Operator WX41C

As the night falls over the Grand Tetons forest, a thick mist descends on the trees and envelopes the forest in a tranquil atmosphere. The rain that had pelted the forest the night before had left the trees and undergrowth saturated, creating a refreshing earthy aroma that fills the air. The stillness of the night is punctuated only by the chirping of crickets and the rustling of leaves in the breeze and the sporadic howls of wolves that roam around. The forest is a maze of towering trees, with their branches interlocking to form a lush canopy overhead with mist weaving through them, creating an almost supernatural ambiance. Amid the natural beauty lies a weathered timber pathway, leading up to a structure that has been built by hand, with its rough-hewn beams and hand carved details, blending perfectly within the lush greenery whilst its aging boards reveal its testament to its enduring resilience in the harsh elements of the forest.

Jack Brod, known by his callsign "WX41C," was a well-respected HAM operator, despite his atypical appearance. His trousers - which had been passed down from generations - were ragged and riddled with holes, yet his leather boots were pristine. Other radio amateurs praised him for his helpfulness, and he had also gained a sizable reputation for aiding others in the Teton's. As for his cabin, it exuded a strong aroma of burnt hickory wood mixed with the scent of thick moss that surrounded it. Despite its lifeless external appearance, the insides were lit up by incandescent lights that never turned off and the vibrancy of the life of a radio enthusiast, filled with all the equipment and knowledge that Jack had accumulated over the years: his leather-bound axe (which always gave off a sweet but sharp hickory aroma) and his crumpled field guide and a collection of exquisite, layered Damascus knives with leather sheaths hugging them and the chopping brick (filled with wounds from Jack continuously slicing wood with his mahogany hatchet axe), and possibly his most prized possession: a sleeping bag which he had used a few years back whilst hiking the Appalachians.

Just as the night sky rolled over the horizon, Jack meticulously set up his equipment: perching his transmitter atop a wooden log, positioning his field guide close to the transmitter, and finally bringing out a few of his Damascus knives to aid him in slicing logs for the fire. Most of his gear was arranged outside, but the dense mist lingering in the air meant that he had to wait until early sunrise to begin transmitting. With patience, he pondered around, hoping the mist would clear out quickly. It was quite a thick, eerie veil of white, a perfect atmosphere for any horror movie plot. Normally it would take at most 2 hours to clear out but reflecting the future eerie events, it cleared out an hour early. Whilst the mist started to dissipate, Jack ensured that his transmitting beacon, located just to the West of the timber path, was in proper working condition. The antenna, though slender, was mounted on a clunky slab of concrete and cleverly concealed behind a thick layer of slushy moss. It was the perfect disguise to keep his equipment safe and undetected from vicious hyenas and even hawks, mistaking the poles for the whiskers of a small mice.

As the sun began to rise, he started to scour the surrounding forest floor to find the driest twigs and sticks and finally, his pocket flint and steel which he always seemed to misplace. The campfire he was about to create was no ordinary fire, but rather a blaze that would warm both body and soul with its intense heat and aromatic smoke. Hickory started to crackle and snapped as he ignited the base, and its warmth radiated outwards, transforming the cooler surroundings into a cozy oasis. The fire grew stronger, its flames leapt higher, casting flickering shadows on the trees standing tall and stoic around it. The scent of burning hickory filled the air, infusing everything with a rich aroma and as the sun steadily strolled over the horizon, the fire blazed on, its flames dancing alongside the leaves of the trees in the awakening draft. Like moths to light, the trees seemed to be mesmerized by the campfire, their branches slowly lurching closer and closer to the warmth.

As the fire - almost resembling a phoenix - continued to blaze, Jack powered on the transmitter and meticulously tuned the transmitter's rustic and erroded handle to his normal starting frequency of 430MHz. The range was typically crowded with emergency transmissions and drone operator chatter although never anything atypical like what he was about to experience. Afterward, he would switch to 5MHz, a station for "amateur" operators, but was rarely talked on. This frequency was often filled with static and sporadic ghostly conversations, making it difficult for him to decipher any meaningful information. However, as he adjusted to 5MHz, something unusual caught his attention...

A disconcerting high-pitched hum. Nothing else. Not even static.

For the past few days, Jack had encountered no interference, despite the thick forest that surrounded him, ready to block any incoming signals. However, when he tried transferring to other frequencies, he noticed that same indescribable hum. Questions in his mind started piling up like a miniature tsunami ready to storm onto land. "Why today? Why in this forest? Why at this spesific time?" he pondered, "Why on this frequency?". He slumbered back into the cabin and combed through a rusted metal box containing field guides and manuals but to no avail as he was unable to find information related to the mysterious hum. After still not being able to find any information for quite a while in his cabin, he concluded that if he was able to get outside his antenna transmission range, the hum would stop, or at least die down. He took his ATV and pocket transmitter out throughout the forest and through some mud swamps with trees towering over for a few miles before finally reaching the plains. From there, he quietly set up his pocket transmitter to probe the area. To his surprise, that hum was no longer prevalent, and he could hear the regular ghosted talking and static. Even though his mind was still racing with questions, he packed up his gear and headed back to examine what had caused the eerie disturbance.

After returning, the flames burned brighter than before, signaling an urgent message. The fire seemed to have grown larger, as if trying to warn him of an imminent threat. Even the incandescent lights in the cabin sporadically flickered and at times, completely turned off. But he paid no attention to the flames' desperate cries nor the lights flickering, brushing off their warnings as mere figments of his imagination. Little did he know that the danger he faced was already lurking nearby, waiting to strike.