Working as a park ranger was a big deal for me.

I've always loved the outdoors, and getting paid to patrol hiking trails and check on campsites felt like a dream.

It was only a seasonal job, but I was still content with the allocated time I was given.

I'd been assigned to a remote national park, miles from anything resembling civilization.

My station was a tiny cabin in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by dense forest.

There was an even cell service most of the time.

First day in the job was pretty standard. I met Ed, my supervisor.

He's this older guy, maybe in his 50s, with a kind of weathered face that says he's been out

here way too long, nice enough but kind of distant. He handed me a basic book full of protocols, how to check the trail damage, what to do if

you encounter a bear, how to handle lost hikers, stuff you'd expect.

But then, tucked in between the normal sections, there was this page titled Special Procedures.

The front looked older, like it hadn't been updated in years, and it stood out immediately.

The rules on the page, well, they were different.

Ignore the screaming after midnight, never acknowledge the lake when it reflects the moon.

If you hear footsteps behind you, do not turn around.

I actually laughed when I first read them.

I thought it was some kind of joke the older rangers played on the newbies.

But when I asked Ed about it, he didn't laugh.

He didn't even smirk.

He just said, follow them, and you'll be fine.

That's it. No explanation, no elaboration.

I even tried pushing him a little, asking why these rules are in there, and if this was some kind of hazing thing.

...