I took the job because it was supposed to be

I took the job because it was supposed to be easy. Who wouldn't want to get paid for wandering

around a peaceful national forest at night? Sure, there were the usual duties like checking in on the

few campers who dared to stay overnight, ensuring they followed the rules, and occasionally

dealing with a bear or a curious raccoon.

But overall, it seemed like a gig that would give me plenty of time to clear my head and think.

I never expected that my first fundamental shift would actually be my last.

Stillwood Forest wasn't large by any means and wasn't very well known.

Nestled in a remote part of the state, it was the kind of place where locals came to escape the bustle of everyday life.

The forest was dotted with a few campsites, hiking trails, and a small lake that looked like it was pulled straight from a postcard.

I had heard rumors about the place, of course.

Every small town has its ghost stories and urban legends. I laughed them off at the time, but

now I honestly wish I hadn't been so quick to dismiss them. It was an absolutely beautiful,

crisp night in mid-September when my ordeal began. The forest was quieter than usual,

with only two occupied campsites. I started my patrol around 1 p.m., armed with only a flashlight,

a walkie-talkie, and a thermos of coffee. I always thought it was overkill to carry the radio,

but protocol was protocol.

The first site I visited was occupied by a family of four, a mom, a dad, and two younger kids.

They were roasting marshmallows over a campfire, laughter echoing through the trees.

I checked in with them briefly, exchanging pleasantries before moving on. The second site was a bit

further away, closer to the lake. A lone camper, an older gentleman named Henry, I believe,

had set up his tent. He was a regular, known for his love of fishing and solitude. When I arrived,

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