Aaron Miller

By early afternoon, my crew had split up to cover more ground, and I was alone, picking my way through charred brush on a densely wooded ridgeline. The fire had passed through, yet the air felt heavy and damp instead of hot and dry, strangely cooler than it should have been.

By early afternoon, my crew had split up to cover more ground, and I was alone, picking my way through charred brush on a densely wooded ridgeline. The fire had passed through, yet the air felt heavy and damp instead of hot and dry, strangely cooler than it should have been.

Something about the wind felt off too, swirling unpredictably, drawing smoke uphill instead of letting it disperse naturally. Curiosity nudged me to follow the odd smoke flow higher. Cresting the ridge, I saw a cluster of structures below, tucked beneath dense spruce and pine. The forest here should have been scorched to sticks, but the trees surrounding these buildings stood untouched by flames.

Something about the wind felt off too, swirling unpredictably, drawing smoke uphill instead of letting it disperse naturally. Curiosity nudged me to follow the odd smoke flow higher. Cresting the ridge, I saw a cluster of structures below, tucked beneath dense spruce and pine. The forest here should have been scorched to sticks, but the trees surrounding these buildings stood untouched by flames.

It was unnatural. The blackened earth abruptly ended a few feet from wooden cabins and a central lodge, all perfectly intact. Ash drifted lazily downward like gray snowflakes settling in silence. There were no signs or trail markers leading into this camp, just the remains of an old wooden gate. My gut tightened.

It was unnatural. The blackened earth abruptly ended a few feet from wooden cabins and a central lodge, all perfectly intact. Ash drifted lazily downward like gray snowflakes settling in silence. There were no signs or trail markers leading into this camp, just the remains of an old wooden gate. My gut tightened.

Camps in these mountains were logged with the Forest Service for emergencies and fire prevention. But I knew every registered site in this region. This wasn't one of them. I approached cautiously, boots crunching ash underfoot. The cabins looked old, untouched by modern maintenance, yet sturdy, as if the fire had avoided this place intentionally. It made no sense. Wildfires don't discriminate.

Camps in these mountains were logged with the Forest Service for emergencies and fire prevention. But I knew every registered site in this region. This wasn't one of them. I approached cautiously, boots crunching ash underfoot. The cabins looked old, untouched by modern maintenance, yet sturdy, as if the fire had avoided this place intentionally. It made no sense. Wildfires don't discriminate.

A faded wooden plaque hung above the largest building's entrance. Camp Blackridge. The paint peeled away, weathered and forgotten. Pushing open the lodge door I stepped inside, instantly greeted by the stale scent of musty canvas, wood smoke, and something faintly sour. Sunlight filtered through ash-dimmed windows, revealing a room arranged as a dining hall.

A faded wooden plaque hung above the largest building's entrance. Camp Blackridge. The paint peeled away, weathered and forgotten. Pushing open the lodge door I stepped inside, instantly greeted by the stale scent of musty canvas, wood smoke, and something faintly sour. Sunlight filtered through ash-dimmed windows, revealing a room arranged as a dining hall.

Tables and chairs neatly aligned as if campers might file in at any moment for lunch. Children's drawings were still pinned to the far wall, fluttering gently as I passed. Yellowed paper curled at the edges, scribbled pictures of mountains, stick figure campers, and bright smiling suns. Then my eyes settled on one picture set apart from the rest.

Tables and chairs neatly aligned as if campers might file in at any moment for lunch. Children's drawings were still pinned to the far wall, fluttering gently as I passed. Yellowed paper curled at the edges, scribbled pictures of mountains, stick figure campers, and bright smiling suns. Then my eyes settled on one picture set apart from the rest.

It was crudely drawn by a child's unsure hand, a bear engulfed in flames, orange and red scribbles encircling its body. but the eyes unsettled me most they weren't animal eyes they were human staring out with startling realism they looked directly at whoever observed the drawing as if trying to communicate something unspoken the hair on my arms rose a chill tracing down my spine i turned quickly

It was crudely drawn by a child's unsure hand, a bear engulfed in flames, orange and red scribbles encircling its body. but the eyes unsettled me most they weren't animal eyes they were human staring out with startling realism they looked directly at whoever observed the drawing as if trying to communicate something unspoken the hair on my arms rose a chill tracing down my spine i turned quickly

scanning the room as a creeping unease settled over me. Everything felt wrong. The place was like a snapshot frozen in time, waiting. Unnerved, I reached for my radio. Dispatch, this is Hanley on Black Ridge. I found some kind of abandoned camp here. No fire damage to structures, but the location wasn't marked on our maps. Looks untouched.

scanning the room as a creeping unease settled over me. Everything felt wrong. The place was like a snapshot frozen in time, waiting. Unnerved, I reached for my radio. Dispatch, this is Hanley on Black Ridge. I found some kind of abandoned camp here. No fire damage to structures, but the location wasn't marked on our maps. Looks untouched.

Static crackled before the dispatcher's voice emerged, hesitant and unusually tense. Repeat your location? Camp Black Ridge, west side of the ridge near Trout Lake. It's intact, but looks like it's been abandoned for decades. Any records on this place? Silence stretched uncomfortably. Just as I was about to repeat myself, the voice returned, cautious. Hanley, confirm again. Black Ridge.

Static crackled before the dispatcher's voice emerged, hesitant and unusually tense. Repeat your location? Camp Black Ridge, west side of the ridge near Trout Lake. It's intact, but looks like it's been abandoned for decades. Any records on this place? Silence stretched uncomfortably. Just as I was about to repeat myself, the voice returned, cautious. Hanley, confirm again. Black Ridge.

Confirm dispatch. Black Ridge. Names on the lodge here. Another pause, longer this time, as if a conversation happened far from the mic. When the dispatcher spoke again, their voice was low, almost hesitant. "'Hanley, we've—we've warned teams not to go near that ridge since the late 1980s.' I stared at the radio, baffled. "'Warned? Why? Was this area quarantined?' Again, silence.

Confirm dispatch. Black Ridge. Names on the lodge here. Another pause, longer this time, as if a conversation happened far from the mic. When the dispatcher spoke again, their voice was low, almost hesitant. "'Hanley, we've—we've warned teams not to go near that ridge since the late 1980s.' I stared at the radio, baffled. "'Warned? Why? Was this area quarantined?' Again, silence.