I knew before I rounded the bend that he’d still be there.

Campsite 14. Always 14. It wasn’t on any map differently than the others, just another numbered square carved into the pine-thick silence of the north loop. But rangers talk, even when we pretend not to. And we all noticed the same thing. People who stayed there stayed too long. They came in with bright gear and good boots, and by the time their permit expired, something behind their eyes had dimmed. Like the light got in wrong. People told stories about Kobolds getting into mischief, making people do things, but I never gave those stories much thought.

But today, I was the once sent to clear out Darrin, the latest malingerer.

His fire pit was cold. Had been for a while. The smell that hung in the air wasn’t smoke. It was something older. Wet canvas, maybe. Or mildew and resignation. I called his name once, loud enough to echo, but the sound didn’t bounce back. He was sitting in the same faded camp chair I’d seen him in three days ago — same angle, same slouch. Like a mannequin left in the woods to rot.

“You’ve overstayed your permit,” I said. Calm. Professional. Civil penalties and all that. Section 2.15, maximum of 14 days per site, no exceptions. I could feel my mouth recite it even as my skin crawled. “You’ll need to pack up today, and I'm writing you a $100 civil fine”

He didn’t answer right away. Just blinked slowly, like his body was on a different loop than mine. Finally, he said, “I don’t think it wants me to go.”

I wish he’d said 'them'. I could’ve handled a 'them'. People I can reason with. De-escalate. But 'it'? That meant something else was here. Something that didn’t leave footprints but lingered in the dirt all the same.

Then, without warning, he threw off the wool blanket draped over his chest — and I flinched, hand halfway to my radio.

Strapped to his torso with leather straps and bits of paracord was something small. Scaly. Clawed. Its yellow eyes snapped open like a hunter disturbed mid-feast.

A kobold.

It blinked once, then hissed — not at me, but at the daylight. It pressed closer to Darrin’s chest like a baby possum clinging to its host. Darrin didn’t move to stop it. If anything, he cradled it tighter, his fingers stroking its bony spine with unnerving familiarity.

I cleared my throat. “Okay,” I said, pulling the citation pad from my pocket with the calm professionalism I’d practiced in the mirror. A mythical creature wasn't going to stop a US National Park Service ranger from his duties after all “I've filled out your ticket here. It's payable online or by mail. You’ll need to vacate the site by sundown.”

Darrin looked up slowly, as if I’d just spoken in Morse code. Then, without breaking eye contact, he said, very calmly, “She Yips.”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

Darrin gestured lazily to the kobold, who was now tensing against one of the paracord knots with idle menace. “This little one? One wrong move and she goes crazy with Yips.” The kobold mouthed a silent, horrible yip. “she’s fast. Like a raccoon on bath salts.”

I paused, pen still hovering over the fine. “Darrin, this is a noncompliance issue. You cannot threaten a federal employee with a...a yip”

“She’s not a threat,” Darrin said, grinning now, eyes too wide. “She’s a deterrent. Like a guard goose. But with yips.”

The kobold let out a belch that smelled like sulfur and spoiled beef jerky.

I considered calling for backup, but what was I supposed to say? Subject is refusing to vacate and has strapped a gremlin to his chest like a baby born from hell?

Instead, I tore the citation free, stepped forward slowly, and extended it. “Just take the ticket, Darrin.”

The kobold Yipped. My hand retracted.

Darrin shrugged. “I’ll leave when she says it’s safe. Not before. Maybe not after.”

I decided this might be one of those situations where the paperwork could wait.

------

“If future generations are to remember us with gratitude rather than contempt, we must leave them something more than the miracles of technology. We must leave them a glimpse of the world as it was in the beginning, not just after we got through it.”

President Lyndon B. Johnson; 36th president of the United States, on the formation of the National Wilderness Preservation System