THE RICK HAINES ARCHIVE
Recovered records, transmissions, and field accounts regarding the man behind the signal.
Some Men Get Lost. Others Choose to Disappear.
Nobody agrees on when Rick Haines stopped belonging to the ordinary world.
Depends on who you ask.
Some say it happened sometime in the late 90s.
Others insist it began after the fall of 2001, when strange reports started surfacing from forgotten ridgelines, washed-out timber roads, and places sensible men stopped visiting after dark.
Places where radios failed.
Places where the woods went quiet for no reason.
Places Rick Haines kept returning to.
Official records become difficult to follow after that year.
Employment history fades.
Addresses stop updating.
Phone numbers disconnect.
Taxes become inconsistent.
Old coworkers remember him—but reluctantly.
Like speaking too long about Rick Haines feels impolite.
Or unlucky.
Nearly everyone describes him the same way:
Quiet. Practical. Capable.
The kind of man you wanted nearby when weather turned bad.
Nobody calls him unstable.
Nobody calls him dramatic.
And that may be the strangest part of all.
Because practical men are not supposed to disappear into the woods.
BEFORE THE SIGNAL
Before the cabin.
Before the stories.
Before the radio static after midnight.
Rick Haines worked wilderness jobs.
Depending on who’s telling the story, he spent years doing some combination of:
• Wildlife management
• Forestry survey work
• Remote land inspection
• Storm recovery
• Backcountry access routes
• Game monitoring
The work suited him.
Long drives.
Bad coffee.
Paper maps folded too many times.
Weeks farther from civilization than most people feel comfortable being.
The sort of work where silence becomes normal.
Where you learn what belongs in the woods.
And more importantly—
What doesn’t.
Those who knew him describe Rick as difficult to shake.
Bad weather.
Flooded crossings.
Broken trucks.
Wild animals.
Didn’t matter.
He wasn’t fearless.
Just calm.
Which is exactly why what happened in 2001 unsettles people who knew him.
Because if something rattled Rick Haines—
Something about it had to be wrong.
THE INCIDENT
Eastern Oklahoma — Late Fall, 2001
No official report exists.
No clean version of the story.
Only fragments.
Half-finished conversations.
CB chatter.
Campfire retellings.
The details shift depending on who’s telling it.
But certain pieces repeat often enough to feel important.
Heavy fog.
Backcountry roads.
Radio interference.
Several hours unaccounted for.
And tracks.
Tracks appearing where tracks should not have been possible.
Too large.
Too deliberate.
Crossing exposed stone without slipping.
Appearing where soil should not hold impressions.
Then disappearing.
Rick reportedly attempted to explain them away.
Bad visibility.
Water distortion.
Poor terrain.
The kind of practical explanations practical men prefer.
But by the second night—
The woods changed.
No birds.
No insects.
No movement.
Just silence.
The kind that feels wrong.
One recovered journal fragment reads:
“You spend enough years outdoors, you learn every sound has a reason behind it.
Coyotes sound like coyotes.
Wind sounds like wind.
Trees settle.
But every now and then…
Something out there sounds wrong.”
That night, something reportedly circled camp.
Slow.
Heavy.
Measured.
Large enough that it should have revealed itself.
Yet every time Rick checked—
Nothing.
Only trees.
And a smell he later struggled to explain:
Wet cedar. Wood smoke. Cold earth.
As though someone had stepped from deep wilderness carrying weather with them.
Morning brought something stranger.
A neat stack of split firewood beside camp.
Fresh.
Dry.
Recently cut.
Rick had not cut it.
No tire tracks nearby.
No footprints.
No explanation.
Later that afternoon, while driving out, Rick reportedly saw something standing along a distant ridgeline.
Too tall.
Too broad.
Standing impossibly still.
Watching.
Then—
Fog rolled in.
Gone.
Rick later described the encounter only once:
“Felt less like being hunted.
More like being evaluated.”
The drive home should have taken two hours.
Instead—
Nearly six passed.
His watch stopped.
Truck clock reset.
Radio dead.
No missing memory exactly.
Just…
A feeling that time had folded strangely.
Coworkers reportedly noticed changes after that trip.
Quieter.
Tired.
Distracted.
More observant.
He started carrying notebooks.
Making maps.
Tracking weather.
Documenting patterns no one else noticed.
Within a few years—
Rick Haines began disappearing.
THE DISAPPEARING YEARS
Not suddenly.
Quietly.
The way weather changes.
Coworkers say he stopped talking much.
Turned down promotions.
Ignored calls.
Missed gatherings.
Stopped explaining himself.
Eventually—
He simply stopped showing up.
No dramatic goodbye.
No manifesto.
No missing persons report.
Just absence.
Between 2002 and 2004, stories began circulating about a remote cabin somewhere beyond maintained roads.
No confirmed address.
No mailbox.
No photographs anyone agrees are authentic.
Only rumors.
A lantern glowing through fog.
CB chatter after midnight.
Smoke rising from a chimney during storms.
And a man named Rick warning strangers not to take certain roads after dark.
Most dismiss the stories.
A surprising number do not.
THE CABIN
Descriptions vary.
Everyone remembers it differently.
Too many trees.
Too much fog.
Too quiet.
But certain details repeat often enough to feel important:
The smell of cedar smoke.
Coffee burnt half an hour too long.
A radio constantly humming in the background.
Maps pinned wall-to-wall.
Weather notes.
Missing persons clippings.
Handwritten warnings.
And notebooks.
Stacks of them.
Filled edge to edge.
Sketches.
Coordinates.
Crossed-out observations.
Things no one has successfully explained.
One line reportedly appears repeatedly throughout recovered journals:
“If the woods go quiet—leave.”
THE EXPEDITION
Nobody knows exactly when it started.
Or whether Rick Haines intended for it to exist at all.
The earliest accounts suggest it happened accidentally.
Hunters.
Truckers.
Campers.
Backcountry workers.
Men who crossed paths with Rick and returned carrying strange stories.
Sometimes advice.
Sometimes warnings.
And occasionally—
A small metal tin.
No branding.
No logo.
No instructions.
Just something built to survive weather.
Cold mornings.
Smoke.
Long nights.
The sort of thing Rick reportedly handed over while saying:
“Take care of your beard.
Man starts neglecting himself,
world starts getting ideas.”
Word spread.
Quietly.
Never through advertisements.
Never through stores.
Only stories.
Recommendations.
Whispers between people asking:
“You still know how to get ahold of that Haines fella?”
Eventually—
The name stuck.
BeWilderment Beards
Though those closest to the story insist Rick himself never called it a company.
Only:
“Supplies for the expedition.”
IS RICK HAINES REAL?
Depends who you ask.
Some say he’s a myth.
Some say he’s a lonely old man with too much whiskey and too many cigarettes.
Some insist they’ve heard his voice through radio static during storms.
A few claim they’ve met him.
Fewer claim they’ve been invited inside.
And every now and then—
Someone receives a package with a handwritten note signed simply:
— Rick Haines
Signal still holding.
KNOWN FIELD FILES
Recovered encounters and active investigation records.
FIELD FILE 001 — THE RANGER
“Felt less like being hunted.
More like being evaluated.”
A towering figure seen near ridgelines after storms.
Associated with cedar scent, silence, and impossible tracks.
Threat Assessment: Respectfully avoid provoking.
FIELD FILE 002 — THE CARD SHARK
“Still owe him twenty bucks.
Or maybe thirty.”
An impossible roadside gambler appearing near storms and bad luck.
Known for cigars, cards, glowing eyes—
And warnings that arrive too late.
Threat Assessment: Don’t gamble after midnight.
FIELD FILE 003 — THE PROPHET
“Bad news had gotten there early.”
Tall.
Still.
Watching.
Often seen shortly before tragedy.
No known explanation.
No confirmed pattern.
Only red eyes through rain.
Threat Assessment: Leave immediately.
FIELD FILE 004 — THE TOURIST
“Why do humans enjoy smoked meats?”
Strangely polite.
Uncomfortably curious.
Fascinated by coffee, beards, and gas station snacks.
Items borrowed are often returned.
Sometimes improved.
Threat Assessment: Unknown.
RECOVERED EVIDENCE
Field maps, radio recordings, witness reports, and recovered journal fragments.
Archive expanding.
RADIO LOGS
Recovered transmissions from beyond the ridgeline.
Signal still unstable.
UNSOLVED REPORTS
Recent sightings and unconfirmed encounters.
Investigation ongoing.
THE SIGNAL IS STILL ACTIVE
The woods remain strange.
The reports continue.
And somewhere beyond the ridgeline—
A radio still crackles after dark.
If you’re hearing the signal—
You’re already closer than most.