Ranger Station

There was only one rule: don’t open the door. A ridiculous and unrealistic rule for anyone in my line of work. Being a paranormal investigator, my job was to open doors, especially the ones with strict rules to leave closed.

The door that changed my life forever belonged to an abandoned Ranger station deep in the heart of the Michigan woods. It was the latest hotspot for paranormal and cryptid activity in the United States. After the mysterious disappearances of seven park rangers and countless hiker deaths and animal mutilations, the station was finally abandoned and deemed off limits to the general public.

My team was permitted special access by Michigan’s parks and rec department, but we were on our own. We knew the risks involved, but the wild allegations of the area were too peculiar to ignore.

I needed to uncover the truth.

The warning from the town’s mayor during our meeting at city hall rattled around my skull as my palms pushed open the metal door of the ranger station. The hinges creaked from the layers of rust and neglect, consuming the room with a harrowing echo of pain. I stepped inside first, followed closely by my camera man, Tyler.

The final hours of daylight shone through the broken glass windows and illuminated scattered piles of pale bones, torn clothes, and streaks of dried blood on every wall. I immediately pulled out my audio recorder and asked a series of questions. Receiving no responses, we pushed further into the station. At the end of the narrow hallway, heavily clawed footfalls stopped us cold.

I turned around to face my cameraman, who was facing me, and watched as a large, dark figure plunged its ten talons into Tyler’s spine, ripping his still beating heart from his chest.