Just Creepy: Scary Stories - 3 TRUE Scary PARK RANGER Horror Stories, Fire Lookout, Deep Woods, National Forest

Episode Date: May 24, 2024

These are 3 TRUE Scary PARK RANGER Horror Stories, Fire Lookout, Deep Woods, National Forest Linktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepy Story Credits: ►Sent in to www.justcreepy.net Timestamps: 00:00 Into 00:00:18 Story 1 00:22:34 Story 2 00:38:55 Story 3 Business inquiries: ►[e-mail] #scarystories #horrorstories #truescarystories #parkrangerstories 💀As always, thanks for watching! 💀

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The Hilton sale is on now. Book on Hilton.com or the Hilton app and save up to 20% to get the stay you expected. When you want savings, not surprises. It matters where you stay. Hilton, for the stay. What I'm about to tell you, is something I still go to therapy for.

It happened back during the summer of 2009. I started going to therapy around the start of 2010, and I've been going ever since. It wasn't my idea. It was my parents. In a way, the only reason I still go is to keep them from worrying themselves sick over me. Not that I don't derive some small benefit from it, but what I tell my parents, my therapists and I talk about,

and what we actually talk about, are two very different things. Around the start of the holiday season, back in 2008, I was a sophomore Earth Sciences student at UCC Davis. The university offers some summer placements to students who want to gain a little work experience, and although they're mostly dreary research assignments, I happened to cross one that piqued my interest in a way the others didn't. In short, I had the opportunity to spend the summer working as a fire lookout in the Trinity National Forest. It was a three-month-long placement, but I'd be paid for it. for my time, and completing a piece of long-term field research would look very good on my resume.

I applied, I was accepted, and several months later I was told that I'd be posted to the Tom Head Mountain Lookout, which was about 30 miles west of the city of Red Bluff and about 130 miles north of Sacramento. Since I didn't own a car back then, I had to catch a bus all the way up to Red Bluff. From there, I hitchhiked along the 36, and then hiked up into the hills, until I reached the flat-topped peak of Tomhead Mountain, where the old fire lookout tower stood. The first thing that struck me was that the 20-foot-tall lookout tower was made of wood. I figured a fire lookout tower would have been built with less flammable materials, but since it had been constructed back in the 30s, I guess wood was all they had at hand.

It didn't make for the best first impression. After all, that tower was supposed to be my home for the next three months. But in the end, I managed to get myself settled in, and the place started to feel more cozy than decrepit. A big part of the assignment involved what we call numerical weather predictions, or NWP. I won't bore you with the exact science of it, but it's somewhat similar to the kind of prediction models that allow news channels to give long-term weather forecasts. In the context of being a fire lookout, we can use these same models to predict the dry spells or heat waves that might result in a wildfire, because prevention is always better than a cure. Working on weather analysis kept me occupied for a precious few hours each day, while hygiene and hydration became important aspects of my daily routine. But outside of maintaining myself and my equipment, I had very little to keep me occupied.

To kill time, I'd go for walks in the woods surrounding the lookout tower. Sometimes I'd visit the abandoned miners' cabin, sometimes the old campground that lay just beyond it. I'd keep my bearspray with me just in case I had any close encounters of the fur kind, ha-ha, but I never ever saw any people around. At first, the seclusion was a welcome escape from the hustle and bustle of the big city, and by the end of the first week, my social battery had been thoroughly recharged. But by the end of week two, once the boredom had really started to set in,

I found myself just pining for human contact in a way that was very much surprising to me. I had my old Samsung's cell phone with me along with a very efficient solar-powered cell phone charger, but the lack of solid coverage meant it was more useful as a paperweight. If I walked up to this one spot on the ridge line, I could manage to squeeze the odd text message through, but any sort of phone call was out of the question, and that was something I hadn't anticipated. It sounds foolish to think about it now, but I figured that since I was so high up on a mountain,

getting decent cell reception wouldn't be an issue, whereas, in actual fact, it was all about your proximity to towers. Communicating through the odd text message was all well and good, but by the end of that first month, being the only living soul for miles really started to grind on me. When a Trinity Forest Ranger showed up with my second month's supplies, I was so happy to see her, that I almost hugged her when she stepped out of her four by four. She could tell how happy I was to see her. And she joked about me going a little stir-crazy up there all in my lonesome. She was nice enough to stay a while and drink some of my bad coffee. Then, once I'd hauled my supplies

from her trunk, she drove off into the sunset. After that, knowing I wouldn't see another person in the flesh for a whole month actually made me kind of emotional. You don't realize what social animals we are, until you really cut yourself off from other people. I once read that in prison, solitary confinement is one of the cruelest punishments because it can drive a person insane in a frighteningly short amount of time. I'm not saying I started to go crazy up there, but for a while, it sure as hell felt like it. It started towards the end of my second month. I'd be out on one of my regular walks, and I'd see something move out of the corner of my eye. But then when I turn to look, nothing. There's a lot of wildlife out there in Trinity, so for the first half-dozen times it

happened, I figured it was just a fox or a raccoon or something, skittering away from me, frightened. But then, after a while, the shadows in the corners of my eyes started getting larger and clearer, until eventually they weren't just in my peripheries anymore. I'd see something moving in the trees up ahead of me, too big to be a bobcat or mountain lion, the wrong shape to be an or deer. I'd stop, look, listen, but nothing ever moved, nothing ever stirred. And by the time I started to call out hello, into the empty woods ahead of me, I developed a genuine concern for my own psychological well-being. I tried a dozen different things to lessen the feelings of loneliness and isolation, and although talking to myself might make it sound like I lost my mind, I can

assure you that it helped. Pouring my thoughts out onto this page helped too. as did singing my favorite songs. After a day or two of accentuating the positives and eliminating the negatives, I began to feel considerably better. But then came the day when, as I set off on one of my routine walks through the woods, I caught the glimpse of a human figure standing among the trees. I turned my head to look in their direction, and unlike all the other things I'd seen moving in the corner of my eyes, this person didn't dart off among the trees. Quite the opposite of that, in fact. They remained as still as a statue, limbs very rigid, completely unmoving.

In all honesty, the person's sudden presence scared the crap out of me, and the odd unnatural way that they were standing did not help either. But then the more I stared at this mysterious figure standing stationary among the trees, the more I realized that it wasn't a person at all. I took a few steps towards it, consumed with curiosity, only to discover that what I was looking at was some kind of wooden effigy. Someone had constructed a sort of skeleton out of wooden planks, then after attaching what looked to be chicken wire as a skull and a ribcage,

had stuffed the cavities with a variety of dead roots and leaves. I remember being almost mesmerized by it, not because it exuded any kind of eldritch power or anything crazy like that, but because it was so exquisitely constructed. I remained in this sort of blissful state of thoughtlessness until a rather alarming thought occurred to me. That effigy had been staked into the earth less than an entire football field away from the lookout tower, and it almost certainly hadn't been there the previous day. That meant that someone had walked all the way up Tom Head Mountain in the middle of the night

after putting a ton of work into their conscious art installation, only to stake it just meters away from where I was laying my head each night. I could think of a dozen innocent reasons why someone might do such a thing, but still, there was something about the effigy's presence that just didn't sit right with me. This probably sounds incredibly juvenile to some, but as I stood there face to wooden face with the mysterious effigy, I was suddenly filled with the overwhelming urge to knock it over. I didn't like the idea of going about my business

and having this twig man just standing there looking all creepy like he was. It's never something I do now, but I obviously can't speak for the much younger college age me, who raised a hand, reached out, and prepared to knock the thing off its little stubby feet. But I also remember this feeling of intense hesitation as I reached out to touch it, how it almost felt like I was desecrating some sacred sculpture. The sensation halted me in one second, but in the next, it felt like a challenge. Then, with one heavy stone, I sent the effigy fall. falling back into the dirt with a little dry thud.

In the moments that followed, I felt the hairs of my arm standing on end, as I was struck by the sudden cognizance that whoever planted that twig man might still actually be close by. I looked around, then over both shoulders, making sure the coast was clear. I don't believe in any kind of sixth sense, but if there ever was a time in my life where I felt like I was being watched, it was then. I decided not to finish my walk that day, and headed back to the tower to make sure that I had that second can of bear may's handy. I wouldn't say that I was scared, more apprehensive of what the effigy's sudden presence might actually mean.

I later considered the possibility that some renegade artist with a little penchant for hiking might have mocked that thing up on the fly. At first, I had this irrational image in my head of some unhinged redneck hauling the completed effigy up to the mountain like a character from an unhinged, unwritten Thomas Harris novel, but the alternative, that it was a spur of the moment creative thing, was a considerably less unnerving explanation. No one had put that thing there to spook me. They probably didn't even know that I was in the area to begin with. The more I thought on that, the more I felt strangely guilty for having shoved it over. The next morning, I decided to head out on one of my morning routines, and while I was at it, I'd stake that twig man back into the earth and just leave him upright, just as I'd found him.

I completed that morning routine, jotted down a few early morning weather observations, and then set off in the direction of Tom Head Springs with some soap in a washcloth. When I reached the spot where the twig man had been lying in the dirt, I was startled to find him standing upright again. Someone had returned, possibly in the middle of the night, and had returned that twig man to his vertical position again. I wasn't outright frightened by this. just more unnerved.

I also figured that if it was me who made the twig man, this silent companion I could go visit on hikes so often, I'd also be kind of bummed if some jerk came along and just pushed him over. Besides, if he was someone else's silent but stoic companion, maybe he could be mine too. I gave myself a scrub down at the springs, made my way back to the lookout, passing the twigman as I went,

and then spent the rest of the day making weather observations, and reading the books that I brought with me. Then, once the sun went down and my very early bedtime approached, I climbed into my sleeping bag and attempted to catch some shut-eye. I think I might have just been on the cusp of drifting off when a deeply alarming scent began to drift into my nostrils. It was the smell of smoke. I leapt out of my sleeping bag, threw on my shorts and boots,

then was about to radio the ranger office over in Reading when a flicker of flame in the woods below caught my eye. the fire was close, very close, and by the look of things, it was still small enough for me to fight. I grabbed the tower's small fire extinguisher, rushed down the stairs, and then bolted towards the source of the fire. If I could put it out there and then, I'd not only saved the state of California hundreds of thousands of dollars, but I also saved acres upon acres worth of protected forest. I ran as fast as my legs could carry me, and then when I saw what was burning, I experienced one of the strangest sensations of my entire life. It was the twig man. That's what was burning.

And although I carried on hurtling towards it, I'd never seen anything so repellent in all my life. The desire to put the damn thing out and prevent a potentially massive forest fire, that thought alone kept propelling me through the woods. But upon considering the dual questions of who set the twig man on fire to begin with and why, that was the first moment of fear. After putting out the fire, I got to thinking about who or what might be to blame. I couldn't rule out vandalism as being the motivator, but even the most thoughtless of vandals would think twice before setting a wildfire in a national forest. I also couldn't rule out the possibility that the person who had set the twigman on fire was the same person who put him there in the first place.

I doubted very much that someone who'd taken the time to create such a sculpture would also be willing to burn the entire forest down. The very nature of the Twigman suggested its creator felt a reverence for nature, not a contempt for it. But in turn, that raised another question. What if Twigman's creator set him on fire because they knew I'd come running to put him out? Since I was just a few days from my second and final resupply, the same ranger that had visited me the previous month decided to head up to the mountain a little early,

both to drop off my supplies and check out the remains of the twigman. When she got there and I walked her out into the woods, there wasn't much left of him to look at, but the sight of him provoked a very familiar reaction from the ranger. She had all the same questions I did, but all that mattered was that I dealt with the fire both quickly and professionally. In her words, I should have been very proud of it. myself. For the next few days, I felt perfectly content to be alone. It was like the fire,

and the praise I'd gotten for my decisive action had topped up my social gas tank, so to speak, satisfying that crucial third layer in Maslow's hierarchy of needs. When I went on my regular walks, I didn't see any shadows moving in the corners of my eyes. I wasn't overcome by that creeping feeling that I was being watched. I felt at peace, both within and without. and that was the start of my third and final month up on the mountain. But towards the end of it, that same dread-inducing feeling that I was losing my mind, returned with a vengeance. Having finished all of the books that I brought with me,

and having grown sick of journaling my own depressingly repetitive stream of consciousness, I was even more plagued by tedium than ever, and on the surface, this seemed to lead to a drastic decline in my mental health. I started seeing things again. like people moving in the woods, and the encroaching sense of paranoia resulted in a handful of completely sleepless nights. The exhaustion I began to feel exacerbated every other symptom until, at one stage, I started to wonder if I could complete the full three-month term. I tried as best I could to power through, taking things a day and a night at a time until finally

I had just seven more nights to go. I tried to mark the occasion with a minor celebration, and opened up a can of warm soda that I had been saving for a very metaphorical rainy day. Then, after an evening spent trying to keep my spirits high, I settled down to sleep. One down, six to go, I told myself, but I couldn't have been more wrong. Hours later, I think maybe around one or two in the morning, I opened my eyes and heard what sounded like something moving among the trees below my tower. It was a very heavy sound, like something large and bipedal was stomping. through the underbrush. Seeing as that was a zoological impossibility, I decided to climb out of my

sleeping bag and go take a look. Having picked up my flashlight on the way out, I aimed its beam down into the darkness below me, and in an instant I saw them. To my horrified astonishment, I discovered that the tower I was in was surrounded by at least a dozen hooded figures. Beneath me, just out of sight at the base of the tower, was the source of the noise that I'd been hearing. As alarming as the encounter was, I didn't immediately understand the significance of the stranger's presence. There was always the possibility that they were simply a group of late-night hikers who happened across the tower and were merely curious. But when I called out to them and asked them to identify themselves, I didn't hear a word in reply. I took a few steps out and then headed down the stairs a little, so I could see what was occurring at the base of the tower, which, if you remember,

was only around 10 to 15 feet down. More hooded figures stood below me, and the sound that they were making came from the fact that they were staking large bales of twigs underneath the tower. It was kindling. They were going to set the tower on fire with me inside of it. The first thing I thought to do

was rush back into the cabin to report what was happening via my radio. While I was doing that, I threw on my clothes and boots, grabbed my flashlight and my survival knife, then walked out onto the balcony just in time for the fire to start. I didn't waste a second. I ran along to where the stairs were, then went down two or three flights so that the fall wouldn't break my legs. I figured I'd have to jump,

as whoever was surrounding the lookout would probably be expecting me to head down the stairs once they set the fire to it, since they seemed perfectly content to roast me alive, in what amounted to a very serious crime. I figured that they wouldn't be too excited about me escaping the scene. I remember jumping, knocking the wind out of myself, then being almost certain that I had just sprained an ankle until I put weight on it. Somehow, I was fine, and I also took the nearest hooded figure to me by surprise, which in turn gave me this brief but golden opportunity to slip past him if I moved at speed. I honestly thought that I was about to get shot or stabbed or whatever, and I guess the person I ran at nearly did get me with something, but it was a stunned

gun. As I ran past them, they lunged at me, and I saw this little tiny bolt of lightning dancing in the air for a split second before I slipped past them and made my escape. I remember hearing this furious scream from someone, screaming about me getting away, but by then I was long gone, half running and half sliding down the mountain as fast as I could in complete darkness. I was lucky not to fall and accidentally off myself, but there was no catching me. I made it all the way down the mountain without seeing so much as a flashlight behind me. I ran and ran until I was too tired to run anymore. Then, after what seemed like hours upon hours of rummaging through the brush, I came across a little place calling itself the Rocky Ridge Hunting Club, along with a

small group of hunters preparing to take advantage of the dawn's calm. By that point, the sky was so light that I could point out the plume of smoke rising from Tomhead Mountain, and within the hour, choppers were making passes over the lookout, creating artificial rain while the ground-based fire crews rushed to the scene. I should have felt exhausted. I should have been dead on my feet, but when I saw that first chopper fly over us heading in the direction of Tom Head, I felt 10 feet tall. I'd made it to that hunting club just in time to avert a major ecological disaster, and I felt like a hero. But I was not treated like one. Even after I explained everything that had happened, with the Twig Man, with the hooded figures, with the fires.

It was me who got the blame for burning down the Tomhead Mountain lookout. According to the fire crews, there was no evidence of an accelerant being used, but it was impossible to tell if the source of the fire had been inside or outside the cabin. I guess it was my preposterous explanation that swayed the opinions of the Forest Service, but on their command I was arrested on charges of arson, endangerment, and destruction of government property. My defense attorney told me that I dodged being charged with a serious environmental crime by the skin of my teeth, the kind that's only one step down from outright terrorism.

She also told me that my best option by far was to basically plead temporary insanity at my trial. She made it out like I was some upstanding citizen, who'd merely been unfortunate enough to have suffered a kind of psychiatric crisis as a result of severe and prolonged isolation. I pleaded guilty, got 100 hours of high. highway trash picking and a mandatory psychiatric evaluation at the behest of the state of California. I tried to get my parents to believe me, but unfortunately, they took my attorney's arguments as gospel and, instead of the truth, chose to believe that I'd gone temporarily crazy. But unlike my attorney, whose interest ended once the money dried up, mom and dad wouldn't let it go.

They hounded me and hounded me until eventually I gave in and agreed to go. to go to regular counseling sessions. I didn't want to take pills for something I knew that I didn't have, so to them therapy was the next best thing. But these days, I don't talk to my therapist about how I'm scared to lose my mind again, or how it might be a symptom of a much more frightening form of disease. I talk to him about how painful it can be when you tell someone the absolute truth, and they choose not to believe you for the sake of their own sanity. Spring just slid into your DMs. Grab that boho look for that rooftop dinner, those sandals that can keep up with you, and hang some string lights to give your patio a glow up. Spring's calling. Ross, work your magic.

Way back in 2014, I first saw that photo, the one that changed my life. There she was, a young woman sitting on a bed with the most breathtaking view of pine dotted mountains behind her. I remember thinking, if that's her home, what do I have to do to do to live? live in that kind of coniferous paradise. I did some research and found out that the woman wasn't living there permanently. She was a fire lookout. She stayed up there for months at a time and got paid for it. From that moment, I was obsessed. Living the life of a fire lookout for a summer seemed like the adventure of a lifetime. I thought it would be easy to get into, but I was wrong on both counts. When I first applied in 2014, I was way underqualified and got rejected

within days. That stung, but it also ignited a fire in me. I did volunteer work, built up my resume with stints at community gardens, and even spent some time at the National Arboretum. By the time 2015 rolled around, I thought I had a fighting chance. But after weeks of hoping and praying, I got another rejection. This one hurt twice as much. I'd put in the work, but it still wasn't enough. It took two more years of grinding, applying, and getting rejected. By the time I applied for the 2018 season, just before the 2017 holidays, I was so jaded that I made alternative plans for the summer. That way, the rejection would be like water off a duck's back. And then, the only time I actually planned not to be accepted was the year I finally was.

I remember opening the email with shaking hands. When I read the words, congratulations, you've been assigned to Gold Mountain Lookout, I felt a mix of disbelief and elation. I'd waited four years for this, and it was finally happening. Gold Mountain, the tallest live-in tower in Washington State, would be my home for the next three months. I caught a red eye from Portland to Spokane, landed in the early morning, and drove 170 miles out to Gold Mountain with my truck rental. The place was surprisingly easy to locate, with its own access road. Gold Mountain Lookout Drive. When I arrived mid-Misd, Mid-morning, a friendly forest ranger met me.

We went over a few final details, and he handed me the keys. His big, warm smile and the way he asked if I had any second thoughts made me laugh. I was too excited to back out now. Once he left, I was alone. The isolation was both thrilling and daunting. I danced a little jig as I went to retrieve my stuff, feeling on top of the world. The only downsides were having to use a nearby creek to wash myself. and walking down to the bottom of the tower to use the chemical toilet.

But the pros outweighed the cons by a mile. For the first few days, everything was perfect. I loved the solitude, the peace, and the spectacular views. It was everything I dreamed of. But there was this nagging feeling in the back of my mind. Be careful what you wish for. The nights were the hardest. I didn't scare easily, but the noises in the woods at night were unnerving.

The wind howled around the tower, making it creak like an old ship. I told myself it was just the wind, but the fear of something more sinister lingered. Every creek and groan felt like a footstep, every rustle of leaves like a whisper. One night, as I lay in bed with my heart racing, I realized that this dream of mine wasn't going to be all about peace and solitude. There was something out there, something watching, and I wasn't sure if I was ready to face it. The isolation grew on me faster than I expected. Each day was a new adventure, and I quickly fell into a routine. Wake up, check for fires, maintain the equipment, log the weather,

and enjoy the vast expanse of wilderness that stretched out before me. It was everything I'd imagined and more. But there was always that gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach, a sense of unease that I couldn't quite shake. The creek was my lifeline for washing up. and it was about a hundred meters from the lookout tower. The first few times I was apprehensive, constantly looking over my shoulder.

It felt like someone, or something, was watching me. But I convinced myself it was just my nerves getting the better of me. I'd come here for solitude after all, and I wasn't about to let my imagination ruin it. Then one day, as I made my way down to the creek, I saw him. A man crouched on the opposite side, dressed like a typical hiker, but built like a linebacker.

He had dark hair and glasses that gave him a nerdy look, but there was something off about him. My first instinct was to turn back, but I forced myself to keep going. After all, he might just be another hiker passing through. Hey there, nice day for a hike, I said, trying to keep my voice steady as I approach the creek. He looked up, startled, and then stood up slowly.

Yeah, it is, he replied, but it is. His eyes lingered on me longer than I liked. I stepped into the water, pretending to wash my hands, all the while keeping an eye on him. He seemed curious, asking what I was doing out here all alone. I'm a fire lookout, I explained, trying to sound casual. I stay up in the tower and monitor for fires. All by yourself? he asked, a note of disbelief in his voice. Yes, but I have a radio in Bear Mace, I said, holding up the cannon.

as if to prove a point. I'm perfectly safe. He didn't seem convinced, but he nodded and eventually walked away. I watched him go, a cold knot of fear tightening in my stomach. There was something about his demeanor that unsettled me. I finished washing up quickly and hurried back to the tower. For the next few days, I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. Every rustle in the bushes, every snap of a twig sent my heart racing. I told myself it was just paranoia, but I couldn't help but feel like I wasn't alone. My nights became more restless,

each creek of the tower and howl of the wind making it harder to sleep. Then a week later, I saw him again. I was down at the creek, and there he was, sitting on a rock as if waiting for me. My heart sank. This time, his presence wasn't a coincidence. He was there for me. Hello again, he said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

I was hoping I'd run into you. What do you want? I asked, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice. I just think it's dangerous for someone to be out here all alone, he replied, standing up and taking a step towards me. You should have someone to watch your back. I don't need anyone to watch my back, I said, stepping away from him. I'm fine on my own. His smile faded, replaced by a look of frustration. You're not safe out here, Jessica.

Anything could happen. The way he said my name sent chills down my spine. I backed away, gripping my bear mace tightly. Stay away from me, I warned. He didn't listen. Instead, he took another step towards me, his eyes dark with determination. I'm just trying to help.

I didn't wait to see what he would do next. I turned and ran back to the tower, my heart pounding in my chest. As I climbed the steps, I glanced back and saw him watching me, his expression unreadable. Back in the safety of the tower, I locked the door and sank to the floor, my hands shaking. The dream of solitude and peace had turned into a nightmare. I wasn't alone out here, and I wasn't safe. A week passed after that second encounter, but I never felt at ease.

My once peaceful sanctuary now felt like a prison, every shadow and rustle outside a potential. threat. I tried to focus on my duties, keeping a watchful eye on the horizon for signs of fire, but my mind kept drifting back to Tony. His words haunted me. You're not safe out here, Jessica. It was late one night when it happened. The crickets had been singing their usual chorus, and I was beginning to drift off when I heard it, a sound that didn't belong, a footstep on the steel stairs below. My eyes flew open and my heart pounded. in my chest. I lay there listening, hoping it was just my imagination, but then I heard it again, the distinct clink of a boot on metal. Someone was climbing the stairs. I scrambled out of my sleeping

bag, pulling on my boots and grabbing the bear mace and taser. My breath was coming in shallow gasps, and I tried to steady myself. I know someone's out there, I called out, my voice trembling but loud. I've got a gun, and I'm about to call the Rangers. There was a moment of sense. There was a moment of silence, and then I heard his voice. You're not safe out here, Jessica. That same flat, scolding tone. It was Tony. Fear surged through me, but I forced myself to stay calm. If you try to come in here, I'll push you off the tower, I shouted. Get out of here now. His footsteps continued slowly, methodically. He was getting closer. I could see his shadow moving up the stairs through the gaps in the floor. My hands shook, but I held the bare mate.

ready, my thumb on the trigger. When Tony's face appeared at the window, illuminated by the faint moonlight, I saw his twisted expression of anger and determination. He didn't say anything this time. He just stared at me, his eyes dark and cold. He reached for the door handle. Don't you dare, I screamed, and without hesitation I sprayed the bear-mace directly at his face. He recoiled, howling in pain, but he didn't back down. Instead, he lunged. He lunged. He lunged. forward, trying to push his way into the cabin. I dodged his grasp, my heart racing. He was strong, and I knew I couldn't let him get his hands on me. I grabbed the taser and jabbed it into his side. He screamed again, a horrible, guttural sound, and fell back against the wall.

Get out, I shouted, my voice breaking. Leave me alone. Tony staggered, trying to regain his balance. I hit him with the taser again, and he collapsed to the floor, writhing in agony. For a moment, I thought he might pass out, but he managed to drag himself towards the stairs. I followed him, my heart still pounding. I gave him one last blast of Bermace as he descended the stairs, making sure he wouldn't turn back. He stumbled down the steps, cursing and groaning, until he disappeared into the darkness below. I ran back into the cabin, slamming the door shut and locking it. it. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold the radio. I called the Rangers, my voice

trembling as I reported the attack. By the time they arrived, Tony was long gone. They searched the area but found no sign of him. The Rangers were sympathetic, but their reassurances did little to calm my nerves. The police were called, and they questioned me extensively, but without solid evidence, there wasn't much they could do. Tony had vanished into the night, leaving me with nothing but fear and the gnawing dread that he might come back. The once serene and beautiful lookout tower now felt like a fortress under siege, and I was its lone defender, always waiting, always watching, never truly at peace. The days that followed felt like an eternity. Every noise, every movement in the forest below set my nerves on edge. I barely slept. The Cricket's song,

which once lulled me to sleep, now kept me awake. Each church, felt like a countdown to another terrifying encounter with Tony, I kept the bear mace and taser within arm's reach, constantly reminding myself of their presence, a flimsy barrier against the relentless dread. One night, as I sat by the window, scanning the dark tree line, I saw a shadow move. My heart leapt into my throat. I grabbed the flashlight and shone it into the darkness, but there was nothing. Just the worst. wind rustling through the trees. I tried to calm myself, but my mind was a whirlwind of fear and anxiety. The Rangers were kind, but there was only so much they could do. They patrolled the area

more frequently and reassured me that Tony had likely moved on. But their words were hollow. I knew better. Tony wasn't just a passerby. He was a predator, and I was his prey. I kept my radio close, checking in with the Rangers more often than necessary. They didn't mind. They didn't mind. they understood my fear. Each time I pressed the button and heard their voices, a small measure of calm washed over me, but it never lasted long. One particularly cold and windy night, I was jolted awake by a sound I had come to dread, the creek of the stairs. I sat up, my heart pounding in my chest and listened. The wind howled around the tower, making it difficult to discern any specific noises. I strained my ears, hoping, praying that it was just my imagination. Then I heard it again.

A distinct, deliberate footstep on the metal stairs. I grabbed the bear mace and taser, my hands trembling. This time, I didn't call out. I waited. My breath shallow, my pulse racing. The footsteps grew louder, closer. I could see a shadow moving up the stairs. As the shadow reached the top of the stairs, I shone my flashlight directly at it, illuminating Tony's twisted, furious face. His eyes were bloodshot, his expression one of pure rage. You're not safe out here, Jessica, he hissed, echoing his previous threat. Before he could take another step, I sprayed the bear mace directly into his face. He screamed, a guttural animalistic sound and stumbled back.

I didn't wait for him to recover. I jabbed the taser into his side, sending volts of electricity through his body. He convulsed, collapsing onto the stairs. Get out! I screamed my voice raw with fear and anger. Get out and never come back! Tony managed to crawl down the stairs, his screams of pain echoing through the night. I watched him go, my heart pounding, my hands shaking. When he was finally out of sight, I ran back into the cabin and locked the door.

I called the Rangers, my voice trembling as I recounted the attack. They arrived quickly this time. but once again Tony had disappeared into the night. The Rangers searched the area, but found no trace of him. The police were involved again, but there was little they could do. Without solid evidence or a clear threat, they couldn't take action. They warned Tony to stay away, but it did nothing to ease my fear. The remaining weeks of my stay were a living nightmare.

Every moment was filled with dread, every shadow a potential threat. I barely slept, barely ate, constantly on edge, waiting for Tony to return. When the time finally came to leave, I felt a mix of relief and sorrow. I had come here seeking peace and solitude, but Tony had tainted it, turning my dream into a nightmare. As I drove away from Gold Mountain, I couldn't help but cry, not because I was leaving, but because I was finally free from the terror that had haunted my every moment. But even as I left, a part of me knew the fear would follow. Tony's words, his twisted face, his relentless pursuit, they would haunt me forever.

The dream I had once cherished was now a ghost, a reminder of the darkness that can lurk even in the most beautiful places. This is a Bose moment. You've been there, small talks going nowhere, but then the Bose speaker kicks in. Music you can feel fills the room, and no more chat with Jenny from accounts. Your life deserves music. Your music deserves Bose. Find your perfect product at Bose.com. Between February of 1983 and November of 1985,

I was employed by the United States Forest Service. Back then, the Forest Service ran a kind of Earn-As-you-Learn program, where you could spend a couple of years as a paid intern, learn the ropes, and then graduate as a fully-fledged Forest Ranger if you proved yourself capable. I signed up, was selected for induction, and then was sent up to the Womit National Forest as a trainee ranger. I spent the next six months realizing I was just about born for that kind of work.

I'm not saying it couldn't be hard, it was exhausting at times, but the sense of duty, the feeling that you were doing something good and honorable, was more valuable to me than any sized paycheck. Those first six months were some of the happiest of my life, and at the time I could see myself walking trails and working on restoration projects, for the rest of my career. But then, towards the end of 83, I was offered a very different kind of assignment.

Having proven myself capable of working unsupervised, and having already confessed to enjoying all the solitude the job had to offer, my district ranger, basically the area chief, asked if I wanted to spend the summer of 84 working as a seasonal fire lookout over on Waldo Mountain. Waldo Mountain is around 50 miles east of Eugene, Oregon, and it overlooks Waldo Lake as well as the Waldo Wilderness area to its north.

The lookout is no longer functioning as such today, and operates as a kind of public shelter on a first-come, first-served basis. But back then, it was a fully stocked live-in fire lookout that was occupied by either a forest ranger or a trained volunteer all summer long. The usual arrangement was that three different rangers would each do a month-long stretch up at the lookout. But when it came to delegating fire lookout duties for the following summer, staffing problems meant that there was only me and one other member of Park staff available for the job. If I did a six-week-long stretch up in the lookout from early June until mid-July,

my district ranger would make sure it reflected very favorably on me when it came to offering me a full-time position. And so, about six months after the offer, I was headed out to Waldo Mountain with my first two weeks' worth of supplies. Now, a lot of you might be picturing the Waldo Mountain lookout as being your typical sort of tower and cabin structure, and that's exactly what I was picturing too before I actually saw the thing. But when I got there, I found it was basically just a small cabin built atop a rocky outcrop. As you can imagine, being so high up on top of a mountain, the views from inside the lookout were

nothing short of spectacular. But boy, was it cramped in there. It was maybe 12 by 12 feet, with a cooking and sleeping area crammed into one corner, a small map table in the center, and some cabinets, and the ham radio crammed in the other. That was to be my home for the next six weeks, and I'd be a liar if I said that I didn't find the prospect just a little daunting once I was actually faced with it. I thought being alone up there would be easy. The only thing I didn't really consider was the sense of boredom that would set in once my regular duties were out of the way. Being a fire lookout isn't all just sitting on your butt and waiting for a fire. Since weather conditions hugely influence wildfire behavior,

lookouts monitor things like temperature, humidity, and wind speed in order to assess danger levels and potentially even predict a fire's source and behavior based on those previously mentioned observations. This can actually take up a surprising amount of time, and outside of that, lookouts are entirely responsible for maintaining and repairing and repairing their shelter and equipment, which again can swallow up a surprising amount of time

once you realize the summer rains can make your lookout leak like a sieve. But then, once all those observation and maintenance tasks were over and done with, life up on Waldo Mountain was actually kind of boring. I started out by hiking up and down the ridge to get a really good look at the area, and then sometimes I'd head down to one of the lakes nearby to take a bath. I also planned to make the two books I brought with me last the whole six weeks, but I finished the Sicilian by Mario Puzzo in about a week, and discovered I could only read The Hunt for Red October for about an hour at a time before all the technical stuff made my head hurt. So then, one day, with nothing else to do but twiddle my thumbs, I decided to familiarize myself with the ham radio. I'd been left instructions on how to

use it, as well as what frequencies to dial it into if I ever needed to get in touch with anyone. But I figured that instead of trying to learn on the fly while panicking after spotting a forest fire, I should probably mess around with it a little, if only to test if it was properly functioning. I'd been told that I needed to do weekly radio tests anyways, but all that involved was squeezing the little receiver, saying, Radio check, radio check, over, and then waiting for the response. But then I wanted to see if the rumors were true, and that on a good day I'd be able to use that little old ham radio to talk to folks,

as far away as Hawaii. And so, like I said, one day, I just sat down at the little desk it was mounted on and decided to start playing around with it. You have to remember this was way before cell phones were as common as they are today. Back in the early 80s, things like ham radios were a much more popular form of long-range communication, especially among a small band of dedicated hobbyists. That being the case, I figured that there was a pretty good chance of me finding a voice among the static. I didn't even really plan on talking at first. I was simply content to find an active frequency and listen in on whatever was being said. But then, since I didn't hear anything, I decided to start talking. I remember cycling through the frequencies, listening first,

and then repeating something along the lines of, this is Waldo Mountain Fire Lookout Calling. You read me? Over. I'd talk, wait about 10 to 15, seconds for a response, then when I didn't get one, I'd move on to the next. I did this maybe 20 or 30 times, just out of pure boredom, really, when on one particular frequency around the 14 megahertz high frequency mark, I suddenly heard a man's voice coming back at me through the buzz of white noise. "'W. Mountain, this is Pelican Butte Fire Lookout,' I heard the voice say, receiving you loud and clear. How copy. Over. I didn't really know how to talk over a radio. I was just told to say over when I was done saying something, then over and out when I was finished talking altogether.

So in reply, I just tried to wing it as best I could. Copy loud and clear Pelican Butte. Uh, good to hear you. Then I asked exactly where they were located. The guy said that he was down near Klamath, almost 80 miles south and not too far from Mount McLaughlin and the Caliolk. California State line. I guess that's not all that far for a ham radio on a good day, but I was still impressed at how clear it sounded despite the guy being almost 100 miles away. I was also rather pleased to have someone to talk to. I know I talked about how content with my own company I was, but after going two weeks with only one solitary face-to-face encounter with another human being, I was surprised at how much I appreciated hearing another person's voice.

The guy said his name was Jim, and that he was a forest ranger with the team down in Klamath, and that it was his fifth season in a row, acting as a live-in fire lookout. He sounded very experienced, and gave me lots of advice, with the most appreciated being his tips on how to keep the cabin fever at bay. For those unfamiliar with the term, cabin fever is when people start to feel restless or irritable, because they've been indoors or in the same place for too long. Some folks say it can drive you crazy, and although there's no real danger of that up in a fire lookout, that sense of being trapped with your own thoughts can wear on even the strongest of people.

I very jokingly asked Jim if he ever knew any lookouts who went crazy, either from the isolation or just being stuck in one place for all that time. He reassured me by saying no. He'd never known anyone to lose their mind or anything. He'd known plenty to quit, especially the civilian volunteers that were. drafted whenever staffing levels weren't ideal, but he'd never known anyone to go crazy. But then Jim did mention how he thought that I was very brave for taking the Waldo Mountain lookout this season, especially in light of what happened to the last volunteer. Obviously those are just

about the most ominous words a person in my position could ever wish to hear, so right away I asked Jim what he was talking about. He gave me this almost theatrical kind of, oh, you didn't know, and then started saying how he didn't think that he should be the one to tell me. But luckily, it only took a little polite cajoling to get him to tell me. As a matter of fact, I never actually asked what happened to the previous year's lookout. I just took it for granted that a ranger or volunteer completed the season without any sort of event. It didn't even occur to me to ask about previous lookouts or their experiences. I just blindly accepted the position, thinking it would be a paid camping vacation,

There was obviously the slight danger of animal attacks if you strayed too far from the lookout, and I had heard rumors of a tower up in Washington getting struck by lightning. But aside from that, what else was there to go wrong up here? Well, Jim was nice enough to fill me in. The last Waldo Mountain Fire lookout, who had volunteered the previous year, had vanished during the final few weeks of their assignment. One day, a ranger went up to the lookout with some pallets of canned food and water. only to find the place completely deserted.

They looked around a little, thinking the volunteer lookout was off taking a wash or something of that nature, and then decided to wait for them. An hour or so passed, so instead of waiting any further, the ranger headed back to H.Q. And figured they'd check in via radio to make sure the volunteer was doing okay. 24 hours passed,

and no one had heard a single thing from the volunteer lookout. So another ranger headed up Waldo Mountain to check on them, only to find the place still deserted. The Ranger team figured the volunteer had simply had enough and called it quits. But if that was the case, why was all their stuff still up in the lookout? All their clothes and their food were still there. Hell, even their boots were just lying inside the door, meaning that wherever they went, they did so in bare feet or maybe sandals.

Jim said he and the team down in Clameth followed the volunteer's disappearance as best they could, losing a lookout like that felt personal, and Jim said the Klamath team even sent a few rangers up to Wammett so they could help out with the search and rescue effort. But the volunteer was never found, and as far as Jim knew, they were still officially a missing person. I asked him what he thought had happened to the missing volunteer, and he said it was difficult to say.

It wasn't out of the question that they'd taken a nasty fall someplace, maybe even down a ravine or into a hidden cave system, which might explain why they were. never found. But then again, Jim said that you also couldn't rule out some kind of foul play. Maybe it was a personal thing. The volunteer had an enemy, someone they'd made very angry, who was devious enough to realize that hitting them someplace secluded like that might make for the perfect murder. Or maybe, just maybe, this poor soul got themselves selected almost at random by a killer who saw an opportunity and just took it. I remember listening to all of that,

and feeling the hairs on my arms and neck standing on end. Jim said he didn't mean to scare me and offered up some final theory involving the volunteer just voluntarily leaving, having gotten sick and tired of the lookout lifestyle that they couldn't even bring themselves to carry their stuff home. You did indeed get the occasional rich kid heading up there to find themselves or something for those three months,

only to realize that they were wasting their entire summer vacation by week two or three. So if he had to put his money where his mouth was, Jim said that he'd have gone with that. Granted, that final theory was probably the most likely outcome, but I'm also not scared to admit that the stuff that he'd said first had me pretty shaken up. I kept a 38 with me just in case I ran into an overly friendly mountain lion, and that would obviously work at keeping a person at bay too. But the idea of someone creeping up on the lookout in the middle of the night while I was fast asleep,

That was most definitely enough to give me the hebi-jee-bees. I thanked Jim for passing on the info. Then at the next available opportunity, I asked one of the Womit Rangers about the missing volunteer from the previous year. They said they had no idea what I was talking about, and that the ranger who had served as lookout the previous summer was one of the same ones who couldn't do it this year. I'd actually worked with this ranger on several different occasions,

so I had known from personal experience that they hadn't gone missing, or that if they did, they'd sure turned up again. I mentioned this to Jim the next time I got in touch with him, and he basically gave it the old, oh, that's what they told you, is it? And I suppose they had folks just jumping at the chance to serve as lookouts this year, huh? Hearing him say that prompted a moment of terrified revelation,

so much so that I literally felt the color draining from my face as I listened. It was possible that Jim knew that the Womit Ranger had trouble finding lookouts for that season, so much so that I'd been asked to complete an extended stay. But even if he didn't know, and it was just pure guesswork on his part, he was right. Once again, I got in touch with the Womit H.Q. using my ham radio, and asked them if the whole missing volunteer thing was true. My district ranger denied the whole thing and told me that I must have been getting some bad info from some place.

He said that he'd never heard of any gym down there, and that he'd be in touch with Klamath's district ranger all the same. He claimed that it wasn't very professional of one of the Rangers to be spreading rumors like that, and that I was to disregard anything I'd been told. Now I know I should have just listened to my superiors there at Womit, but you also need to appreciate the unusual position that I was in back then. There just wasn't any Google or smartphones to go fact-checking things at the drop of a hat. All I had with me there was my radio,

and I couldn't simply abandon my post to go off investigating all the stuff I'd been told. The only thing I really had to go on was this. Unlike other years when the Rangers were inundated with hundreds of volunteer lookout applications, it had been almost impossible to properly staff the lookout for the 85 season. That's the thing that played on my mind until, in the end, I had no idea who to believe. As crazy as this might sound, I chose not to confront Jim regarding what he told me about the missing volunteer. In my head, I rationalized it by telling myself how Jim might have been mistaken somehow. Maybe he was confusing Waldo Mountain with another Oregon lookout, or maybe even one up in Washington. He might have also gotten mixed up regarding what year this person went missing,

and either way, I didn't want to alienate the only other person I could talk to for prolonged periods who knew what it was like living at a fire lookout. I guess that really does sound kind of pathetic now that I think about it. So I'm just talking you through what I was thinking at the time, and why I didn't just outright accuse Jim of being a liar and go back to talking to no one but myself. Anyway, about a week later, Jim and I are talking one evening when he asked if Waldo Mountain is anywhere near Deschutes County. I had to check my map table, but lo and behold, Womit National Forest was right on the border of Deschutes County. Jim goes on to tell me that he had an old high school buddy who lived out near a place called La Pine, which, when I checked,

was only around 25 miles from Waldo Mountain. This high school buddy just so happened to be a ham radio operator in his spare time, and he and Jim would talk every so often, including that very same day. Jim's high school buddy had checked in to say hi, but also to tell him a troubling story about a break-in that had occurred in his neighborhood just the previous night. Someone had broken into a family home completely silently, then crept up the stairs,

But then, instead of robbing or hurting anyone, the intruder crept into the husband and wife's bedroom and just watched them sleep. The wife said she woke up, saw some shadowy figure looming over her, and screamed. Her scream then woke up her husband, which prompted the intruder to high-tail it out of there. No one was hurt, but the whole neighborhood was spooked. And after the news hit the airwaves, the whole of La Pines and Deschutes County seemed to be on edge. I didn't need to ask why Jim told me all of that, and as I listened, I felt this icy chill run through me.

I know I was 25 miles away from where the break-in had happened, but I couldn't help but picture the intruder creeping up to my lookout before watching me sleep. I had my 38 with me, which made me feel a lot safer, but all the way out there, miles away from just about anything, no one would come running at the sound of my screams, because there would be no one there to hear them. I think he could tell how spooked I was because good old Jim seemed quick to reassure me. He didn't think that I was in any real danger. But in light of the incident's proximity to Waldo Mountain, as well as what had supposedly happened there a year before, he figured it was worth giving me the heads up just in case. I didn't sleep much that night.

I kept the radio dialed into Jim's frequency, and he did the same with me. He checked in once or twice just to make sure that I was all right, and each time I only had good news to share. But on more than one occasion, I heard something from outside the lookout that had me clutching that 38, shining my flashlight through the dirty glass windows, and praying that I wouldn't see anyone approaching through the darkness. Thankfully, I never did see anybody that night. I heard a bunch of things that scared me just about out of my wits, but never anything that I felt might threaten my life. That same fear wasn't quite as strong the next night, and Jim reassured me that there hadn't been any more of those creepy break-ins over in La Pine, but still, it weighed on my

mind for quite a few nights after, and I don't think I got more than three or four hours of solid sleep during each one. Then came the day when I finally got to talk to my district ranger over the ham radio and got the opportunity to ask him some follow-up questions regarding that missing volunteer from the year before. My district ranger, who had been in touch with the folks down in Clammouth, said that there had been no record of anyone named Jim staffing any of their lookouts. This wasn't something that I could let go of, though, so I confronted Jim on it, and this is what he told me. He swore on his grandchildren's lives that he really was in an old fire lookout tower down in Clammouth County, and it just wasn't in service anymore, and neither was

he. Jim told me that he'd spent 30 years in the Forest Service, and for his final five had indeed spent every summer up in a fire lookout. Now he was retired, but since his wife had passed, he found that he missed being out in nature during those long Oregon summers. With his old lookout being permanently freed up, he decided to head out there, fix it up a little, and then spend the summer steeped in nostalgia. Jim figured that he'd come off as some lonely old coot if he told me the truth. So instead, he told me a little white lie without ever imagining that he'd be eventually found out. He swore that everything else he told me was the truth, especially all the stuff about the volunteer going missing. And truthfully, I believed him. It made perfect sense to me,

as much as I needed it to anyway. I just didn't want to lose that voice in the static, the one that I was counting on more and more to keep me sane. The first few weeks had been a breeze, and although the addition of Jim had been welcome, it had not been entirely necessary. But then, towards my final week on week six, I realized that I had just about reached the limits of my endurance for isolation, and I had actually started to consider Jim a good friend. With that in mind, you can imagine the fear that I felt one night when Jim got in touch over the radio with a distinct sound of terror in his voice. As I said, we had been keeping our radios tuned into one another's frequencies at night just in case anything bad had happened. It had been a quiet evening, but then, at around midnight, my radio suddenly burst to life with the sound of Jim's voice. Jake, it's Jim, he said in a slow, shaky voice before asking, are you there? How copy? Over.

Hearing the urgency in his voice, I rushed over to the radio and began asking him what was up. He then told me, in this frantic, fractured style of speech, that he'd heard someone moving around in the darkness outside his lookout tower. Then, after grabbing his flashlight and heading out onto the walkway outside his cabin, he realized that there were several dark figures in the woods which surrounded him on three sides. Right away, I told Jim to get the hell off the frequency so he could call for help. But Jim then tells me that he'd already tried to contact his HQ down in Clameth, but that no one seemed to be manning the radio. He needed me to contact my Ranger HQ so that they could call the cops down in Clameth. I told him I'd do that right away, but before I could twist the frequency dial, I heard him shouting,

Wait! Jim then started to explain, in the same terrified voice, that the cops needed to know which Pelican Butte to drive out to. Apparently, there was already a Pelican Butte campground down in Klamath County, and the cops needed to head to the old lookout tower Jim was manning, which was off Falls Highway near the 4M Flat Quarry. If I didn't pass along this crucial piece of information, Jim would be screwed. I remember frantically scribbling all that information down and asking Jim to repeat the name of the Forest Road he mentioned at one point. And then, after waiting for his response, this is what I heard.

Jim's voice suddenly broke through the static and said, Oh God, they're coming up the stairs. I told him to lock and load the rifle he'd mentioned having with him and to shoot anyone who came through the door to his cabin. I then heard Jim screaming, Oh my God! Oh my God, what the hell are you people? And the next thing I heard was a loud bang, then another and another.

Jim let out a scream, then once his own had sort of petered out, something else unleashed an ear-splitting inhuman roar before the transmission suddenly went quiet. I faced some pretty terrifying moments in my life, but that right there might just take the cake. I thought I just heard Jim, a man who I'd grown remarkably close to over the previous five weeks. being shot to death in a lookout tower almost one hundred miles from where i was sat i flew into a full-blown panic trying desperately to dial into the frequency of the wamit hkw once i had one of the rangers on the other end i began to frantically relay everything i'd heard including all the stuff about going to the correct location Then, once they had promised to contact the Clammouth County Sheriff, I switched back to Jim's frequency and began calling out to him across those airwaves. Jim, I said, Jim, are you there, buddy?

And the airwaves stayed silent, nothing but the cold buzz of static. I begged him, begged him to say something, say anything. I told him the cops were on their way, that he just needed to hang on and everything would be okay. But deep down, I knew things most probably were not. Jim had mentioned spotting several people circling his tower in the woods below him, which meant the odds were not in his favor. So when he set the radio's handset down, it hit me that the man I'd gotten to know so well over the previous five weeks

had just been brutally murdered before my very ears. But then, just as my head sank down in my hands, the radio buzzed to life, and someone began to speak. Hello? Someone asked. The voice sounded like it belonged to a younger man. Is anyone there? I rushed over to the radio, announced my presence, and then asked where Jim was and if he was okay. In reply, and in a way that I could almost hear him grinning, he tells me, ah, sorry to be the one to tell you this, but, uh, Jim is dead. I heard laughter before the transmission cut out. In reply, I started yelling about how they wouldn't get away with what they just did. I told them the authorities were

already on their way, that they were all going to rot in jail. Then when I figured whoever was on the end probably wasn't listening anymore, I ceased my rant and let go of the push to talk button, only to hear laughter coming from the other end. It was maniacal, gloating, and satisfied. Just as I was leaning forward to change the frequency and rid myself of the taunting howls of a murderous stranger, they spoke once more. You're so stupid, I heard them laughing. I can't believe you sent the cops out there. The voice had changed almost completely, but in my confusion, I didn't quite realize what was going on yet. I reached over, picked up the handset, and once again asked where Jim was. There is no Jim, you moron, I heard in reply. It was me, me this whole time, and you ate it up.

What kind of sad, lonely piece of human trash are you? You ate up every word. I was speechless, stunned into a dumb silence, and all I could do was listen. God damn, the young man said. I knew I was good, but I didn't think I was that good. He let out another long, wheezing laugh. Then once he pulled himself together a little, he asked if I was still there. I didn't know what else to say.

I picked up the handset, and the first thing that came to mind was the first thing. out of my mouth. You should be ashamed of yourself, I said. And you should off yourself, came the reply instantly, with the man screaming those last two words so loud, they were almost lost in distortion. As I leaned over to the radio set to change the frequency, more of that same warped, maniacal laughter poured out from the small tinny speakers, only to be suddenly silenced with the twist of the dial. To say I felt foolish would be the understatement of the century. That guy dangled a little bait in the water, and not only did I bite, but I swallowed hook, line, and sinker too. There was no gym, there was no missing volunteer lookout from the year before.

But then again, I bet some of you figured that one out long way back. I also bet that that guy knew so much about being a fire lookout, because he'd talked to one a whole bunch, most likely using the same ham radio he used to talk to me. Then, I don't know. Maybe what was intended as a one-time prank just snowballed. It wouldn't be too hard to fake all those sounds either. The gunshots and the screams, I mean. But what must have been difficult for anyone in their right mind

was having the patience to drag me through a five-week-long con before delivering that horrifying final performance. That's what, for me at least, makes this all seem a lot more than just a playful prank. He didn't just string me along for a day or two, call me a sucker, and then disappear from the airwaves to waste some other radio operator's time. He kept things going for more than a month. He put hours into talking to me, into building his character and earning my trust. He put on the gravelly smoker's voice of a man in his 60s,

and he did so for hours upon hours upon hours. Then, in the end, the kid, I guess, who ended up screaming at me through the airwaves, sounded like his balls had only just dropped. He made me believe in a person who didn't exist, and as much as that speaks to the sheer magnitude of my own idiocy, I think it says a lot about his being a psycho, too. I spent the rest of my final week in a kind of semi-depressed days. I felt like the single stupidest person on the face of the earth, a weak-minded, pathetic excuse for a man who got so lonely that he fell for the dumb prank of a bored psychopathic teenager. And that's the thing, too. I didn't just fall for it one time.

I fell for it again and again and again. Every time I picked up that handset and started talking to Jim, I let that black-hearted little brat take me for a ride all over again. I'd been humiliated, stripped of any and all pride, and when the time came to leave the lookout, I was only too happy to put the whole thing behind me. How many discounts does USA Auto Insurance offer? Too many to say here.

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