A Halloween Story from the Outdoors...

The first rule of hunting Blackpine Lake was simple: leave before dark.

Locals never agreed on why. Some blamed the fog that rolled off the water each October. Others spoke of strange lights between the trees or footsteps that followed long after they’d left the trail.

Most people laughed off the stories. But those people had never stayed past sunset, let alone on Halloween night.

By the time Mark realized he’d lost the trail, the sun had slipped behind the trees. Fog crept across the lake, swallowing the shoreline as the forest disappeared into the gloom.

He had been following fresh tracks through the timber when the familiar path disappeared beneath a carpet of fallen leaves. He checked his GPS. The screen flickered, froze, and went black.

“Perfect,” he muttered.

He reached for his flashlight and swept its beam across the trees. Nothing but spruce, shadow, and the thin white trunks of birch trees stretching into the darkness.

Then he saw it.

A light.

Far ahead, between two trees, a warm yellow glow flickered like a latern swinging in the distance.

Someone else must be out here, he thought.

He headed toward it.

The light vanished.

Mark stopped.

A moment later, it appeared again, farther to the left.

He called out. “Hey! Are you lost, too?”

No answer.

The temperature dropped sharply. His breath clouded in front of him, and somewhere behind him, a branch snapped.

He spun around, flashlight raised.

Nothing.

Then came another snap.

Closer.

Mark quickened his pace, pushing through the brush until the trees opened onto a narrow clearing. At its center stood an old wooden hunting cabin, its windows clouded with dust and its roof sagging beneath years of snow and neglect.

Subtle light radiated from those hazy windows, perhaps a latern burning within?

Mark climbed the steps. The boards groaned beneath his boots. Beside the door hung a rusted metal sign, barely visible in the lantern light.

IF YOU SEE THE LIGHT, KEEP WALKING.

The warning should have been enough. Yet Mark found himself staring at the words, unable to shake the feeling that they weren’t meant for just anyone.

Mark took one step back. Then another. Whatever was inside that cabin, it knew he was there.

From inside the cabin came three slow knocks.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

Mark froze.

Then a voice drifted through the door.

“You're late.”

He ran.

Branches clawed at his jacket as he tore through the trees. His flashlight beam bounced wildly across the forest floor. Behind him, the lantern light appeared between the trunks, keeping pace with him despite the darkness.

He could hear footsteps now.

Not running.

Walking.

Slow, steady steps crunching through the leaves behind him. Whenever Mark slowed, they slowed too. Whenever he ran, they kept the same unhurried pace.

Whatever followed him didn't need to catch up.

Mark burst through the brush and stumbled onto the main trail. His truck sat exactly where he’d left it.

He fumbled for his keys, yanked open the door, and threw himself inside. The locks clicked shut.

For a few seconds, he sat hunched over the steering wheel, struggling to catch his breath.

Then he looked up.

A figure stood beyond the windshield.

Tall. Motionless. Its face hidden by the fog.

Mark hit the headlights and the figure was gone.

He drove straight to town and didn't stop until he reached the all-night diner. The waitress listened to his story without interrupting. When he finished, she slowly set down her coffee pot.

“Did you see the sign?” she asked.

Mark nodded.

She glanced toward the window. “My grandfather used to hunt out there. Said a man disappeared near that cabin on Halloween night, nearly sixty years ago. They searched for weeks. Never found a trace of him.”

Mark swallowed. “Who was he?”

The waitress looked him directly in the eyes.

“His name was Mark, too.”

The following morning, a park ranger found a flashlight lying beside the old cabin at Blackpine Lake.

Its batteries were dead.

Two sets of footprints marked the damp earth. One led toward the cabin. The other led away.

Both belonged to the same pair of boots.

Inside, the cabin stood empty. A lantern burned steadily on the table, though no one had lit it.

The ranger turned to leave.

Three slow knocks echoed through the cabin.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

He froze.

A sudden gust tore through the trees, and the door slammed shut behind him.

From somewhere in the darkness, a voice whispered.

“Your turn.”

If there’s one thing we can all agree on, it’s that Mark should have packed a better flashlight.

You can’t guarantee what’s waiting beyond the tree line, but you can make sure your customers have the gear they need when daylight fades.

Stock up on Triplelite flashlights and other outdoor essentials from NAOS, your wholesale source for the products your customers count on.

This Halloween, keep your gear ready, your stories spooky, and your flashlight close.

Happy Halloween from NAOS — your wholesale partner for the great outdoors.