More Dark Tales of Cryptids and Park Rangers

Genre: Horror short story collection

Welcome back! The creatures that lurk in the wilderness have missed you.
Enter the forest once again, flashlight trembling as you search for the unnatural sounds you heard just outside the perceived protection of the light from the campfire. Don’t worry, I’m sure it was nothing. It definitely wasn’t a bloodthirsty creature watching you from the shadows, waiting for you to let your guard down so it can creep up and grab you unawares. I’m sure it just wants to have you for dinner. Umm… I meant to have you over for dinner. Yeah, that’s what I meant to say.
These eight stories will transport you back to the forest, where nothing is certain except danger, and staying alert means staying alive… hopefully.

Remember the rookie park ranger who had to endure some strange rules in a fire tower? Well, he’s back. This time he’s guarding a warehouse. Because nothing could ever go wrong inside a mysterious warehouse on the border of a forest, right? His story continues in, ‘I used to work in a fire tower with some strange rules. I’ll never make that mistake again.’
Don’t worry though, we have plenty of park rangers being pursued by various creatures such as Dogman, Skinwalker, even Bigfoot. One of our rangers wanders into an abandoned mining town out west and finds more than he ever wanted. And of course, our returning ranger from the fire tower has not one but two stories telling his continued terrifying tales.

So sit back, relax (if you can) and enjoy these tales of terror. Just remember, everything is true, even if it’s not.

Don’t read them alone in the dark.

“These stories will have you on the edge of your seat.” – Emily Haynes

“I became a silent companion of the ranger in each story.” - Sandy Beebe

Available here in ebook and paperback. 

 

Sample to get you hooked:

I got a job as a park ranger working in a fire tower. Now I wish I hadn’t.

One hundred and forty-nine stairs. That’s how many there are to get up to the fire tower I’m posted at. I used to think getting up there meant safety. Now, I’m hoping it just means survival.

Climbing one hundred and forty-nine steps when you’re healthy is no small feat. When one of your legs has been torn to shreds, you’re bleeding from many places, and you’re trying to get up there to wrap it, hoping there’s enough bandages so you don’t bleed to death, it’s a lot more difficult.

Then there are the stairs themselves which also count as a hazard when you have to hop up each one, causing pain to shoot through your injured leg. The stairs are skinny enough as they are, but the closer you get to the top, the smaller they get.

How do I know the exact number of steps? I counted them. I also counted which ones I miscalculated my jump, or brushed my foot against the step, or did something else that nearly sent me sailing over the rickety railing to my untimely death. The first time was one step number three, then fifteen, thirty-seven was a bad one, fifty-two, one oh seven, one-twenty, and finally one-forty-three. I guess it’s a good thing I’m deathly afraid of heights.

By now you may have figured out, I’m a park ranger. How did I end up playing this deadly game of hopscotch? It started a week ago when I got the job...