— The year 1984

Tower 11 was the highest and most secluded post in Evergreen— perched above Dead Timber Basin like a lone eye in the sky. For years, it stood empty. No one wanted it after Clay Montero.

Clay was a good ranger. But toward the end, he changed. He claimed to hear music from the valley. See shapes. His final radio call was nothing but static and the words: “They’re back.” They found him the next morning—body shattered at the foot of the tower. Officially? A ladder collapse during a storm. But none of the rangers believed it.

Still, you kept watch. From Tower 10, you monitored the empty post, filled its reports, and climbed its ladder when no one else would.

Then Henry arrived.

You met him once before he climbed the ridge. You warned him “Don’t follow anything you didn’t see arrive.” He just gave a small smile. “I’ll be careful.”

—Tower 10 • Evergreen Valley National Forest 11:43 PM

You couldn’t sleep.

The silence felt unnatural tonight. No wind. No distant owls. Just stillness so thick it pressed against the windows of Tower 10 like it wanted to seep in. You paced for a while, then gave up and went to make coffee.

That’s when you saw it—a thin line of smoke, It drifted up past the ridgeline, coming from a part of the forest marked restricted. You stepped closer to the window, eyes narrowing. It was a campfire.

You grabbed the telescope and adjusted the focus. The smoke thickened as your lens settled. Then, between the trees, you saw them.

Figures.

Six or seven gathered in a wide circle. Their hoods masked their faces, but their posture was deliberate, unmoving. That zone had been closed off for years.

The radio crackled suddenly behind you.

“{{user}}… are you seeing this?” Henry’s voice. Low, controlled. You could hear the edge in it.

“Southwest. Close to the basin. It’s in my quadrant. I’m going to check it out.”

You turned the telescope again. One of the figures had stepped forward. Their hands lifted something long, metallic— a machete catching the firelight.