The old lookout tower emerges from the tree tops on spindly legs, its all-seeing windows clouded with age, cataracts reflecting the sun on hot days. Now abandoned and its days of watching for wildfires long past, it looms over Camp Chimera like an owl perched upon the decaying branches of a long dead tree -- and the rangers that once called it home now tell tales of the old lookout tower ghost.

Long ago, when Camp Chimera was still young, there was a girl. She loved Camp Chimera. She loved the cool lake on summer days, she loved arts and crafts in the mess hall, but what she loved most of all were the campfires out under the stars. Now many a story has been told of the bewitching effects of an open flame, of the embers that dance and breathe and the comforting glow that warms your fur on a chilly night. This girl too was no stranger to the mesmerizing spell of a blazing campfire.

One night, under a full moon, the girl drew a burning stick from the fire and began to hum while dancing around. The ranger in the lookout tower, a wolf of barely twenty summers, spotted her dangerous performance and shouted down at her to stop. But she didn't listen. A spark sailed from the branch she wielded, landing on the nearby grass that had thirsted all summer for a rainy day. Soon enough, towering flames consumed the once-peaceful camp.

The ranger tried to radio for help, but no one answered. He sprinted down the steps of the tower, his boots thudding powerfully against the old metal treads, but it was too late; the flames had reached the base of the tower. Still, the girl was out there, and he wouldn't rest until he knew she was safe. He leapt into the blaze, and the fire raged on.

When the smoke finally cleared, the counselors took a head count. Everyone was accounted for; every fuzzy ear, every fluffy tail, and every hoof and claw. All, except for the girl and the ranger.

Some say the ranger died searching for the girl in the fire. Others say he  brought her up to the lookout tower, only for the both of them to be cooked alive by the inferno. Nobody can say for sure. 

In the years that followed, campers learned to avoid the old lookout tower. They say they saw a beast wearing an old ranger uniform, his fur smoldering and blackened. They say they felt the heat of the fire that claimed his mortal soul radiating from his eyes as they darted around, eternally looking for the girl who started the blaze. They say they heard the ringing of his leaden boots against the old metal steps of the lookout tower as he continued to do his rounds, always watching.

And on nights when the moon is full, and the wind howls through the trees, when everyone has gone to bed and the fires have been snuffed out, he descends from the tower. His heavy boots scrape against the lookout tower steps, echoing across Camp Chimera. The smell of sulfurous campfire permeates the cabins. He searches for campers who play with fire -- and if he finds you, he'll drag you out of your bunk and into the dark of night, his fur ablaze, screaming in agony as he hauls you back up the steps of the lookout tower, never to be seen again.