far away.
I was on patrol with Zach, my new partner, young guy, fresh
out of college, full of that kind of optimism that only comes
from not knowing any better. Beautiful night, isn't it?
Zach said, his eyes scanning the horizon.
Depends on your definition of beautiful, I replied.
My gaze fixed on the fog that was rolling in thicker and
faster than I'd ever seen. We got the call around midnight.
A couple, Jared and Emily, experienced hikers, had gone
missing. Their family was worried, and
with good reason. This park, it's not like other
places. It has a way of swallowing
people whole. We need to find them, and fast,
I said, my voice tinged with urgency.
Zach nodded, his face serious. Let's do it.
We followed the trail. They were last seen on our
flashlights, cutting through the fog like knives through butter.
But the fog was relentless, swallowing up the light, the
trees, the very path beneath our feet.
And then we heard it, the whistling a tune so eerie it
made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
I stopped dead in my tracks, grabbing Zach's arm.
Wait, I whispered, my eyes darting around, trying to locate
the source of the sound. What is it?
Zach asked, his voice tinged with fear.
The Whistler, I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
We need to go back now, So before I could say another word,
Zach broke free from my grip and ran into the fog, shouting the
names of the missing couple. I cursed under my breath and ran
after him, my heart pounding in my chest.
I found him a few minutes later, standing still, his face pale as
a ghost. He was staring at something.
Something I couldn't see, something hidden in the fog.
What is it? I asked, my voice shaky.
It's them, he said, pointing to a shape in the fog, or what's
left of them. I looked closer and felt my
stomach churn. It was Jared and Emily, or at
least what was left of them. Their bodies were torn apart, as
if by some wild animal, but I knew better.
Animals don't whistle. We need to go, I said, grabbing
Zach's arm and pulling him away from the gruesome sight.
But what about them? He asked, his eyes filled with
tears. We can't help them now, I said,
my voice filled with a sadness and resignation that comes from
years of seeing things you can't Unsee.
But we can help ourselves. We made our way back to the
cabin, our hearts heavy, our minds filled with images we'd
rather forget. But some things you can't
forget, no matter how hard you try.
As we reach the cabin, I look back one last time, half
expecting to see a figure emerge from the fog, whistling that
eerie tune. But there was nothing.
Just the fog, thick and impenetrable, like the mysteries
that haunt this place. And so we walked on, two men,
forever changed, bound by a secret that neither of us wanted
but couldn't escape. And somewhere in the depths of
that fog, I knew the Whistler was watching, waiting for the
next soul to claim. The morning after the fog, the
park felt different, like a room where someone had rearranged the
furniture while you slept. Zach and I were called into the
office, a cramped space filled with the smell of stale coffee
and old files. Management wanted to see us sit,
said the man behind the desk, a faceless suit from the higher
ups. His eyes were cold, calculating,
like he was sizing us up for coffins.
We're reassigning you. He continued, shuffling some
papers. Effective immediately.
I looked at Zach. His face was a mask, but his
eyes betrayed A flicker of relief.
I couldn't blame him after last night.
The farther away from that trail, the better.
Any questions the suit asked, clearly uninterested in any
questions we might have. Just one, I said.
What's going to happen to that area?
Are you closing it off? The man chuckled, a sound devoid
of humor. This park is a business Ranger.
We can't afford to close off an entire section just because of
some unfortunate incidents. I clenched my fists, biting back
the words I wanted to say. Unfortunate incidents.
Is that what we were calling it? Now we're done here, The man
said, dismissing us with a wave of his hand.
As Zach and I walked out, I felt a weight lift off my shoulders,
only to be replaced by another, heavier one.
We were safe for now, but what about the next pair of Rangers
assigned to that godforsaken trail?
What about the hikers, the families?
The kids? Hey, Zach said, breaking my
train of thought. You okay.
I looked at him, really looked at him, and saw a young man
trying to make sense of a world that had just shown him its
darkest corners. I'm fine, I said, forcing a
smile, Just thinking about what's next.
He nodded, understanding the unspoken words.
We were both thinking it. Once you've seen the things
we've seen, what's next? Seems like a question with no
good answers. As we reached our new station, a
cabin on the opposite side of the park, I couldn't shake the
feeling that we were being watched.
I scanned the trees, the trails, half expecting to see a figure
emerge from the shadows. Let's go, I said, ushering Zach
inside. We've got work to do, But as I
closed the door behind us, I couldn't help but wonder.
Was it work we were doing? Or something else?
Something darker, something that had nothing to do with trails
and hikers and the great outdoors?
I shook off the thought, focusing on the tasks at hand.
There were trails to patrol, families to assist, a job to do.
But as I settled into the routine, a thought kept nagging
at me, a thought as persistent as the fog that rolled in that
fateful night. We were safe for now, but the
Whistler was still out there, and something told me our paths
would cross again in this life or the next.
I sat down at my computer, the screen glowing in the dim light
of my cabin. My fingers hovered over the
keyboard, hesitant, I had a story to tell, a warning to
give. But how do you put into words
something that defies all explanation?
Finally, I began to type, my fingers flying over the keys as
I poured out the events of the past few weeks.
The nightmares, the fog, the Whistler.
As I wrote, I felt a strange sense of relief, as if the very
act of putting it into words made it less terrifying, less
real. I hit send my post, disappearing
into the ether of the online community I'd come to think of
as a second home. It was a place for people like
me, people who had seen things, experienced things that defied
all logic and reason, a place where the inexplicable was the
norm and skeptics were shown the door.
Almost immediately, the responses began to pour in words
of support, of sympathy, of sheer disbelief.
But among them, one caught my eye.
A message from someone who claimed to have experienced
something similar, a Ranger from another park, miles away, but
worlds apart. We need to talk, the message
read. I think we're dealing with the
same thing. My heart pounded as I read the
words, my mind racing. Could it be?
Could there be someone else out there who had seen what I had
seen, Who knew what I knew? I typed a quick reply, my
fingers trembling with a mixture of fear and excitement.
I'm listening, I wrote. Tell me everything.
As I waited for a response. I couldn't help but think about
Zach, about Ranger Jack, about all the others who had walked
these trails, patrolled these woods.
Were we all part of something bigger, Something darker than
any of us could have imagined? Finally, the reply came, a
detailed account of events so similar to my own that it sent
chills down my spine. The fog, the disappearances, the
eerie whistling that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere
at once. We need to meet, the message
concluded. We need to figure out what this
is and how to stop it. I sat back in my chair, my mind
a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.
For the first time in weeks, I felt something I had almost
forgotten. Hope.
Hope that there was an answer, a way to stop the nightmares from
becoming reality. But as I sat there, staring at
the screen, another thought crept into my mind.
Unbidden, but undeniable. What if we were wrong?
What if this was something that couldn't be stopped, something
as old as the hills and as relentless as the fog that
rolled in that night. I shook off the thought,
focusing on the here and now. I had a meeting to arrange, a
mystery to solve, but as I typed, my reply agreeing to meet
in a neutral location, I couldn't shake the feeling that
we were playing with fire, that we were about to step into a
world from which there was no turning back.
And somewhere in the depths of that endless night, I knew the
Whistler was listening, waiting for the moment when we would
venture too far and the hunter would become the hunted.
I sat down with a stack of old reports, newspaper clippings,
and a map of the park. My eyes were bloodshot, my hands
shaky. I had been up all night trying
to find a pattern, a clue, anything that might tell us how
to stop this thing. Jen walked in, her face etched
with concern. You need to sleep, she said
softly. I can't, I replied, my voice
tinged with desperation. Not until I figure this out.
She sighed, knowing better than to argue, and left me to my
obsession. Hours passed in a blur as I
poured over the documents, my eyes scanning the text for any
mention of fog, whistling, or unexplained disappearances.
Slowly, a pattern began to emerge, a series of incidents
stretching back decades, each one occurring in a different
part of the park, but all sharing the same eerie
similarities. I grabbed a red marker and began
to mark the locations on the map, my hand trembling as the
dots connected, forming a shape that I couldn't quite place, a
shape that seemed almost deliberate.
My phone buzzed, snapping me out of my trance.
It was a message from the Ranger I had been in contact with, the
one who had experienced something similar in another
park. I found something, the message
read. Something big.
We need to meet now, I quickly typed a reply, agreeing to meet
him at a location halfway between our parks.
As I grabbed my coat and headed for the door, I took one last
look at the map, my eyes widening in horror as I finally
recognized the shape. It was a circle, almost perfect
in its symmetry, and at its center was the trail where Zach
and I had encountered the fog, the place where Jared and Emily
had gone missing. I felt a chill run down my spine
as the realization hit me. This wasn't random.
It was a trap, a web spun by something ancient and
malevolent, and we were the flies.
As I drove to the meeting point, my mind raced with questions.
What was this thing? How could we stop it?
And most importantly, what did it want?
I arrived at the location, a deserted rest stop off the
highway, and waited. Minutes turned into hours, but
there was no sign of the other Ranger.
Finally, my phone buzzed, a new message lighting up the screen.
Don't trust anyone, it read. It's not what it seems.
Before I could process the words, a low, haunting whistle
filled the air, echoing through the trees and sending a wave of
terror through my body. I looked around, my eyes
straining to see through the darkness, but there was nothing
there. And then, as suddenly as it had
begun, the whistling stopped, replaced by a silence so
complete it felt like a void, A nothingness that swallowed
everything in its path. I sat there paralyzed by fear,
my mind screaming at me to run but my body refusing to move.
And as I sat there, staring into the abyss, I knew one thing with
chilling certainty. It was here, and it was coming
for me. I've always had a thing for the
wilderness. The way the trees stand tall
like ancient guardians, the way the wind whispers secrets
through the leaves. It's like nature's own
cathedral. So when I heard about Amika Lola
Falls State Park, it wasn't a question of if I would go.
But when I spent the morning packing my gear, my old
backpack, worn from years of adventures, seemed eager to be
filled with camping essentials. A compact tent, a sleeping bag,
a portable stove, and a can of bear spray just in case.
Maps of the park were spread across my kitchen table, trails
and landmarks marked in red ink. I felt like a general preparing
for battle. Only my enemy was the chaos of
modern life, and my allies were the towering Pines and cascading
waterfalls. The drive to the park was
uneventful, but the moment I stepped out of my truck and onto
the soil of Amika Lola, I felt like I had crossed into another
world. The air was different here,
crisper cleaner, as if purified by the trees themselves.
I took a deep breath, letting the scent of pine and damp earth
fill my lungs. It was like inhaling freedom.
I shouldered my backpack and started my hike.
The trail was well marked, but not overly manicured, a sign
that this park still respected the Wilds untamed nature.
As I ventured deeper, the sounds of civilization faded away,
replaced by the Symphony of rustling leaves, chirping birds,
and my own steady footsteps. It was as if the forest was
welcoming me, pulling me further into its embrace.
The sun hung low in the sky, casting golden rays that
filtered through the canopy of leaves, creating a mosaic of
light and shadow on the forest floor.
I felt a sense of peace wash over me, a tranquility that I
hadn't felt in years. My worries, my stress, the never
ending to do lists, They all seem trivial now, dwarfed by the
majesty of the world around me. But as the sun dipped closer to
the horizon, a thought nudged its way into my peaceful
reverie. I still needed to set up camp.
I looked at my watch and realized that time had slipped
away from me. In the city, the setting sun was
just a signal that the work day was ending, but out here it was
a deadline. Darkness in the wilderness was
an entirely different beast. I quickened my pace, my eyes
scanning the terrain for a suitable campsite.
The forest seemed to sense my urgency, the trees whispering as
if discussing my predicament. I knew I had to find a spot
soon, somewhere I could pitch my tent and build a fire before the
curtain of night fell. And just like that, as if
answering my silent plea, I spotted it a small clearing near
a Creek, the water glistening in the fading sunlight.
It was as if the forest had presented me with a gift, a
perfect sanctuary in the heart of the wild.
As I stepped into the clearing, I felt a sense of
accomplishment, but also a hint of apprehension.
The sun was setting. And the forest was preparing for
its nocturnal life. I shook off the uneasy feeling.
After all, this was what I came for, to be one with nature, to
find peace in the solitude. But as the sky darkened, I
couldn't shake the feeling that the forest was holding its
breath, waiting for something or someone to break the silence.
And so, with the last rays of sunlight disappearing behind the
trees, I began to set up camp, unaware that the tranquility I
had found would soon be shattered.
The clearing by the Creek was a godsend, like a sanctuary carved
out by Mother Nature herself. The water flowed gently, its
surface shimmering in the dying light, as if winking at me.
I dropped my backpack to the ground, its weight leaving my
shoulders as if taking with it the burdens I'd carried into
these woods. I unrolled my tent, its fabric
rustling like the wings of some nocturnal bird.
The stakes drove easily into the soft earth.
Each thought a confirmation that I was claiming this little piece
of wilderness, if only for a night.
The tent stood proud and firm when I was done, a synthetic
cocoon that promised a barrier, however thin, between me and the
untamed world outside. Next came the fire.
I gathered twigs and branches, their forms twisted and gnarled
like the arthritic fingers of some woodland giant.
The fire pit was a circle of stones, an ancient and primal
design that had served mankind since we first stepped out of
the caves and into the world. I struck a match.
It's flame, tiny but fierce. The kindling caught, and soon
enough a fire was dancing in the pit, it's flames licking the air
as if tasting the night. I sat back and opened a can of
soup, its contents lukewarm but Hardy.
As I ate, I looked around, taking in the beauty of my
surroundings. The firelight cast flickering
shadows on the trees, turning them into wraithlike figures
that swayed in the wind. The Creek murmured softly, a
lullaby sung by the earth itself.
For a moment, I felt like the last man in the world, as if I
had stepped outside of time and history into a place that was as
ancient as the hills and as fleeting as the mist.
But as the sky grew darker, the atmosphere changed.
The silence that had been so comforting earlier now felt
heavy, as if charged with an unspoken tension.
The fire seemed less cheerful. It's light, struggling to hold
back the encroaching darkness. The trees loomed larger, their
forms less distinct and more menacing.
The wind picked up, its gusts no longer gentle but forceful, as
if warning me of something yet to come.
I shook my head, trying to dispel the unease that it
settled over me. I was an experienced
outdoorsman, no stranger to the moods and whims of the wild, And
yet I couldn't shake the feeling that the forest had changed,
that it was no longer the welcoming sanctuary it had been
just hours before I reached for my book.
It's pages filled with tales of adventure and courage, of men
and women who had faced far greater dangers than a night in
the woods. I read by the light of the fire,
it's glow turning the pages gold, as if in viewing the
stories with a warmth and life of their own.
But as I read, I became aware of another sound, faint but
unmistakable. Footsteps.
Not the four legged kind, mind you, but the deliberate 2 legged
steps of something or someone approaching my camp.
I closed the book and listened. My sense is sharpening as the
footsteps grew louder. I was no longer alone, and as I
sat there staring into the darkness beyond the firelight, I
felt a chill run down my spine, colder than any wind that had
blown through these woods. And so, with my heart pounding
in my chest, I braced myself for what was to come.
The footsteps seemed to hang in the air like an unfinished
sentence. I strained my ears, trying to
pick apart the sounds of the night to separate the natural
from the unnatural. But the forest was a cacophony
now it's once peaceful. Whispers turned into a dissonant
chorus of creeks and rustles. I grabbed my flashlight.
It's beam, a Lance of light that cut through the darkness.
I swept it around the campsite, its glow turning the trees into
pillars of light and shadow, But there was nothing there, no sign
of whoever or whatever had been approaching my camp.
Probably just an animal, I muttered to myself, trying to
shake off the unease that had settled over me like a shroud.
I was a rational man, a man of logic and science.
I didn't believe in ghosts or monsters, in things that went
bump in the night. And yet, as I sat there, staring
into the fire, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was not
alone. But I was being watched by eyes
I could not see. I retreated to my tent, its
fabric walls suddenly feeling as flimsy as paper, I zipped it
shut, sealing myself off from the world outside.
I picked up my book again. Its page is a welcome escape
from the tension that gripped me.
I read by the light of my flashlight, it's beam steady and
unwavering, a stark contrast to the flickering firelight
outside. But as I read, I became aware of
another sound, one that I couldn't easily dismiss, a
creaking noise like the groan of old wood, straining underweight.
It was coming from the trees, from the towering giants that
surrounded my camp. I listened, my heart pounding in
my chest as the creaking grew louder, more insistent, as if
the trees themselves were trying to communicate, to warn me of
something yet to come. I put down my book and unzip the
tent, my curiosity getting the better of my fear.
I stepped outside, my flashlight in hand, and shone it towards
the trees. They stood there, tall and
silent, their branches swaying gently in the wind.
But there was something different about them now,
something unsettling. They seem to lean towards me,
their forms twisted and gnarled, as if reaching out to grab me.
I shook my head, trying to dispel the illusion.
I was letting my imagination get the better of me, turning
shadows into monsters, sounds into warnings.
I was a grown man, for God's sake, not a child scared of the
dark. And yet, as I stood there,
staring into the depths of the forest, I heard it again.
Footsteps. Deliberate, measured, and
undeniably human. They were coming closer, each
step a punctuation mark in a sentence I did not want to read.
I retreated to my tent, my hands shaking as I zipped it shut.
I sat there, my back against the fabric wall, my flashlight
gripped tightly in my hand. I listened, my breath shallow
and ragged as the footsteps grew louder as they reached the edge
of my camp. And so, with my heart pounding
like a drum, I braced myself for the unknown, for the darkness
that was about to step into the light.
The footsteps stopped, as if hesitating at the edge of the
firelight. My heart was a jackhammer in my
chest, each beat echoing in the silence that had fallen over the
camp. I clutched my flashlight like a
weapon, its beam aimed at the tense entrance, ready to reveal
whatever intruder dared to step into its light.
Minutes passed, but they felt like hours.
The tension was a living thing, a palpable force that filled the
tent, making it hard to breathe. I strained my ears, listening
for any sign, any clue as to what was lurking outside, But
the forest had gone silent, as if holding its breath, waiting
for the moment to strike. Finally, unable to bear the
suspense any longer, I unzipped the tent and stepped outside.
My flashlight cut through the darkness, its beam sweeping
across the campsite, turning the trees into ghostly figures that
danced and swayed in the wind. But there was no sign of the
intruder, no trace of the footsteps that had approached my
camp. Must have been my imagination, I
muttered, trying to convince myself.
But even as I spoke, I knew it was a lie.
Those footsteps had been real, as real as the fear that gripped
me Now I turned back towards the tent, ready to retreat into its
false sense of security. But as I did, my flashlight
caught something in the distance, a shape that was
darker than the night, a figure that seemed to absorb the light
rather than reflect it. I froze, my breath catching in
my throat. The figure was tall and hunched,
its form indistinct but undeniably human, or at least
humanoid. It stood at the edge of the
forest, just beyond the reach of the firelight, as if hesitant to
step into the open. For a moment we were locked in a
silent standoff, each of us waiting for the other to make
the first move. I considered calling out,
demanding to know who or what was out there, but something
held me back, a primal instinct that screamed at me to stay
silent, to not draw attention to myself.
And then, as if sensing my fear, the figure began to move.
It stepped forward, its movement slow and deliberate, as if
savoring the moment. My heart pounded in my ears,
drowning out all other sounds as the figure crossed the boundary
between darkness and light, between the unknown and the
known. As it stepped into the
firelight, I braced myself for the reveal, for the face that
would haunt my nightmares for years to come.
But just as it was about to step into the light, just as its
features were about to be revealed, I felt a sudden rush
of Vertigo, a wave of nausea that swept over me like a
tsunami. I staggered back, my vision
blurring, my flashlight slipping from my grasp.
I tried to scream, to shout, to make any sound at all.
But before I could, the world went dark and I felt myself
falling, tumbling into an abyss that had no bottom.
And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over.
I blacked out, my consciousness slipping away like sand through
my fingers, leaving me alone in the darkness with the shadowy
figure that it stepped out of my nightmares and into my life.
I woke up to the sound of birdsong, a melody that seemed
strangely out of place given the night's events.
My eyes flickered open, squinting against the morning
light that streamed through the tense fabric.
For a moment I lay there, disoriented, my mind struggling
to piece together the fragments of the night before.
I sat up, my head pounding like a drum, each beat a reminder of
the terror I had felt. I unzipped the tent and stepped
outside, half expecting to see the shadowy figure still lurking
in the woods. But there was nothing there.
Just the trees in the Creek in the morning sun, all of it
bathed in a golden light that seemed to mock my fear.
I looked around my eyes, scanning the campsite for any
signs of the intruder, but everything seemed to be in its
place, just as I had left it. My backpack lay next to the
tent, its contents untouched. The fire pit was a circle of
ashes, its flames long since extinguished.
Even the Creek seemed unchanged, its waters flowing gently, as if
the night's events had been nothing but a bad dream.
But as I started to pack up my gear, I noticed something that
sent a chill down my spine. My camping supplies were
scattered across the ground. Their content spilled out like
the entrails of some gutted animal.
My food was gone, my water bottles empty.
Even my map was missing, as if stolen by some phantom thief.
I stood there, staring at the mess, my mind racing.
Had it been an animal? A bear perhaps, or some other
woodland creature? But no, that didn't make sense.
Animals didn't steal maps, Didn't empty water bottles.
No, this has been the work of something far more sinister,
something that walked on two legs and knew how to cover its
tracks. I packed up what was left of my
gear, my hands shaking as I folded the tent and shouldered
my backpack. I felt violated, as if the
forest had turned against me, had shown me its darker side.
I wanted nothing more than to leave, to put as much distance
between me and this cursed place as possible.
As I started to hike back to civilization, my steps quick and
purposeful, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being
watched, that the shadowy figure was still out there, lurking in
the woods. I kept glancing over my
shoulder, half expecting to see it emerge from the trees, to
hear its footsteps echoing in the wind.
But there was nothing there, just the forest and the sky and
the path that led back to the world I had left behind.
And yet, as I walked, I couldn't help but wonder what had
happened last night. What had I seen?
What had I heard? And most importantly, why had it
let me go? As I reached the edge of the
forest, the trees giving way to open fields and paved roads, I
felt a sense of relief wash over me, as if I had escaped some
great danger. But even as I stepped back into
the world of men, I knew that I would never be the same, that
the events of that night would haunt me for the rest of my
life, a dark shadow that I could never escape.
I finally reached the Ranger station, its wooden structure a
symbol of order and safety in the midst of the wild.
I pushed open the door, its bell chiming softly, a sound that
seemed almost alien after the silence of the forest.
The Ranger looked up from his desk, his eyes meeting mine.
You look like you've seen a ghost, he said, half joking,
half serious. I hesitated, my words catching
in my throat. How could I explain what had
happened? How could I put into words the
terror that still gripped me? I had an encounter, I finally
said, my voice barely above a whisper.
The Ranger leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing.
An encounter With what? A bear?
A Mountain Lion. I shook my head, my hands
trembling as I recounted the events of the night before.
The footsteps, the shadowy figure, the blackout, all of it
spilled out like water from a broken dam.
The Ranger listened, his expression unreadable.
When I was done, he sighed, as if weighing his words carefully.
Look, it's easy to let your imagination run wild out there.
The forest can play tricks on you, make you see and hear
things that aren't really there. I stared at him, my heart
sinking. He didn't believe me, didn't
understand the gravity of what had happened.
You think I'm making this up? I said, my voice tinged with
desperation. You think I imagined all of
this? The Ranger shrugged, his eyes
meeting mine. All I'm saying is that the
wilderness is a strange place. People go missing all the time,
swallowed up by the forest, never to be seen again.
But most of the time, it's just a case of getting lost, of
letting fear get the better of you.
I stood up, my body trembling with a mixture of relief and
frustration. He didn't believe me, but maybe
that was for the best. Maybe it was better to let the
world think I was crazy rather than face the terrifying truth.
As I turn to leave, the Ranger spoke again, his voice low and
serious. You said your map was missing,
right? I nodded my hand on the
doorknob. He reached into his desk and
pulled out a folded piece of paper, its edges worn and
frayed. I found this a few miles from
here, near an old trail that's been closed for years.
Thought you might want it back. I took the map, my hands shaking
as I unfolded it. It was mine, all right, but
something was different. Something had been added, a
symbol or a mark that I had never seen before.
It was a circle drawn in what looked like red ink near the
spot where I had camped. As I stared at the mark, a chill
ran down my spine, colder than any wind that had blown through
those woods. I looked up, my eyes meeting the
Rangers, but he was no longer there.
The station was empty, as if he had vanished into thin air.
And then, as if on cue, I heard it, The sound of footsteps slow
and deliberate, echoing in the distance, growing louder with
each passing 2nd. I was not alone, and whatever
had been watching me, whatever had let me go, had decided to
come back to finish what it had started.
And as I stood there, staring into the abyss, I knew that this
time there would be no escape. I pulled my truck into the
airport's shortterm parking lot, the gravel crunching under the
tires like dry bones. The sun was setting, casting
long shadows that seemed to stretch out, like the years
since I'd last seen Riker, my nephew, a city boy, born and
bred but with a yearning for the great outdoors that I could only
attribute to some dormant family.
Gene. The terminal doors slid open,
and there he was, a backpack slung over one shoulder and a
look of weary excitement on his face.
He'd grown taller, his features more defined, but the youthful
glint in his eyes was as familiar as the mountain trails.
I called home. Uncle, he shouted, dropping his
bag and rushing toward me. I braced myself for the impact
of a bear hug. Man, it's been too long.
Sure has, kid, I said, patting him on the back.
You ready for a week in the wild?
Born ready? He grinned, retrieving his bag.
The drive back to my trailer was filled with talk of college jobs
and the mundane intricacies of city life.
I listened, nodding at the right moments, but my mind was on the
week ahead. The Appalachian Mountains were a
different beast altogether. Beautiful but unforgiving, like
a siren you couldn't ignore even when you knew better.
We reached the trailer as darkness settled in, the outline
of the mountains barely visible against the night sky.
I fired up the grill, the sizzle of steak filling the air with a
rustic aroma, potatoes wrapped in foil, cooked on the side, a
humble but hearty meal for the journey ahead.
So what's the plan? Riker asked, digging into his
steak with gusto. We'll hit the trail first thing
tomorrow, I said. Got a few spots in mind that
offer the best views and a good challenge.
Can't wait, he replied, his eyes lighting up at the prospect.
As the night wore on, the conversation shifted from the
mundane to the mysterious. The mountains have their own set
of rules, a code that every hiker should know but few ever
did. I could see the skepticism in
Rikers eyes. A city bred disbelief in the
inexplicable, but he'd learn they all did.
Hey, I said as he got up to retire for the night.
Make sure you close the curtains in your room, all right?
He looked puzzled. We're in the middle of nowhere,
uncle, who's going to be peeping through the windows.
Just trust me on this one, I said, my voice tinged with a
seriousness that made him pause. We'll talk about it tomorrow.
Ryker nodded, his expression a mix of confusion and curiosity.
All right, if you say so. As I lay in bed that night, the
curtains tightly drawn, I thought about the red eyes I'd
seen years ago, peering through the window like a malevolent
force from a world we're not supposed to know.
I thought about Dan Williams, a fellow Ranger who'd laughed off
the warnings and paid the price. And as I drifted off to sleep, I
couldn't shake the feeling that the mountains were watching us,
waiting to see if we'd play by their rules or defy them at our
peril. And so, with the dawn of a new
day, our journey into the unknown was about to begin.
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the trailer,
mingling with the crisp morning air that seeped in through the
cracks in the windows. I glanced at the clock, 5:00 AM
early, but the mountains didn't wait for anyone.
I poured myself a cup and took a sip, the bitterness jolting me
awake. I heard Riker stir in the guest
room, the creaking of the bed frame cutting through the
silence. A few minutes later he emerged,
his eyes still heavy with sleep but a smile on his face.
Morning, uncle, he greeted, sniffing the air appreciatively.
That coffee smells like heaven. Help yourself, I said, nodding
toward the pot. We've got a long day ahead.
As Riker poured his coffee, I started on breakfast.
Scrambled eggs, bacon, and some toast.
Simple, but it'd give us the energy we needed.
We ate in companionable silence, both of us eager to hit the
trail but savoring these quiet moments before the day's
challenges. Just as we were finishing up,
Rikers eyes darted to the sliding glass door leading to
the front porch. Hey, looks like Barkley wants
in, he said, getting up and heading toward the door.
My heart skipped a beat. Wait, I yelled louder than I
intended. Ryker froze, his hand inches
from the door handle. What's wrong?
I motioned for him to follow me into the living room, my eyes
never leaving the figure outside the glass door.
It looked like Barkley all right, but something was off.
The eyes were too vacant, the posture too stiff.
I pointed to the corner of the room where Barkley lay on his
dog bed, snoring softly. That's Barkley, I whispered, my
voice tinged with an urgency I couldn't fully explain.
Don't open that door. Riker looked from the real
Barkley to the impostor outside, his eyes widening in disbelief.
Is that a stray? I shook my head.
No, It's something else, Something you don't want to
invite inside. As if on cue, the figure outside
the door vanished, melting into the shadows like a wisp of
smoke. Riker let out a shaky breath.
What was that? It's hard to explain, I said,
choosing my words carefully. Let's just say the mountains
have their own set of rules. One of them is to make damn sure
it's really your pet trying to get in.
Riker stared at me, his eyes searching for a hint of jest.
Finding none, he nodded slowly. All right, Uncle, I'll remember
that we spent the next half hour getting our gear ready, the
atmosphere tinged with a newfound sense of urgency as I
double checked the straps on my backpack.
My thoughts drifted to the red eyes I'd seen years ago and the
doppelganger dog that had just tried to enter my home.
The mountains were a place of beauty, but they were also a
realm of mysteries that defied explanation.
And as we stepped out the door, leaving the safety of my trailer
behind, I couldn't help but wonder what other lessons the
Appalachian Trail had in store for us.
One thing was certain. Rikers education had just begun,
and so had our journey into the heart of the unknown.
The morning sun was a golden disk in the sky, casting its
light over the undulating hills and dense forests of the
Appalachian Trail. The air was crisp, tinged with
the scent of pine and damp earth.
It was the kind of day that made you grateful to be alive, and
even more grateful to be miles away from the concrete jungle.
Riker and I set out our boots, crunching on the gravel path
that soon gave way to a dirt trail.
We were surrounded by towering trees, their leaves forming A
canopy that dappled the ground with shifting patterns of light
and shadow. It was peaceful, the kind of
peace you can only find in the heart of nature.
So what's the plan for today? Riker asked, his eyes scanning
the trail ahead as if expecting it to reveal its secrets.
We'll head up to Eagles Peak, I said.
It's a bit of a climb, but the view from the top is worth every
step. Riker grinned, his earlier
apprehension replaced by the thrill of adventure, Lead the
way, uncle. We hiked in companionable
silence, each lost in our own thoughts but united by the
rhythm of our steps and the beauty that surrounded us.
Every now and then, Riker would stop to take a photo or simply
stand and breathe, his eyes wide with wonder.
It was during one of these moments that I noticed the
change. Rikers face grew tense, his eyes
narrowing as he scanned the trees around us.
You hear that? He asked, his voice barely above
a whisper. I strained my ears, listening
past the rustle of leaves and the distant calls of birds, and
then I heard it a low, droning sound, like a siren, but
distorted, as if being played through a broken speaker.
We need to get as far away from that noise as possible, I said,
my voice tinged with a urgency that made Rikers eyes widen.
But what if it's a weather alert or something?
He protested. It's not, I said, cutting him
off. Trust me, we need to move now.
We turned and started running, our boots pounding the earth as
we retraced our steps. The siren grew louder, then
softer, as if playing a cruel game of hide and seek.
Just when I thought we'd put enough distance between us and
the noise, it blared again, this time so close it felt like it
was right on top of us. What the hell?
Riker yelled, his hands clamped over his ears and then we saw
it. A towering structure that looked
like an old vine covered telephone pole but with speakers
at the top. It was moving its base, dragging
along the ground as if propelled by some unseen force.
The siren wailed, A deafening sound that seemed to shake the
very air around us. Without a word, Riker and I
turned and bolted, adrenaline fueling our steps as we ran like
our lives depended on it because they did.
As we put distance between us and that monstrosity, the sirens
wail grew fainter until it was swallowed by the sounds of the
forest. We didn't stop running until we
were sure it was gone, our breaths coming in ragged gasps,
our bodies drenched in sweat. Riker looked at me, his eyes
wide with a mix of fear and disbelief.
What was that? I took a deep breath, my mind
racing as I tried to find the words to explain the
unexplainable. Welcome to the Appalachian
Trail, I said finally. You're not in the city anymore.
We found a clearing a good distance away from where the
siren had nearly cornered us. Our breaths were still ragged,
our hearts pounding like drum beats in a war dance.
I set down my backpack and took a swig from my water bottle, the
liquid barely quenching the dryness in my throat.
Riker was pacing, his eyes darting around as if expecting
the trees to come alive. All right, uncle, spill it.
What the hell is going on here? I sighed, looking at him
squarely. Sit down, Riker.
We need to have the talk. He hesitated, then sat on a
fallen log, his eyes never leaving mine.
Is this where you tell me about the birds and the bees of the
Appalachian Trail? In a manner of speaking, I said,
taking a seat beside him. Except these birds and bees can
be deadly. I began with the curtains,
recounting the night I'd seen those red eyes staring through
my window. I told him about Dan Williams, a
fellow Ranger who'd scoffed at the old tales and ended up a
lifeless husk, his face twisted in eternal horror.
Riker listened, his eyes widening with each tale.
And you're sure this wasn't some animal?
Or maybe a trick of the light? I've been a Ranger for over 2
decades, I said, my voice tinged with a hardness that made him
wince. I know every animal in these
parts, and none of them have red eyes that can bore into your
soul. He nodded, swallowing hard.
Okay, what about that siren thing?
What was that? That I said?
Choosing my words carefully is something you don't ever want to
get close to. It's a crypted a creature that
defies explanation. It lures you in with that siren
sound, and if it catches you, well, let's just say you don't
want to find out. Riker looked at me, his eyes
searching for a hint of exaggeration.
You're serious, aren't you? As a heart attack, I said.
There are things in these mountains that defy logic and
explanation. Old folks call them spirits,
demons, cryptids, whatever you want to name them.
They're real, and they're dangerous.
He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, as if exhaling
his disbelief. So what do we do?
We follow the rules, I said. Always sleep with your curtains
closed, make sure it's really your pet trying to get in, and
never, ever get close to that siren.
He nodded, his face set in grim determination.
Anything else? I hesitated, then decided he was
ready. There's a creature called the
Wampus, CAT6 legged feline, bigger than a lion, with eyes
that can hypnotize you. If you see it.
Avoid eye contact at all costs. Riker chuckled, then stopped
when he saw my face. You're not joking, are you?
No, Riker, I'm not, I said, standing up and shouldering my
backpack. These mountains are beautiful,
but they're also a minefield of the unexplained.
Stick with me, follow the rules, and you'll get through this.
He stood up, his eyes meeting mine.
I'm with you, Uncle. Let's do this.
As we resumed our hike, I couldn't help but feel a sense
of foreboding. We'd escape the siren, but the
mountains had more lessons to teach, more rules to enforce,
and we were just getting started.
We made camp as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the
sky and shades of orange and purple that no artist could ever
truly capture the beauty of It was almost enough to make you
forget the dangers lurking in the shadows, almost enough to
lull you into a false sense of security, Almost.
As Riker set up the tent, I gathered firewood, my eyes
scanning the darkening woods. The rules were clear in my mind,
each 1A lifeline, that could mean the difference between life
and death. But there were other rules,
other dangers that I hadn't shared with Riker yet.
How could I when I barely understood them myself?
Fires ready, Riker called, snapping me out of my thoughts.
I returned to camp and sat by the fire, it's warmth seeping
into my bones as the temperature dropped.
Riker joined me, a can of beans in one hand and a look of
contentment on his face. This is amazing, Uncle, he said,
staring into the flames. I can't believe I've been
missing out on this my whole life.
It's a different world out here, I said, my eyes meeting his.
One that can be both beautiful and terrifying.
He nodded, his expression growing serious.
You mentioned other dangers earlier.
What were you talking about? I took a deep breath, choosing
my words carefully. There's a creature known as the
Wampus Cat. It's a six legged feline, larger
than any lion or tiger you've ever seen.
It has golden eyes that can hypnotize you if you're not
careful. Riker chuckled, then stopped
when he saw my face. You're not kidding, are you?
No, I said. My voice tinged with a gravity
that made him sit up straight. Making eye contact with a
Whompus Cat can put you in a trance, make you unable to move,
and then, well, you become. It's dinner.
He swallowed hard, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and
fascination. What do we do if we encounter
one? Your best bet is to catch it off
guard and shoot it, I said, patting the rifle that lay
beside me. If you don't have a gun, hide
and pray it doesn't find you. Running is not an option.
He nodded, his face set in grim determination.
Anything else I should know? I hesitated, then decided it was
time. There are other things.
Things I can't even begin to explain.
Lights that dance in the sky but aren't stars.
Whispers that come from nowhere. Shadows that move on their own.
The key is to respect the mountains, to understand that
we're merely visitors in a world we can't fully comprehend.
He looked at me, his eyes filled with a newfound sense of
respect. I understand, Uncle.
I'll follow the rules. All of them.
I noded. Satisfied.
Good. That's the only way to survive
out here. As we settled into our sleeping
bags, the curtains of our tent tightly closed, I couldn't shake
the feeling that we were being watched, that the mountains were
testing us, waiting to see if we'd abide by their rules or pay
the price for our ignorance. And as I drifted off to sleep,
one thought echoed in my mind. The real journey was just
beginning, and there was no turning back.
The morning sun broke through the canopy of leaves, casting
dappled shadows on the forest floor.
We were up early, packing our gear and dousing the fire,
leaving no trace of our presence.
The mountains demanded respect, and we gave it willingly,
knowing the price of arrogance. We've got a long hike ahead, I
said, shouldering my backpack. We'll head down to the valley,
then make our way to the waterfall.
It's a sight to behold. Ryker nodded, his eyes shining
with anticipation. I can't wait, uncle.
This has been the most incredible experience of my
life, I smiled, touched by his enthusiasm, but also wary of the
dangers that still lay ahead. It's not over yet, kid.
Remember, always stay alert. We set off the trail, winding
its way through towering trees and overgrown bushes, each step
taking us deeper into the heart of the mountains.
The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying
leaves, a smell that I'd come to associate with both life and
death. As we walked, I couldn't shake
the feeling that we were not alone, that something was
watching us. From the shadows I glanced at
Riker, who seemed blissfully unaware, lost in the beauty of
the moment. I envied him, wished I could see
the world through his eyes, if only for a moment.
And then I heard it. A soft rustling in the bushes, a
sound that was almost drowned out by the chirping of birds in
the rustle of leaves. Almost.
I stopped, my hand going to the rifle slung over my shoulder.
Did you hear that? Riker paused, his eyes scanning
the trees. Hear what?
Before I could answer, a low growl echoed through the forest,
a sound so deep and guttural it seemed to come from the bowels
of the earth. I turned, my eyes, meeting a
pair of golden orbs that glinted from the shadows.
Wompest cat, I whispered, my voice tinged with a dread that
sent a chill down my spine. Riker looked at me, his eyes
wide with terror. What do we do?
Remember the rules, I said, my eyes never leaving those golden
orbs. Avoid eye contact, and whatever
you do, don't run. As if sensing our fear, the
creature stepped into the light, its six legged frame towering
over us like a demon from the darkest corners of our
nightmares. It growled again, a sound that
shook us to our very core, then turned and vanished into the
forest, leaving us trembling in its wake.
We need to go, I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
Now we resumed our hike, each step weighed down by the
knowledge of what lurked in the shadows.
And as we made our way through the forest, one thought echoed
in my mind. The mountains had let us go, but
the rules had changed, the stakes raised in a game we were
only beginning to understand. And somewhere in the depths of
the Appalachian Trail, the golden eyes of the Wampus Cat
watched and waited. It's growl, a chilling reminder
that we were merely visitors in a world we could never truly
belong. The end was just the beginning,
and the real journey had yet to come.