Welcome to Creep's Cost.

I'm a monster hunter. People are going missing in our national parks.

Written by Horror Junkie 123.

I watched the cigarette smoke trail out the window as we pulled up to the ranger station.

It isn't often that I receive a call from wreck.

Normally, rangers need to file an incident report before their case is deemed worthy of investigation. But Rick and I go way back and I own a favor

or two. I've only been called out to Sardis at National Park twice in the past year,

both for suspected cryptic sightings, both false alarms.

The first was a boy playing a prank on Rick, claimed he had seen a windigo. I don't blame the

guy for falling for it. That kid put on some real theatrics. The second was a wolf with rabies.

Nothing to scoff at, sure, but it was a cakewalk compared to the abominations that I put down.

As we rolled to a stop, something told me that this case wasn't going to be as simple as a disproven a lying child or putting down

a sick animal. No, this was going to be something invigorating. I could feel it. My wife

hates it when you smoke those things in the car. That crap gets all over me. My partner said,

slipping out of the driver's seat as I followed suit.

She's starting to think that I'm the one going through a pack a day.

Agent Norman Creel is my junior officer, good kid, a real family man, which is a shame in

this line of work.

They don't select many guys with something to lose to join the United

States Cryptid Department. This is a dangerous job. Unfortunately for Creel, the department is

short-staffed. Tough luck. You'd be inclined to pick up a couple bad habits of yourself

if you'd seen half the crap that I have. I said as I closed the

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