Lighthouse Horror Podcast - I Work at a Fire Tower in Ohio. There are 5 STRANGE Rules

Episode Date: June 24, 2026

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My name is Brian Hayes, and for the past three years I've worked at a fire tower in southeastern Ohio. Most people think that sounds relaxing. They picture a little cabin in the woods, fresh air, deer wandering through the trees, maybe a few boring days spent watching for smoke. That's what I thought too. I took the job because I wanted something simple. Before this, I worked security for a warehouse outside Columbus.

Paid all right, but I was tired of being around people all day. Every shift was the same arguments, same complaints, same nonsense. When I saw a listing for a forestry lookout position and sounded perfect. Good pay, government benefits, a quiet tower in the woods. What could go wrong? The interview took less than 20 minutes. Most of the questions were normal. Did I mind working alone?

Could I handle emergencies? Did I have experience with radios? Could I stay calm under pressure? Then the man interviewing me? asked me a strange question. What would you do if something in the woods started talking to you? I laughed because I thought he was joking. He didn't laugh back.

Instead, he wrote something down on a piece of paper and moved on to the next question. And I should have left right then. Instead, two months later, I was driving through the hills of southeastern Ohio, with everything I owned packed into the back of my truck. The tower sits inside a heavily forested section of state land, several miles from the nearest town. The road leading there is narrow and poorly maintained. Call service disappears about 20 minutes before you arrive. The first time I saw the tower, I remember feeling relieved. Look normal. Just a tall tower rising above the trees. Nothing unusual or creepy.

Just another government structure surrounded by miles of forest. A man named Russell Beck met me in the parking area below the tower. Russell had worked there for nearly 20 years. He looked exactly how you'd imagine a veteran forest ranger would look. Gray beard, sunburned phase, old boots, the kind of guy who probably owned more fishing poles than shirts. He shook my hand, helped unload my gear, and spent most of the afternoon shown me around. The tower itself wasn't complicated. The bottom level contained supplies, above that was of the equipment room. The top level served as both an observation deck and living quarters. The entire job basically came down to watching the forest. If smoke appeared, you reported it. If hikers got lost, you radioed it in.

If storms damaged trails, you documented it. Simple. Exactly what I wanted. For the first few hours, everything seemed completely normal. Russell showed me where the emergency radios were stored, the backup generator, old maps hanging on the walls. And then he started talking about previous rangers. At first it sounded like ordinary workplace stories. One ranger accidentally locked himself outside during a snowstorm. Another got chased up a tree by a black bear. A third somehow managed to drive a government truck into a pond.

Normal stuff. But then I noticed something strange. Several names had been carved into the wooden walls near the observation deck. Some had dates beside them. Others didn't. A few names had been scratched out entirely. I asked Russell about him. He started the wall for a few seconds. Then he changed the subject. At the time, I didn't think much of it. Looking back, I should have... Around sunset, Russell handed me a laminated card. I assumed it contained radio frequencies or emergency procedures. Instead, I found five rules. Just five, nothing else. I read the list twice. Then I looked up at Russell.

Very funny, I said. Russell didn't smile. He didn't even look amused. Instead he folded his arms. I'm serious, he said. I remember laughing again. Because what else was I supposed to do? The rules sounded ridiculous. Talking trees, stone giants, floating lights. It sounded like something kids would make up or out of campfire. You guys give this to every new ranger, don't you? Russell nodded. Every single one. And people actually follow these?

He nodded. I asked him what happened to the people who didn't follow him. And for a moment Russell looked toward the wall with all the carved names. He didn't say a word. The next morning, Russell packed his truck and prepared to leave. Before he climbed it in the driver's seat, he pointed toward the forest surrounding the tower. The trees stretched across every hill in every direction. Thousands upon thousands of acres.

Endless green. You'll get used to the woods, he said. Just remember those rules. I told them I would, mostly because I wanted the conversation to end. Russell nodded. Then he drove away. I stood there watching his truck disappeared down the road until the tree swallowed it completely. And a few minutes later, I was alone.

Just me, the tower, and miles of forest. Rule 1. If the trees start talking to you, always be polite. For the first couple of weeks, nothing happened. Every morning I'd wake up around six, make coffee, climb to the observation. deck and spend most of the day staring at trees, thousands of them. Oak trees, maple, pine, the same hills, the same valleys and roads, every single day. Most people don't realize how boring fire lookout work can be. A wildfire doesn't start every day, most days nothing happens.

You check weather reports, you log visibility conditions, you answer the occasional radio call from hikers or forestry crews. and then you do it all again tomorrow. Talking trees. Right. I figured Russell Beck had been messing with me. Maybe with some tradition they used on every new ranger. A harmless joke.

Something to help pass the time. And then day 19 happened. I remember the date because I wrote it down afterward. September 14th. The weather had been perfect all day. Clear skies, light wind. No rain or snow. storms, nothing unusual. Around four in the afternoon, I left the tower to inspect one of the nearby

trails. Part of the job involves checking trail markers and making sure fallen trees aren't blocking access roads. The trail ran through a section of forest, about half a mile west of the tower. I'd walked it several times already. By that point, I knew every bend, every creek crossing, every hill, and everything looked normal, until the wind stopped. It wasn't gradual. One second, leaves were moving. The next second, they weren't. Everything became completely still.

I stopped walking. Something felled off immediately. It felt like somebody had muted the entire world. I stood there for several seconds listening, and then I heard my name. Brian? I froze. The voice sounded close. Close enough that I turned around expecting to see another ranger.

Nobody was there. The trail behind me was empty. I waited. Nothing happened. I started walking again, and I heard it a second time. Brian. I stopped so quickly. I nearly dropped the radio.

The voice came from a large oak tree standing beside the trail. The trunk never moved. The branches never moved. moved, but I knew that's where the voice had come from. For several seconds, I just stared at it, and then another voice spoke. This one came from somewhere farther down the trail. Brian Hayes. A third voice answered,

New Ranger. Then another. Works alone. That another. Seems nice. And I wish I was making this up. I really do. But that's exactly how it happened.

It was like they were discussing someone they just met. I remembered the laminated card immediately. Rule one. If the trees start talking to you, always be polite. The voices continued, How long are you staying? Do you like the tower? Did Russell leave already?

I stood there trying to decide whether, I was having some kind of breakdown. And then I remembered something Russell had said. Every rule exists for a reason. So I answered. I'm probably staying a few years, I said. Oh, good. A voice replied.

And I spent the next ten minutes answering questions from trees. Most of them were strange. Nothing dangerous, though, just strange. Do I enjoy living alone? Do I plan on staying through winter? Do I fish? Do I hunt? Do I like dogs? It felt less like being interrogated and more like being interviewed by an entire neighborhood. Eventually the question stopped. The wind returned. Bird started chirping again. And the forest became normal just like that. I stood there for another minute before heading back to the tower. The moment I got inside, I called Russell.

He answered on the second ring. Trees talked to him. He asked immediately. I nearly dropped the phone. How'd you know? Because you're calling. He said. He told me to always be polite.

Then he hung up. That was the entire conversation. A week later, I learned why. A forestry crew came through the area to repair storm damage. One of the workers was a man named Kevin Williams. Kevin had worked the tower years before I arrived. We got along immediately. Seemed normal enough.

Funny guy, easy to talk to him. At one point I asked him about the rules. And the moment I mentioned the talking trees, he started laughing. Kind of embarrassed laughter. The kind people use when remembering something stupid they did. I screwed that one up, he said. And then he took him. told me the story. According to Kevin, he'd gotten tired of voices. The trees apparently spoke to

him several times a day, and one afternoon, he wasn't in a good mood, and he finally snapped, told him to shut up, told them they were annoying, called him a bunch of stupid trees. Well, for the rest of the day, nothing happened, and Kevin assumed he'd won. Well, the next morning he stepped outside and immediately walked face first into a branch. Not unusual and just bad luck. An hour later, he tripped over a route. Then another and another. By lunchtime, he'd fallen four times. The following day, things got worse. Big branches kept smacking him, and Kevin spent nearly a week getting bullied by trees. Every trail became difficult, every walk miserable. branches seemed to appear where they hadn't been before.

Roots somehow always found his feet. Small dead limbs kept dropping around him. And finally, he apologized. And the moment he did, everything stopped. No more branches or roots, no more problems. You're kidding, I said. Kevin shook his head. I'm telling you right now, Brian, they don't ask for much.

What do they want? Manners, he said. I laughed. Seriously, that's it. Just be polite, he said. A few months later, I heard a similar story from another ranger. Different person, but same result. The trees didn't seem evil.

They simply expected basic respect. To this day, I still don't know exactly what the voices are. I've heard theories. spirits, something living beneath the roots, some weird natural phenomena nobody understands. I don't know. What I do know is that the trees still talk to me. They still ask questions. Then I still answer politely.

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Rule 2. If you see fire everywhere, do not leave the tower. I didn't see the fire creature until almost eight months after I started working at the tower. By then I'd gotten comfortable with the job. Not completely, but enough that the rules no longer sat in the front of my mind every day. The talking trees had become something I accepted. The rest of the rules felt distant, though. As for the fire rule, I honestly didn't think about it much at all. Ohio gets wildfires occasionally, but nothing like the western states.

We had procedures for smoke reports, evacuation notices, and emergency response coordination. Everything about rule two seemed completely unnecessary. And then one night I looked out the window, and I saw the entire forest burning. It happened in late spring. The day itself had been uneventful. I spent most of a checking equipment, logging weather data, and helping coordinate a trail closure after heavy rain damaged a footbridge several miles south of the tower. Nothing unusual happened. Nothing felt wrong.

The weather, the radio traffic, everything was normal. Around 11 that night, I was sitting in my desk reading a paperback novel when something outside caught my attention. At first I thought it was lightning. A brief orange glow flashed across the observation windows. I looked up and the glow disappeared. A few seconds later it happened again. This time it lasted longer. I stood up and walked toward the windows.

And the moment I stepped outside out of the observation platform, my stomach dropped. The forest was on fire. Not part of it. Not one hill or one section. All of it. Every direction I looked was burning. Thousands of acres of forest were engulfed in orange flames. I could see trees collapsing in the distance.

Entire hillsides seemed covered in moving fire. Thick columns of smoke rose into the sky, turning the horizon, orange and black. A fire that size should have generated emergency calls from every county and region. The radio should have been exploding with traffic. Sirens should have been sounding. Emergency crews should have been mobilizing. Instead, there was nothing. The radio sat silent beside me.

The other thing was the heat. There wasn't any. I was above what appeared to be a catastrophic wildfire, yet the air felt completely normal. I leaned over the railing and stared down into the burning forest. The flames looked real. Every detail looked real. but something wasn't adding up.

And then I remember the laminated card. If you see fire everywhere, do not leave the tower? And for the first time since arriving, I felt genuinely afraid. I grabbed my radio, and then I noticed movement. At first I thought it was a tree falling. And then I saw a dark shape shifting among the flames. I grabbed a pair of binoculars from a nearby shape. and focused on the area.

And the moment I got a clear look, I wished I hadn't. Something was walking through the fire, not running or stumbling. Walking. The thing was enormous. I could tell it stood far taller than any person or animal. Maybe 20 feet. Maybe 30. Its body looked like it been built from blackened tree trunks and charred wood,

small points of orange light glowed beneath cracks running across its body. Every step caused sparks and embers to drift into the air around it. I lowered the binoculars, then immediately raised them again. It was still there, slowly moving across a burning hillside. And then I realized it was looking toward the tower, toward me. Even at that distance, I could tell it was facing. my direction. The creature remained motionless for several seconds.

Then I'd started walking again. Only now it was moving toward the tower. I sat beside the window watching it approach. The fire continued burning around it. Every few seconds I'd glance at the laminated card hanging near my desk. Do not leave the tower. The longer I watched, the more tempted I became to ignore that rule. The thing still looked far away.

Maybe if I got into my truck and I drove down the mountain, I could reach the highway before I got here. Maybe I could put enough distance between myself and whatever that thing was. The temptation became stronger every minute. But I remembered something Russell Beck had said before leaving. Every rule exists because somebody ignored it. And that thought kept me inside. A little before dawn.

The creature reached the nearest ridge line overlooking the tower. The thing was massive. Its arms hung almost to its knees. Its body looked like burned timber stitched together by glowing cracks of orange light. Small flames occasionally flickered from openings in its chest and shoulders. It stood there looking toward the tower. And then the first rays of sunlight appeared over the horizon. and everything vanished.

The fire and the creature disappeared. The entire forest returned to normal so quickly that for a moment I wondered if I'd fallen asleep at my desk. Green trees covered every hill. Morning birds filled the air. Nothing was burned or damaged. Nothing looked different than the previous day at all. It was as if the entire night had never happened.

Later when I spoke to Russell, he told me about Jerry Sanders. Jerry had worked the tower decades before either of us. According to Russell, Jerry experienced the same event one summer night. He saw the burning forest, and he saw the creature. Jerry believed the fire was real. He grabbed his keys, jumped into his truck, and started driving down the mountain. And nobody ever saw him again. To this day, nobody knows what happened to him.

But I think the creature got him. What they do know is that every ranger who stayed inside survived. The only ranger who left disappeared. No, I don't know what the burning forest is. I don't know what the creature is. I don't know where either of them go when the sun rises. What I do know is that I've seen the fire three times since that first night, and every time I have stayed exactly where I was supposed to

inside the tower waiting for morning. Visit BetMGM Casino and check out the newest exclusive. The Price is Right Fortune Pick. BetMDM and Game Sense remind you to play responsibly. 19 plus to wager. Ontario only. Please play responsibly. If you have questions or concerns about your gambling or someone close to you,

please contact Connects Ontario at 1-866-531-2600 to speak to an Free of charge. BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming, Ontario. Rule 3. If you see an old woman facing away on the West Trail, back away immediately. The thing that bothered me most about the old woman wasn't that she existed. After everything I'd already seen at the tower, I was well past the point of dismissing strange things. The talking trees existed.

The fire creature existed. whatever was happening in those woods clearly operated by its own set of rules. No, what bothered me about the old woman was how normal she looked. If somebody told you there was a monster living in the hills, you'd probably imagine something obvious. Sharp teeth, glowing eyes, claws, something that immediately tells your brain you're looking at danger. The old woman looked like somebody's grandmother. and somehow that made it much worse. I first saw her during my second autumn at the tower.

The leaves had started changing color, and most of the hills were covered in reds, yellows, and dark orange patches. It was probably one of the prettiest times a year to work there. Tourists came through constantly to hike the trails, and the weather was cool enough that I could spend hours outside without sweating it all through my uniform. The West Trail was one of the most best. popular routes in the area. It wound through several ridges before eventually connecting to an old

fire road deeper in the forest. Most hikers used it because the views were excellent. On clear days, you could see for miles. Well, around three in the afternoon, I was scanning the trails with binoculars when I noticed somebody standing on the west path. At first, I assumed it was a hiker. That was not unusual. People stopped all the time to take pictures or rest. What caused me, My attention was how long she remained motionless. Five minutes passed, then ten, then fifteen. And the woman never moved. She stood in exactly the same spot the entire time.

Because of the distance, I couldn't make out many details at first. All I could see was long gray hair down her back, and she wore what looked like a faded gray dress that reached almost to her ankles. eventually I grabbed the binoculars and she was perfectly still she wasn't shifting her weight or adjusting her posture wasn't looking around she looked less like a person standing on a trail

and more like somebody had placed a mannequin right in the middle of the woods I remembered Rule 3 if you see an old woman facing away on the West Trail back away immediately I slowly lowered the binoculars. For several seconds, I considered continuing to watch her. After all, she wasn't doing anything.

She was just standing there. And then something happened. The woman began turning her head toward me. I stepped back fast, and I didn't look back. Not for several minutes. When I finally worked up the nerve to check again, the trail was empty, and the woman was gone. I spent the rest of that afternoon trying to convince myself I'd overreacted.

Maybe she'd simply walked away. Maybe I'd misunderstood the rule. Maybe the whole thing wasn't as dangerous as Russell had implied. That theory lasted about two days. Then I called Russell. And the moment I mentioned an old woman on the West Trail, he became very quiet. According to Russell, reports of the woman went back more. more than a century. Long before the tower existed, people living in a nearby town claimed there

was an elderly woman living alone in the hills. Nobody seemed to know where she came from. She had no family, no known history, no permanent residence. She would simply appear from time to time, then disappear again. Locals eventually started telling stories about her. Some claim she practiced witchcraft. Others claimed she cursed livestock. One story said she could predict deaths. Another claimed she never aged. Most of the stories were probably nonsense, but the problem was that the sightings never stopped, even after the woman supposedly died. Russell told me there had been dozens of reports over the years, hunters, campers, forestry workers, hikers. Many described exactly the same thing. An old woman standing somewhere in the woods with her back turned, always facing

away, always motionless, always alone. And then Russell told me about the first missing ranger. His name was Bruce Hopkins. Bruce worked the tower in the early 70s and had a reputation for ignoring rules. According to Russell, Bruce thought the stories were ridiculous and spent most of his time making fun of him. One afternoon, Bruce radioed headquarters. His transmission was short. He reported seeing an elderly woman on the West Trail. The dispatcher told him to return to the tower immediately, and Bruce laughed.

He said he was going to see who she was. And that was the last confirmed communication anyone ever received from him. When another ranger arrived later that evening, Bruce was gone. His truck remained parked below the tower, his radio remained inside, his lunch was stalled the table. The only thing missing was Bruce. Search team spent nearly two weeks calming the surrounding forest. They found nothing.

The second disappearance happened years later. Different ranger, but same story. The ranger called in a sighting, reported an old woman standing on the west trail. A search crew immediately. started driving toward the tower, but by the time they arrived, he was gone, just like Bruce. Well, after hearing those stories, I stopped questioning the rule. If I saw the woman, I backed away immediately. Simple as that. Unfortunately, the woman wasn't finished with me yet. The second sighting happened during my third year at the tower, and it was much worse.

A thick fog had settled across the hills that evening. Visibility was. was terrible, and most of the forest beyond a few hundred yards had disappeared behind a wall of gray mist. I was making coffee when something outside caught my eye. At first I didn't recognize what I was looking at, and then my brain put the pieces together. The gray dress and white hair, the posture, the woman. Only this time she was much closer, facing away completely motionless. Close enough that I could clearly see individual strands of hair moving in the breeze. I slowly backed away from the window, and I didn't look out again for the rest of the night. Not once. I slept with every light in the tower turned on, and the next morning I finally forced myself to

look outside, and the clearing was empty. No footprints or tracks, no sign that anyone had ever been there. Just grass, trees, and the tower. I have seen the old woman twice since then. Both times I followed the rule. Both times she eventually disappeared. I don't know what happens if you approach her. I don't know where she comes from. And honestly, I don't want to know. Rule four. If you see floating lights above the tower, lock every window. Of all the rules Russell gave me this was the one I underestimated the most. The lights were different because they didn't seem threatening at first. If anything, they looked beautiful. The first time I saw them, I almost ignored the rule entirely. It happened during the middle of winter, sometime during my second

year at the tower. A snowstorm had passed through the region the day before, leaving several inches of snow across the hills and coating the branches in ice. The sky that evening was perfectly clear, and the moon reflected off the snow so brightly that large sections of the forest looked silver. I'd finished my nightly reports and was sitting near the observation windows when I noticed a small white light drifting between the trees. At first I assumed it was a flashlight. That was an unusual. Hunters occasionally stayed out later than they should, and search teams sometimes operated after dark if somebody got lost on one of the trails. I watched the light for several seconds, and then I noticed something strange. It wasn't moving like a flashlight. It wasn't bouncing.

It wasn't weaving through the trees. It was floating. The light moved smoothly through the forest at a constant height, drifting silently above the snow-covered ground. A second light appeared a few moments later, than a third. All three slowly floated through the woods beneath the tower. I remember leaning closer to the glass because I genuinely thought they looked beautiful. Their glow was soft and white, almost like lanterns drifting through the darkness. They weren't bright enough to hurt your eyes, but they stood out clearly against the snow. And then I remembered Rule 4. If you see floating lights above the tower lock every window. I immediately stood up.

The fact that Russell had included such a specific instruction bothered me. He hadn't said close the windows, hadn't said stay away from him. He specifically said lock them. While I walked through the tower and I checked every window one by one, the observation deck had six large windows and the living area below contained another four. After locking each one, I closed the curtains and returned upstairs. By then the lights had moved closed. Closer, much closer. Instead of floating through the trees below, they were now drifting around the

tower itself, slowly, quietly, almost curiously. I counted five of them now. Each appeared roughly the size of a basketball, though it was difficult to judge distances in the darkness. They moved independently of one another, occasionally drifting apart before regrouping again. For nearly an hour, they circled the tower. Nothing else happened. The lights weren't doing anything. They were just floating. And then I looked at the clock and it was nearly three in the morning. That didn't make sense. The lights had appeared shortly after midnight. And I was certain I hadn't been watching them for three hours. At most, maybe 20 or 30 minutes had passed. I spent the next several minutes trying to reconstruct what I'd been doing. The problem was that I couldn't. There was simply a gap.

Several hours had disappeared completely. I remembered seeing the lights, locking the windows, and then nothing. I kept the windows locked, and the following morning I called Russell. When I explained what happened, he wasn't surprised. How much time you lose? He asked. three hours maybe. Oh, that's not too bad. Not too bad, he said. I remember staring at the phone.

Three missing hours wasn't too bad? Eventually, he agreed to tell me the story behind the rule. The first thing he asked was whether I'd ever heard of Laura Dunn. I hadn't. Russell told me Laura worked the same tower during the late 1990s. By all accounts, she was an excellent ranger. She showed up on time, completed her reports, followed procedures, and generally kept to herself.

Unlike some of the other rangers, she wasn't known for taking risks. She simply did her job. According to Russell, everything changed during the winter of 1997. One evening, Laura radioed headquarters shortly after sunset. Her transmission was calm and professional. She reported seeing unusual lights moving above, the trees near the tower. At first nobody felt much of it, but then she called again, and this time she sounded nervous. The lights had moved closer. Several minutes later, she made a third

transmission, and that would be her last one. Russell had actually heard a recording of it years later. She reported that the lights were directly above the tower, and then the transmission ended. Headquarters attempted to contact her repeatedly. No response. A search team was dispatched immediately. The drive to the tower took less than 40 minutes, but when they arrived, Laura was gone. Her truck remained parked outside. Her equipment remained inside.

Her dinner was still sitting on the table. Everything appeared normal, except Laura had vanished. The investigation lasted months, but nothing was ever found. No evidence of foul play or a struggle. No indication that she'd left volunteering. She simply disappeared. Russell told me there were other incidents too. Not all of them involved rangers.

Several hikers reported memory loss after seeing strange lights in the woods. One hunter claimed he lost an entire day after following a floating orb through a valley. Another man was discovered wandering along a road nearly 20 miles from where he'd last been seen. He remembered seeing lights. than nothing. The missing time varied from person to person. It was sometimes minutes, sometimes hours, occasionally much longer. A few months after hearing Laura's story, I experienced my second encounter. This one was worse. I woke shortly after midnight because of a tapping sound. At first I thought snow or ice had struck one of the windows, and then I heard it again.

I climbed out of bed and walked upstairs. The moment I reached the observation deck, I understood what was happening. Lights surrounded the tower. Not three or five. Dozens. They floated outside every window, silently drifting through the darkness, like pale lanterns suspended in the air. The tapping continued.

One of the lights hovered directly outside the glass, and every few seconds it gently bumped against the window. I quickly checked every light. Then I closed every curtain. For the rest of the night, I remained in the center of the room, trying very hard not to think about what might happen if one of those windows opened. The tapping continued until sunrise, and when morning finally arrived, the lights were gone. I spent the next hour inspecting the tower. Nothing appeared damaged or missing, at least not at first.

And then I opened my journal. and several pages were torn out. Entire entries gone. I checked again and again, convinced I was making a mistake, but I wasn't. Days of notes had been torn out of the journal. I couldn't find them anywhere. To this day, I don't know what happened to them. Maybe I remove them myself.

Maybe something else happened. I honestly don't know. What I do know, is that when those lights appear, I still lock every window. This spring, denim gets a softer, lighter update. Introducing Old Navy's drapey denim wide leg, a new fit that moves with you. It's everything you want denim to feel like for summer. Easy, breathable, and effortlessly cool.

With a fit that creates natural movement and a wide leg that feels modern, not overwhelming. Plus, that signature, wait, for this price, moment. Old Navy's drapeed denim wide leg Rule 5 If you see a stone giant in the distance Radio it in and give it space By the time I finally saw the stone giant I already knew enough not to panic

That might sound strange Considering everything I'd experienced up to that point But after several years at the tower I'd learned an important lesson Just because something was unusual Doesn't automatically mean it's dangerous The first sighting happened during my third spring at the tower. The weather had finally started warming up after a long winter,

and most of the snow had melted from the hills. Visibility was excellent that morning. I could see several ridges beyond the normal observation area, including parts of the state forest that were usually hidden behind fog or haze. I was scanning the eastern hills with a pair of binoculars when something caught my attention. At first I thought I was looking at. at a rock slide. A large gray shape appeared to be moving along a distant ridge line. The movement,

it was so slow that I almost missed it. I spent several seconds watching before finally raising the binoculars. And then I realized the hill wasn't moving. Something on the hill was. The figure stood taller than the surrounding trees. Much taller. Even from miles away, I could tell it was enormous. The shape vaguely resembled a person, although person wasn't really the right word. Its body appeared to be made entirely from stone. Gray rock formed its arms, legs, chest and head. Large sections of moss and vegetation covered parts of its body, giving it the appearance of a walking cliff face. The giant took another step than another. The movement was incredibly slow but unmistakable.

And a few moments later, I remembered Rule 5. If you see a stone giant in the distance, radio it in and give it space. So that's exactly what I did. I radioed the siding to headquarters, and the response surprised me. Copy.

That was it? No questions or request for clarification, no concern. Just a single word. It sounded less like I was reported. a 60-foot stone giant, and more like I was reporting a deer crossing a trail. Later that afternoon, I called Russell, and his reaction wasn't much different. He finally saw him, huh?

He asked. Yeah. I remember sitting there in silence for a moment. Him? Russell laughed. Yeah, don't worry about him. He's harmless. And that was probably the last thing I expected to hear.

harmless. The giant was larger than most buildings. Harmless wasn't exactly the word I would have chosen. Russell explained that sightings went back decades. Rangers, hikers, hunters, and forestry crews had all reported seeing the giant in various times. Despite the number of sightings, nobody had ever reported being attacked. In fact, most reports described the opposite. The giant generally avoided people. If humans approached, it usually moved away. If people left it alone, it left them alone. For years, nobody understood why it appeared. And then the reports about the children started.

The first documented incident involved a group of campers nearly 20 years earlier. According to their report, they discovered what they initially believed was a large boulder sitting beside a creek. And then the boulder stood up. The creature resembled a smaller version of the giant. It was perhaps ten feet tall and appeared confused or disoriented. The campers watched it for several minutes before leaving the area. The following day, another group reported seeing the giant moving through the same valley.

Both sightings occurred within a few miles of one another. A few years later, a hunter reported something similar. He discovered two smaller stone figures wandering, through a wooded area several miles north of the tower. Three days later, the giant appeared in the same region. And after that, both sightings stopped. Over time, a theory developed. Nobody could prove it or confirm it, but the pattern appeared repeatedly. Whenever a smaller stone figure appeared, the giant usually wasn't far behind. Most people eventually reached the same conclusion. The giant wasn't wandering. It was searching. I finally witnessed this myself during my fourth year at the

tower. It happened near sunset on a foggy evening. I was performing a routine scan of the surrounding hills when I noticed movement near a distant ridge. At first I thought it was the giant again, and then I realized there were two figures. One was obviously the giant. The second was much smaller. Using the binoculars, I watched as the giant slowly approached the smaller figure. The smaller one appeared to be sitting beside a group of rocks near the edge of the ridge. For several seconds, neither moved. And then the giant knelt. And the motion was surprisingly careful, almost gentle.

He reached down, lifted the smaller figure, and placed it on its shoulder. A few moments later, both continued walking in. cross the ridge together. I watched until they disappeared beyond the hills. And I was probably the strangest part of the entire experience. Not the size, but

the gentleness. Most things I'd encountered in those woods made me uneasy. But the giant didn't. For whatever reason, it never did. I've seen it several times since then. Sometimes months passed

between sightings. Sometimes it appears. years twice in a single season, it always behaves the same way. The radio protocol hasn't changed either. Whenever somebody spots it, they report the sighting, headquarters logs the location, and then everybody leaves it alone. And honestly, that's worked out pretty well so far. Of all the things living in those woods, the stone giant is the only thing I am genuinely happy to see. Because whenever it appears on a distant ridge line, moving steadily through the trees. It reminds me that not everything out there is trying to hurt you. Some things are just

looking for their family. Well, after four years at the tower, I stopped trying to understand everything. I never figured out what spoke through the trees. I never learned where the fire creature came from. I never found out what happened to Laura Dunn or Bruce Hopkins, and I never got an explanation for the lights. The longer I worked there, the more I realized nobody else has. answers either. Not Russell or headquarters, not the Rangers who came before me. Eventually I found myself looking through some of the old logbooks left behind by previous Rangers. Most of the entries were routine observations, weather reports, maintenance notes, and trail updates. Every now and then, though, I'd find a familiar name. Jerry Sanders, Laura Dunn, Bruce Hopkins. People who had once

stood in the same tower and looked out over the same woods. People who had followed some of the rules. People who hadn't followed others. A few of them retired. A few transferred elsewhere. Some never came back. The longer I stayed at the tower, the more I understood why Russell had looked uncomfortable

whenever those names came up. Nobody likes talking about people who vanished, especially when nobody knows where they went. Well, I stayed because I like the job, as strange as that sounds. Most days were still quiet. Most days involve nothing more exciting than weather reports and trail inspections. The strange things happened rarely, just often enough to remind you they were there. Once in a while, I'd hear my name drifting through the trees.

Sometimes, I'd spot something standing on the West Trail and immediately decide not to get a closer look. Every now and then, I'd wake up wondering whether I'd lost. a few hours asleep during the night. And once every couple of years, I'd see fire stretching across the horizon and spend the rest of the night sitting very still inside the tower. After a while, it simply became part of the job. Near the end of my fourth year, I was finishing an evening observation report when I happened to look out toward the eastern ridges.

The sun was setting behind the hills, and most of the forest had already fallen into shadow. And that's when I saw him, the stone giant. He was moving along a distant ridge line several miles from the tower, just a dark gray shape against the evening sky. One slow step, then another. I remember watching him through my binoculars for several minutes. I figured he was looking for one of his children again. Before he disappeared behind the ridge,

he raised one of his arms toward me. Maybe it was a wave. Maybe it wasn't. But I smiled and waved back.