Hello everybody, I hope that you're all doing well. Now just because Halloween is over, it doesn't mean that we can't continue with some of the scarier stories on the internet. So, let's have spooky season last for a little bit longer as we drift further into Mr. Creve's mind.

I'm a park ranger in Montana.

I'm being hunted by Wendigo's, written by a weird suggestion.

It was my first day in the field as a park ranger. My first duty station was in one of the most remote

regions in the state. The sky over Montana hung heavy with storm clouds casting darkness over the

endless trees. The mountains lined the horizon and their peaks disappearing into the sky.

I had never seen mountains so big, jagged,

and imposing. I was eager to make a good impression, eager to prove that I belonged here. This job

had always been my dream, but as I drove up the narrow dirt road to the ranger station,

a knot of unease began to creep into my stomach. The isolation of this place was palpable,

even from my car. The silence of the wilderness pressed in on me, broken only by the wind against

the tree branches or the distant cry of an animal. Civilization was far away, and for the first

time since taking this job, I realized how truly

alone I was going to be, but despite this I felt confident and excited to put my new training

to use.

The ranger station came into view, a smoke from the chimney rising into the air.

It was nestled at the edge of Pine Creek Forest.

The station was small,

squat, and unassuming. Honestly, more of a cabin than headquarters. Standing by the entrance was Earl Bennett, a burly man in his mid-50s with graying hair poking out from under his hat,

and a weather-beaten face that had clearly seen its share of harsh winters.

He didn't smile when he saw me approaching, and he skipped the pleasantries.

"'You're late,' he grunted, glancing at his watch.

...