“What do you know about station 21?” asked Len Gibson, the grizzled old forest ranger that was driving me out to my new posting.

I shrugged. “Not much. I spent most of my time with the Forest Service out west and just transferred to the east coast recently. This is my first posting out here.”

He grunted, wrestling with the steering wheel of the four-wheel-drive pickup as it bucked over the unused trail, heavy underbrush and thick trees passing by dangerously close on either side. The road was narrow, barely wide enough to accommodate the time-worn truck, and he was driving it a bit faster than I was comfortable with.

“I’m surprised they assign rangers to it, though. It seems pretty remote,” I said. We’d been driving for a couple of hours on this trail already and the lonely stretch of paved road we’d left earlier was little more than a distant memory at this point.

“Used to be a fairly popular long-hike trail that ran near it and the department wanted to make sure that we had a presence out here in case anyone got in trouble,” he said, never taking his eyes off the path ahead. “It was a pretty technical trail, and it was pretty common for city folk to underestimate the difficulty. Or the risk.”

I frowned briefly. “Used to be? It’s not in use anymore?”

Gibson shook his head and spat out the open window. “Nah, too many people were getting injured on it. When a couple of them went missing entirely, the department decided it was too dangerous to maintain it as a sanctioned trail and let it go to seed. It’s tough to even spot anymore, unless you know what you’re looking for. You’ll find an old rope bridge near the cabin – that’s about the only thing that let’s you know it existed at all.”

“Then why maintain a posting here?” I asked.

He spared a quick glance at me and said, “You know the saying, ‘if there’s a station, there’s a ranger’. They’ll probably get around to decommissioning it at some point, but for now…”

At that moment, we rounded a bend in the trail and the station came into view. It was built to look like a rustic log cabin and was planted in the middle of a depressed area of the surrounding forest, the gentle ridges surrounding the area creating a natural bowl. The trees here were dense and somehow foreboding, and the unkempt limbs, heavy with gray tendrils of Spanish moss, reached over the cabin and crowded the edges of the modest clearing.

The entire area was a lush green, heavily shadowed by the canopy above, and the air was thick with the scents of the deep bush.

He used the open clearing to turn the truck around and stopped it in front of the wooden door emblazoned with the forestry service logo. Throwing it into park, he turned in his seat and looked at me expectantly.

“Not staying a while?” I asked, opening my door and grabbing my overflowing duffel bag from the bed.

“Nope,” he said, shaking his head. “My job is to transport rangers in and out of their postings around here. Used to be that each ranger’d have his own assigned vehicle, but the budget doesn’t support that anymore.”

I stepped back from the truck and shut the door, throwing the duffel over my shoulder. “Where is the guy I’m relieving?” I asked, looking around.

“That’s Ed Marsh. Brought him out here a month ago, same as I brought you. A week ago, the guy that does the supply runs came out here and found the station empty,” he said, something unspoken behind his light gray eyes.

“So, what, he just disappeared?” I asked disbelievingly.

The old ranger scratched a moment at the three-day growth of white stubble on his cheek, as if trying to figure out how to phrase his answer.

“Look, Miller, you seem like a nice guy. There aren’t too many things in this area that’ll threaten a man, aside from maybe a copperhead or the odd black bear, but neither of them are too common here. The truth is some men just aren’t built for the solitude and isolation up here. Ed Marsh seemed solid enough, but he wouldn’t be the first ranger to just up-and-leave his posting at station 21.”

I took another glance around the area before turning back to Gibson and patting the bulging canvas slung over my shoulder. “Well, I’ve got plenty of books to occupy my time and I brought my camera, so I expect I’ll be able to add some really great shots to my portfolio.”

He paused a moment before ducking his head in an amiable nod and barking a laugh. “That’s good, kid. Keep yourself busy and the month will fly by before you know it. Elliot Barnes will be out here in a week or so to resupply you, but you should have plenty still in the cabin to carry you over.”

I nodded my thanks to him and stepped back from the pickup as he threw it in gear and headed back off the way we’d come. I watched the tan-and-maroon 4x4 until it was lost to view, the sounds of its whining engine lost to the trees.

I found myself alone in front of the cabin, glad to be on solid ground after the morning’s less-than-smooth ride out here. The sounds of nature, which had momentarily been muted when we arrived, slowly returned in force, the chittering of the squirrels and chipmunks somehow in harmony with the birdsong in the treetops.

The air was cool and still as I stepped onto the wooden porch that spanned the front of the cabin. I turned the knob and pushed the door inward.

The interior of the station was spartan and neat, divided into a small office space for visitors and a slightly larger living space for the ranger. I walked around the low wooden counter and through the open doorway that led to my new accommodations for the next month.

It was relatively neat and organized; the ranger who’d been here before me looked to have been fairly settled into his posting. I wondered briefly at why a forest ranger, accustomed to spending his time alone in the forests, would decide one day to just pick up and leave.

The trail back to the main road wasn’t a difficult one to hike, but it was a long one. Of course, Ed Marsh had probably called a friend to come out and pick him up, but it still didn’t make any sense.

Regardless, it was a mystery for another day. The sun was beginning to set, and I still needed to get settled in and set for the night.

*

By the time I had unpacked my stuff and started a fire in the cobblestone fireplace, night had fallen. The silence of the woodlands around me was a familiar comfort, different from my previous posts in the pacific northwest, yet somehow the same. The air began to chill with the coming of night, and I made my way around the cabin, locking the front door to prevent any curious critters from finding their way inside during the night. I left the windows open a bit for the airflow and settled comfortably in a cushioned chair in front of the crackling flames with a bit of the Johnnie Walker I’d carefully packed, just enjoying the moment.

Lost in my thoughts, my eyes wandered aimlessly around the room, taking in my new surroundings.

I stopped when they settled upon some crumpled pieces of paper that had been discarded and were hiding in the corner of the room near the bed. With a grunt of interest, I stood from the chair and took another swallow of the scotch, heading over and snatching the papers up from the floor.

Returning to my seat in front of the fireplace, I set the glass on the low end-table to my right and smoothed the papers out on my knee. The looked like they had been torn out of a bound notebook, perhaps a composition book or journal, and the handwriting was in a sloppy cursive written in black ink.

I raised my eyebrows in interest when I read the first page.

Dropped off today by Ranger Gibson. Thought I was going to piss myself for the last half-hour of the drive. I think he hit every rock and root on that trail! The old bastard tried to spook me with the history of station 21, but I’m not a rookie – I know how things are for new postings. I have to admit that station 21 is a bit of a mystery, but it just adds to the charm of the place. I’ll have plenty of time to get familiar with it.

I flipped to the next page:

Some sort of animal was outside the cabin last night. I’m glad I thought to close the door – the last thing I want is to wake up to a black bear rooting around in my provisions.

Amen to that, I thought. Another page:

I swear to Christ, if that old bastard is trying to scare me, I’m going to beat his ass. I don’t have any interest in playing any bullshit games, and even less interest in going out into the middle of the night in the rain!

I didn’t think that Gibson seemed like the type of person to haze a new guy, but what did I know? I turned to the next page and kept reading.

Okay, I’m not sure what the hell was outside last night, but I don’t think it was Gibson. There are no tire tracks anywhere nearby and I can’t find any boot prints in the mud this morning. Whatever it was, it was too big to be a racoon. Maybe a black bear, I guess. Need to be sure to keep things locked up. I’m starting to wish they issued rifles out here.

The last page was the strangest of the bunch.

I think I saw it today, out by the ravine, but I think it saw me too. I don’t think it likes it when you notice it, because it sure took notice of me pretty damned quick after I spotted it. Need to be more careful.

I reread the pages a few more times, pouring myself a bit more of the scotch and reclining back in the chair as I pondered what I had read.

I must have drifted off at some point, because I awoke to the sound of rain and thunder. The fire had died down to embers, and a chill had replaced the comfortable warmth it had provided.

I stood from my chair and walked over to the window, looking out into the dark at the rain. Even with the heavy cloud cover, I could still make out the dim shapes of the trees beyond the clearing in front of the cabin. A gust of wind rose and blew the misting rain into my face through the screen. Not wanting to have to spend the next morning trying to dry everything out, I began walking around all the windows and closing them, lamenting the loss of the fresh air they permitted into the cabin’s interior.

I moved to the last window, the one nearest the main entrance to the ranger station and froze. My brow creased and I squinted into the rainy darkness. I was sure I had seen a shape moving along the tree line but lost it when the storm intensified briefly and obscured my view.

Staring into the darkness for a long minute, I reluctantly backed away and closed the last window, shaking off the uncomfortable feeling as best I could before moving over to the bed and dropping into it without bothering to undress. Sleep quickly took me, and my dreams were filled with strange and unseen shapes hiding in the shadows at the edges of my awareness.

*

By the time I rolled out of bed the next morning, all remnants of the previous night’s unease had vanished, and my mood was heightened as I faced my first morning at my new post. After a quick breakfast and a change into a fresh uniform, I threw open all the windows before stepping out of the cabin and into the damp early morning air.

I dug my camera out of its case and threw its strap over my head as I set out. The first thing I wanted to do was to take a look around the area and get a sense of my surroundings. Gibson had told me there was an old rope bridge that led to the decommissioned trail nearby, and after a quick look at the area map in the ranger’s office, I found that it was only a hundred yards or so north of the station. I figured that would be as good a place as any to start and would probably provide some nice opportunities to get some dramatic shots.

A narrow trail led into the tree line to my right as I stepped off the wooden porch and into the ankle-high grass of the clearing. A small sign with a white arrow was posted near the trail, with the brief description, “Graham’s Ravine”.

With a spring in my step, I followed the narrow trail through the woods, embracing the sense of nature that surrounded me. The constant dripping of the previous night’s rainwater joined its voice to the native fauna and seemed to push me along.

Before long, I emerged from the trail and found myself standing at the edge of a jagged cliff, the grassy ground abruptly giving way to a rocky vertical face that tumbled down nearly a hundred feet to the floor of the ravine below. The base of the gulch was filled with the angry flow of a narrow river, though I suspected that it was likely the storm from the night before that made it so. It was probable that it was ordinarily little more than a meandering creek when the weather was dry.

Spanning the ravine was an old and weather-worn rope suspension bridge with gap-toothed wooden planks beckoning for travelers to cross. They didn’t look too trustworthy, so I decided to keep my feet on solid ground for today. Perhaps I’d be a little braver another day and try my luck with the bridge.

Instead, I raised my camera and removed the lens cap, bringing it up to my eye and taking several pictures of the scene, including one point-of-view shot looking across the bridge itself, as if the viewer were ready to step onto the span. I was pleased with that one; I felt it added a little drama to the rest. After a while, I replaced the lens cap and continued my exploration of the area surrounding the ranger station, eventually finding myself back at the cabin in the waning afternoon light. All in all, it had been a peaceful and pleasant day, and I’d wrap it with some light chores around the station before calling it a day.

That evening, I copied the images from my earlier outing to my tablet and was lazily swiping through them as I picked at my dinner. I reached the set I had taken at the rope bridge and smiled at them; they’d turned out better than I’d hoped, and as expected, the POV shot across the span was the best of them. I wished I had thought to use a little more field-of-view for added drama, but I could take care of that with editing. I didn’t think that would be necessary, though; I was sure I’d end up with hundreds of similar shots by the time I rotated out of this posting.

Something in one of the shots of the bridge caught my eye and I set my plate aside as I zoomed in closer on the image. In the foliage across the ravine, half-hidden behind a tree, was what looked like a tall, impossibly thin, man. He appeared to be leaning around the tree and staring directly at me. Thinking it must just be a trick of the light as it played upon the undergrowth, I checked the other pictures and gasped aloud, startled at what I saw.

In each of the images taken at the ravine, the figure appeared. In the first few, it seemed to be moving slowly among the trees, oblivious to my presence. But then, suddenly in the next frame, there it was, standing behind the tree and staring directly at my camera.

At me.

The man was tall – he must have been well over six feet – and very thin. He appeared to be dressed head-to-foot in some sort of black cloak or cape, and only his pale bald head and hands were otherwise visible.

Most unsettling, however, were his eyes, which were unusually large and dark, like fist-sized black marbles set into his pale face. I couldn’t really make out much more detail than that. He hadn’t been the focus of my shot and there was no way to enhance that area of the image any further. My attempts to zoom in more only succeeded in pixelating the image and obscuring the man.

At first, I was more than a little shaken, but then I thought about it more and chided myself for being so easily startled. Sure, the encounter was an unusual one, but Gibson had told me the trail that lay beyond the ravine had been a popular one. Just because the forestry service had decided to stop maintaining it didn’t mean that adventurous hikers didn’t still travel it.

That would also explain why the department wanted to maintain a ranger presence here; if the trail was still being used, even unofficially, they would still want a ranger nearby in case of trouble.

It all fit together nicely, and my nerves eased again.

Still, a small glass of Johnnie Walker was always welcome, so I started a fire and settled in for the night.

During the light cleaning I had done that afternoon, I’d found another couple of crumpled pages behind the waste basket and had set them aside on the end-table to review later. Now, as I sat again before the crackling flames, I examined the two additional pages and felt the chill of dread climb from the base of my spine as I read the increasingly chaotic script.

Something was outside the cabin again last night. It wasn’t just hiding in the trees anymore. I feel like it’s seen me, like it’s taken notice of me now. I know how crazy that sounds, but it’s the only way I can explain it.

Elliot Barnes will be out here in two days to resupply me, and I’ll leave with him when he gets here. They can find someone else to sit out here in this deserted ranger station! There’s no need for any of us to be here, and I don’t think we belong here.

I don’t think it likes people being here.

I don’t think it likes to be noticed.

I straightened from the hunched position I had unconsciously taken while examining the pages, stretching out the knot that had formed in the muscles of my neck as I stood and glanced over at the darkened windows that ringed the cabin walls. During the day, they provided welcome light and plenty of ventilation to the interior, but now, at night, they made me feel vulnerable. Anything could be outside, looking in at me through any of these windows, and I wouldn’t know it. I could be surrounded by watchers on all sides and never have a clue.

“Get yourself together, for Christ’s sake,” I said aloud, shaking myself back to my senses.

This was stupid. I’d been in areas more remote and dangerous than this before – this was a posting they gave to rookies. Simple and safe. Difficult to get into too much trouble here.

That being said, I didn’t hesitate to ensure the front door was locked and secured and figured tonight I could sleep without the windows being open. Things would look a lot different in the morning.

I was starting to agree with my predecessor; a rifle would have gone a long way towards setting my mind at ease right about then.

*

The rain came again that night, with less fury, but greater volume. I tossed and turned in my sleep, never finding a comfortable position.

In fact, it was less the mattress and more my imagination keeping sleep at bay. I couldn’t coax my mind to quiet and calm itself. In the darkness, it insisted on constructing sinister images to keep me awake. When I opened my eyes, it continued, making the shapes of the furniture around me into alien and menacing forms.

I turned over on my side with frustration, forcing my eyes closed and focusing on the hissing sound of the rain on the metal roof above me. Normally, it would provide the perfect environment to lull me into a deep and restful sleep, but now it only served to mask the sounds of anything that might be sneaking around outside of the cabin.

Stop it, I told myself angrily, opening my eyes.

And I froze as my eyes fell upon the grotesque pale face at the nearest window, staring in at me with some detached and inhuman curiosity. The black eyes were huge and unmoving, even as I watched rivulets of rainwater stream down its face and over them. I could see small tremors of the white skin of its face as it almost seemed to tremble minutely, as if it didn’t have full control of its body.

Involuntarily, I abruptly sat upright in my bed in shock, and without changing its blank expression, the face somehow seemed to grow agitated, heated.

I don’t think it likes to be noticed. Those words from Ed Marsh’s pages floated to my mind, and I thought he might be right.

In an instant, it had faded away from the window, leaving only blackness in its wake.

Was it gone? Was it moving to another window?

Was it waiting for me?

It wasn’t an animal – that much I could tell. If it was a man, I needed to understand what he wanted.

If it wasn’t a man, I needed to understand what it was. I couldn’t stay here for another month with this thing haunting me every day and night, always wondering if and when it would come for me.

What if I hadn’t awoken when I had? Would it have grown bolder and come inside?

I’m going out there. I don’t have any weapons, other than this can of bear spray, but I have to know. I can’t just stay here and wait for it.

I can’t wait for it to wear me down from exhaustion and lack of sleep. If I’m going to confront it, it needs to be now.

I wanted to write this all down before I went out there, just in case. I don’t know what’s going to happen or what’s out there, but I need to know. Hopefully, I’ll have more information to update this journal in a while.

Wish me luck…

*

The preceding pages were discovered in a journal left by the forest ranger I was sent here to relieve. I can’t find any trace of him other than his camera and some other personal effects, and the Ranger that dropped me off said that he just went missing one day. From what he was telling me, that’s not exactly an unheard-of occurrence at this station. Some people just can’t handle the isolation.

Reading his journal, it sounds like he was more than a little unhinged and experiencing hallucinations. I’ve long thought the Forestry service needed to institute psychological evaluations before they just sent people out into the wilderness in complete solitude.

One thing that I can agree with my predecessor on, however, is that I need to keep the door locked at night. It sounded like something pretty big was moving around outside in the rain last night. I’m going to set some trail cameras tomorrow, I think.

But if I hear it outside again tonight, I’ll need to check it out.

&gt;-<