Chapter 1

Don’t ever go near national parks.

Especially if you have kids.

Four months ago, I moved my family to a small mountain town in the Rocky Mountain region. The town sits right on the border of a famous national park; in fact, our backyard opens directly into the park. For a while, it was a dream come true; my wife and I loved the views and enjoyed hiking nearly every day, and our two young boys loved exploring and playing in the woods on the park borders.

Something is wrong with this place. I didn't understand that when we moved here. I do now. About two months after the move, I started seeing them: the signs. It started slow; the first one I saw was plastered on the automatic glass door of the local grocery store. But now they are everywhere.

They all say the same thing: “September 7-14th annual week of remembrance. National Park closed, no one will be permitted inside.”

I didn’t think about it much as I entered the grocery store, though I mentioned it to my wife when we returned to the car.

“Did you see that flyer? I wonder what that week of remembrance is.”

“Hmm,” she said, “Probably some local celebration.”

I shrugged. “I guess so, just seems weird that they would close the park for a week. That’s a big hit to business, isn’t that Labor Day weekend?”

“I’m sure they have their reasons.”

If only I knew then what I know now.

From then on, it seemed like every time we went into town, there were new signs. On random businesses, on every church and government building. Before long, the signs were everywhere.

My wife and I were driving through town on our way to pick up the boys from their first day at school. The strange sign I saw in every window and every street corner filled my mind.

“Have you noticed how few kids there are?” my wife asked

“What?” Her question caught me off guard.

“Well, think about it: the town is nearly 5,000 people, and we have the only elementary school in the area, and I've barely seen any kids.”

I stared down the road, pondering her observation

“I asked the boys' teacher this morning.” Her voice was a little lower

“She said there’s only 10 kids in the boys' grade, and only 95 in the whole school. Doesn’t that seem odd?”

I shrugged

“It’s a tourist town; maybe people aren’t here to have a family.”

“I guess.” She said as she chewed on her lip.

We pulled up to the school; our boys and their teacher stood by the curb. My wife and I parked and hopped out.

“Hi, Ms. Johnson. Is everything alright?” my wife asked with concern

The teacher smiled. “Yes, everything is wonderful, you’re boys were just little angels today.”

She handed my wife a yellow paper.

“I’m just here to give you this; the school wanted every parent to get one.”

And with a practiced smile she said

“Have a lovely day.” And briskly walked back towards the school building.

My wife stared at the paper and frowned before handing it to me. All it said was

“Remembrance Week Sep. 7-14th: PROTECT YOUR CHILDREN”

We looked at each other, confused. My wife whispered

“What is this?”

I tightened my jaw and looked around for the boys’ teacher; by now she was long gone. But my eyes came to rest on another parent and her daughter, who looked to be the same age as the boys. I briskly walked towards her

“Excuse me, ma’am?” She looked startled as I approached

“Yes?”

“Hi, my sons attend here, and their teacher gave us this.” I showed her the poster.

“Do you know what it’s all about?”

She stiffened slightly as her eyes quickly glanced at the paper in my hand and back to me.

“The park is no place for a child; protect your children.” She whispered before tightening the grip on her daughter's hand and walking away.

“What did she say?” my wife asked

I shrugged. “Nothing helpful”

We got home, and as my wife and sons settled on the couch for a family movie, I found myself in the bedroom. Typing the phrase ‘Remembrance Day’ along with the name of the town into my laptop's search engine, I stared at the unhelpful results. There seemed to be nothing, no articles, no backstory, not so much as a Facebook post that tied the phrase to the town in any meaningful way.

I switched tactics and typed in the national park and the dates September 7th-14th. The National Park website confirmed that the park was indeed closed during that week, but the website claimed that it was for ‘planned maintenance’.

I stared frustrated at the computer screen.

“Dad?”

The voice of my son Aaron rescued me from the unfruitful search

“Are you going to watch the movie with us?”

With a nod, I closed the computer and said

“Sure thing, buddy.”

The start of the movie pushed the strange poster out of my mind. The next afternoon, my wife picked up the boys while I stayed home to catch up on work. I always enjoyed working on the backyard porch. The view of the untouched wilderness of the park paired with the sounds of nature helped me concentrate; it was one of the main reasons I wanted to move out here.

After about 15 minutes of answering emails and updating spreadsheets, the woods fell silent. The change caused me to glance up from the laptop to the world around me. The sound of the wind had disappeared, though I still could feel it. The birds were silent. The wild land before me was as quiet as could be. It was like watching a muted video of the woods. I looked around; a strange feeling filled me. I held my breath and didn’t move; it felt as though making the slightest noise would break some unspoken rule.

I sat there frozen for what felt like an eternity. Then, from the hills just beyond my property, a loud snap of a breaking twig echoed in the silence. Then another, and another. Something was walking, and all of nature quietly beheld its journey. It moved along the land that passed in front of my home. I looked, trying to find the source of the steps, maybe a hiker, or a rarely seen large animal. But I couldn’t tell what it was; it moved in deep underbrush, and even as I watched intently, I only caught glances of something dark and large. As the steps moved past the area of my land, it was like the world came alive again; the wind and chirping of birds returned. The silence was gone, and so were the steps.

Standing up, I stared where I last heard the steps.

“Must have been a moose,” I muttered to myself.

Soon my family got home; I greeted them at the door, asking my boys how their day was and what they learned at school. Before long, we all sat down for dinner.

“I saw a moose from the porch today,” I said

“Whoa!” said Aaron.

“That’s so cool!” My youngest son Peter replied.

My wife looked at me, amused.

“Yeah, it walked right by the backyard.” I continued

“Will you take us hiking tomorrow?”

“Yeah! Maybe we can find it!”

I smiled

“As long as you two get your homework done.”

The boys and I tossed the football around in the backyard, then we all settled down for a movie to close the night out.

It was late. Well after 2 am when a single word pulled me out of sleep.

“Dad?”

I popped awake, quickly blinking the sleep from my eyes. In the open door of my bedroom stood Peter. He quietly sniffled to himself.

“Peter, what’s wrong?”

He stumbled through his words

“Someone is watching me from the window.”

The hair on the back of my neck stood up.

“What?”

“He’s watching me from the hill.”

I quickly rose from the bed and followed my son to his room. Peter's room faces the national park, with a large pane window that overlooks the untouched hills hulking over our home. We hadn’t yet bought a blind for the large window, and the moonlight illuminated the tall pines and exposed boulders that dotted the hillside.

“He’s gone,” Peter whispered.

“Where did you last see him?” My eyes didn’t leave the hillside

He pointed to a little clearing between the trees.

“Right there”

“He was looking at me.”

I looked down at my young son; genuine fear was caked on his face. I wrapped an arm around him, pulling him close.

“Have you ever seen him before?”

He shook his head.

“No, his face was funny.”

I nodded slowly as I began to realize this must have been some sort of waking nightmare.

“Tell you what, how about you go sleep with Mom, and I’ll take your bed for the night?”

He wiped his nose on his sleeve and replied

“Ok. Thank you, Dad.”

“Love you, son,” I said as I sat down on his bed.

“Love you too.” He walked down the hall.

I lay down on the bed. I was awake for a while as I thought through what had just happened. A change in light caught my eye, and I sat up looking out the window.

Near the top of the hill, a warm orb of light moved quickly through the forest, bobbing and weaving around the trees as if it followed some unseen path. Before long, it reached the top of the hill and disappeared beyond the horizon.

The next day was the last day of August; summer was truly over. It didn’t take long to forget the previous night's events, and I found myself working hard to wrap up before the boys came home so we’d be ready for our hike. The day flew by, and before I knew it, I was leading two very excited boys down a new trail.

I specifically picked a trail that ran near our backyard, so we simply passed through the park markers and walked, and soon landed on the trail. We followed the snakelike path through the woods and up and over many hills. As we began to enter steeper terrain, I began to slow down; it didn’t seem to slow down the boys; they quickly passed me and continued down the path.

“Don’t go too far ahead,” I shouted

“Ok,” one shouted back, and they rounded a bend in the trail. For a while I hiked alone, accompanied only by the sound of my heavy breathing. Reaching the top of the ridge, I was discouraged to find out that it had been a false summit. Continuing up the route, I could hear two excited boys just beyond the near corner. The boys came into view, and with enthusiastic shouts they said

“Dad! Dad! You got to see this!” With that, they ran further down the way.

“Hey, wait up, fellas!” I chuckled to myself

When I finally caught up with them, I saw what they were excitedly pointing to; a little further up the path, nestled organically on the ridgeline was a fire tower. I stared in awe at the structure as we moved closer to it. Our lust for adventure and exploration made me forget any sense of safety, though I noticed the worn chain-link fence and weathered ‘keep out’ signs we blew past them making our way to the base of the tower.

It was old; it looked like it was made in the 60s or 70s. Its worn timber legs seemed to barely bear its weight. It was charred and blackened with the scars of wildfire. The metal grated stairs still stood intact. Aaron ran up the first couple of steps and looked back at us with a smile.

“Come on!” he beckoned

“Careful, it doesn’t look safe,” I responded

He jumped a few times; the stairway shook a little but held.

He grinned. “It’s fine, come on, race you to the top!”

“No fair!” whined Peter as he tried to catch his brother.

I smiled to myself as I took a slower approach. The stairs creaked under my weight but held. Before long, I met my sons at the top. The little cabin was heavily damaged; like the base, it too was black from fire, every window was shattered, and the door was off the hinges. Yet to my surprise, the inside was not empty. A desk with a chair and old manuals and books sat in one corner. A small kitchen still held cans, and in the corner opposite the desk was a cot. To my surprise, this small bed was kept. It looked new, like a perfect replica of a military cot from the 1960s. The rest of the cabin showed signs of age; layers of dust sat on everything. But not the bed.

The boys were taking turns looking through an old pair of binoculars, and I made my way to the desk. I rustled my way through old notebooks and novels; an old calendar caught my eye. It was from the year 1962, opened to September; a large red circle marked out the 7th through the 14th.

“I guess Remembrance Week has been going on for a while,” I muttered

I poked through a few more things and turned back to the boys; they were now using Aaron's pocket knife to carve their names into one of the crossbeams.

“Hey Guys, maybe we shouldn’t do that; let’s be respectful.”

Peter just finished his name, and Aaron turned to me and said

“There’s a lot of names here; I think it's ok.”

I looked closely at the beam and saw he was right; dozens of names were carved into the wood. But every name I saw other than Aaron and Peter’s had a line crossed through them. As I was looking at the names, Peter, who had been looking out the window, came and pulled on my sleeve.

“Dad, I think someone is here.” He said in a low voice.

I moved to the window, looking down.

“Where? I don’t see anyone?” I whispered

Loud metallic steps rose from beneath us.

Clang.

Peter grabbed my shirt.

Clang.

The stairs creaked under something's weight.

“On the stairs,” Peter murmured.

Both boys huddled behind me. I backed away from the door.

Clang.

The footsteps grew louder. And soon reached the top of the stairs. I swallowed hard as the figure appeared in the doorframe. It was a man, a little taller than me; his face was cleanly shaven and wore a forced smile; his eyes were small and bead-like. He was clothed in an old-fashioned park ranger's uniform. His eyes locked onto the three of us as he stood in the entry.

Behind me, Peter gasped quietly and whispered

“That’s the guy who was watching me.”

The ranger stepped into the cabin.

“Sorry, folks, but you can’t be up here; this is property of the Forest Service, didn’t you see the signs?”

His stare was oppressive; my jaw clenched as I replied

“Sorry, we didn’t think it was still in use; it looked abandoned.”

He smirked

“You thought my tower was abandoned?” his tone was light, but his face was hard.

“Sorry, we were just leaving”

He moved to the side to let me past. I held Aaron's hand, and he held his brothers. I had just passed the ranger when he wrapped his hand around my wrist that led Aaron.

“The boys stay here.”

My eyes met his smiling face; he tightened his grip on my wrist.

“They have put their names on my tower; they cannot leave. They have given themselves to me.” His voice was deep and raspy. As the sun grew low in the sky, long shadows hid his face from view.

“Dad?” Aaron said. I could hear the fear in his voice.

“It’s ok, son.” I glanced down at him.

My gaze returned to the ranger's figure.

“Get the hell off of me; we’re leaving,” I said with as much strength as I could muster.

At that, the ranger squeezed my wrist so hard that a loud crunch filled the small cabin. I fell to the floor; my mangled wrist hung limply from my arm as I screamed in pain. Through the fog of my own pain, I could hear my sons screaming; it sounded as if they were getting further away. Soon everything was quiet. Tears formed in my eyes as I held my lifeless wrist.

“Look at me.” A deep voice broke the silence

I looked up; it was the ranger, his face was hidden in shadow. I could feel myself growing tired as I looked at him.

“In a week you won’t even remember them.”

My vision grew fuzzy as I passed out. When I came to, it was long after sunset. I winced in pain as I looked at my wrist; it was numb and swollen, clearly broken. I quickly looked around the cabin; it was empty. I was alone. I stumbled to my feet.

“Aaron!”

“Peter!”

I screamed my son's name into the night, but no response came; they were gone. The only evidence that they had ever been there was Aaron’s pocket knife stuck in the wooden beam next to their freshly carved names, only now new lines crossed out their names.

I rushed down the staircase and frantically searched the surrounding woods. I screamed the boy’s names until my voice grew hoarse. My hands shook, and sweat rolled down my forehead. The boys weren’t there, and there was no sign of where they had been taken.

It was well after midnight when by the time I made it home. My wife rushed to the door as I walked in; clearly, she had been crying.

“Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick.” She froze when she saw it was just me

“Where are the boys?” she whispered

“They're gone,” I muttered

“What?”

“Someone took them.” I was beginning to cry.

“I couldn’t find them.”

She looked down at my broken hand, and with a whimper, tears began to fall, and she ran upstairs, slamming the bedroom door behind her. In a daze, I called the police.

An hour later, the sheriff arrived at the house. The two of us sat down at the dining room table as he took my story.

“Did you get a good look at the man who took your sons?”

I nodded

“He was a park ranger”

He looked up from his notepad.

“A ranger?”

I sniffled

“Yeah, he was wearing a ranger uniform, not like the newer ones, but an older version.”

The Sheriff lowered his voice and asked

“Were you at the tower?”

I was confused

“Yeah, you know about it?”

He stroked his beard for a moment before answering

“They've tried destroying that tower for years. Burning it, tearing it apart, bulldozing the site. Doesn't matter. Sooner or later, it shows up somewhere else.”

I stared in disbelief

“Sheriff, what happened to my boys?”

Sad eyes stared back at me.

“Truth is I don’t really know. We aren’t sure who or what that man is, but he’s tied to the tower, and he only takes kids.”

“Where do they go? What does he do with them?”

He shook his head.

“We don’t know, but if they aren’t found by September 6th they’ll never be found.”

I could feel tears forming again.

“What?”

“September 7th through 14th is when he’s most active; it’s when he finishes the job. Everyone who goes missing in park is completely forgotten by September 15th.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, but he continued

“We’ve had hundreds of kids go missing in the park, but when September 7th comes, faces grow blurry in our minds, and by the end of the week we don’t remember their names or who they were. The thing is we know we can’t remember; it’s like we know someone is missing but have no memory of who or when.”

I wiped tears from my face.

“Pictures change, birth certificates vanish. Parents know what they’ve lost, just not who they’ve lost. We call it remembrance week to remember that something is missing that we can’t remember ever being taken.”

I rose from the table.

“You need to find my boys.”

He swallowed

“We’ll try, that’s all I can promise, but my men will search only till September 6th; after that it’s far too dangerous.”

They searched night and day for 5 days; all they found was one of the hiking boots Peter had worn. The morning of September 6th, the sheriff came to my wife and me and said

“I’m sorry, we’ve done all we can.”

My wife is a wreck; she locked herself in our room and refused to eat.

I’m writing this the night of September 6th; I’ve packed my gear: food, water, a flashlight, sleeping bag, a tent, first-aid supplies, maps, and pictures of my boys. I’m heading into the park alone very soon. I have to find my boys; it's my fault they're in there. I'm writing their names down one last time before I go.

Aaron. Peter.

I don't know why, but I'm afraid I won't remember them when I come back.