Chapter 2: The Welcome Committee

The drive to Blackwood Creek National Park was an ascent into an entirely different world. The smog-choked skies of the city gave way to an impossible, crystalline blue. The trees, mostly pine and fir, grew thicker and taller the higher the road climbed, their branches forming a dense canopy that dappled the asphalt in shifting patterns of light and shadow. Liam drove with his window down, the air crisp and clean, smelling of damp earth and pine needles. It was the scent of his dream career, and for a few miles, it was enough to make him forget the cold dread Dr. Sharma’s voice had instilled in him.

He passed the main park sign, carved from a single, massive log: BLACKWOOD CREEK NATIONAL PARK. The lettering was pristine, the wood dark and rich as if freshly oiled. There was no peeling paint, no weather damage. It looked less like a sign and more like a monument.

Following the directions from the email, he found the staff cabins tucked away in a small, secluded valley. His was labeled ‘Cabin 4’. It was a rustic log structure, but like the sign, it was in immaculate condition. The wood was perfectly preserved, the stone chimney expertly mortared. A small stack of firewood sat neatly by the door, each log split to a uniform size. It was all a little too perfect.

The key was on the hook by the door, just as the letter promised. Inside, the cabin was spartan but spotless. A simple bed, a sturdy wooden desk, a small kitchenette. His new uniform was laid out on the bed, creased to perfection. On the desk, however, lay a single, jarring object.

It was a silver whistle, gleaming under the afternoon light filtering through the window. Attached to its lanyard was a stiff, yellowed tag. The writing on it wasn't printed; it was inscribed in a familiar, spidery script, the same script from the welcome letter.

DO NOT USE UNLESS ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY. THIS IS NOT A TOY. THE PARK IS ALWAYS LISTENING.

Liam picked it up. The metal was cold and heavy in his palm. The park is always listening. It sounded less like a safety warning and more like a threat. He thought of the online reviews, the hushed mentions of a "heavy" atmosphere. He shoved the whistle into his pocket, the cold metal a stark reminder against his leg that this place was already not what it seemed.

Before he could unpack, the crunch of gravel outside announced visitors. He looked out the window to see three figures approaching. They wore the same ranger uniform he’d just been admiring, though theirs seemed molded to them. As they got closer, Liam’s brow furrowed. They were all decades older than him, easily in their late sixties, yet they moved with a vigor that belied their age.

The woman in the lead had a bright, welcoming smile and a halo of perfectly coiffed white hair. "You must be Liam!" she chirped, her voice as clear as a songbird's. "I'm Sherri. Head ranger. It's so wonderful to finally have you here."

"And we're Chip and Casey," said one of the men, a tall, wiry fellow with a grin that seemed permanently affixed to his face. He clapped his twin—or at least, a man who looked so similar they had to be brothers—on the back. Chip was quieter, his eyes a piercing, unnatural blue, and he just nodded, his gaze lingering on Liam with an unnerving intensity. They all had that same look: an ageless vitality that sat strangely on their wrinkled faces. Their eyes were too bright, their smiles too wide. They didn't look like retirees enjoying a late-life career; they looked… preserved.

"Welcome to Blackwood, son," Casey boomed, slapping Liam on the shoulder with a force that nearly sent him stumbling. The man’s hand was as hard as oak. "You'll love it here. The mountain air, it does you good. Keeps you young."

"We just have a little bit of paperwork to get through down at the main station," Sherri said, her smile never wavering. "Just a formality. A tradition, really."

Liam, still off-balance from the handshake and the trio's sheer energy, could only nod and follow. The ranger station was as unnervingly perfect as everything else. Inside, however, there were no computers, no filing cabinets stuffed with manila folders. The main desk was a vast slab of polished redwood, and upon it sat a single item: a massive, leather-bound book that looked ancient. Its cover was worn smooth with time, the corners bound in tarnished brass.

"This is our park ledger," Sherri explained, her voice softening with reverence. She opened the book. The pages were thick, yellowed parchment, filled with names written in elegant, archaic script. The ink was a uniform sepia, whether the entry was dated 1984, 1921, or… Liam leaned closer. 1873.

"Every ranger who serves Blackwood Creek signs their name here," Chip said, his first words spoken in a low, gravelly voice. "It's how the park gets to know you."

"A quaint tradition, isn't it?" Casey chuckled, though the sound didn't reach his eyes.

Sherri dipped a long, black quill pen into a pot of ink and offered it to Liam. "Your turn."

Liam stared at the pen, then at the open page. His heart began to hammer against his ribs. This was wrong. This was insane. His mind screamed at him, echoing Dr. Sharma’s pleas. Run. Get in your car and drive away and never look back.

But the specter of his student loan statements rose in his mind, sharp and ugly. The memory of ramen dinners and the crushing weight of unemployment. He was here. He’d made his choice. What was he going to do, run away because of a weird old book? He’d be a laughingstock.

"Right," Liam said, his voice tight. "Tradition."

He took the quill. It felt unnaturally heavy. His hand trembled slightly as he leaned over the ledger and wrote his name: Liam Thorne.

The instant the final loop of the ‘e’ was complete, it happened.

It wasn't a sound or a light. It was a feeling. A powerful, silent jolt shot up his arm from the tip of the quill, surging through his entire body. It was like grabbing a live wire, but without the pain. It was a blast of pure, unadulterated energy. The exhaustion from the long drive vanished in a heartbeat. The chronic ache in his left knee, a souvenir from a college sports injury, dissolved into nothingness. He felt a wave of profound well-being wash over him, clearing his head, sharpening his senses. The scent of pine from outside was suddenly ten times richer. The hum of a fluorescent light he hadn't even noticed before became a clear, distinct buzz.

He gasped and stumbled back, dropping the quill. It clattered onto the wooden desk.

Sherri, Chip, and Casey were all smiling. Not their wide, welcoming smiles, but small, knowing smirks.

"See?" Sherri said softly, closing the ancient ledger with a soft thud. "The park approves. It's welcoming you."

"Told you," Casey boomed, his good humor returning. "That mountain air. Gets right into your bones. You'll be feeling twenty years younger in no time."

Liam just stared at them, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. He felt incredible. Better than he had in his entire life. Healthier. Stronger. And it terrified him more than anything he had ever experienced.

He had come to Blackwood Creek desperate for a job. He had signed his name in a book. And in return, the park had given him a gift. But as he stood there, feeling the alien vigor course through his veins, a cold certainty settled in the pit of his stomach. This wasn't a gift. It was a down payment. And he had no idea what the final price would be.