I'm a firewatcher. This is the first time I've seen it, but not the first time I've heard it.

The summer of 2015, I was manning a tower in the Black Forest, the same forest where in 1898, a summer that was surely hotter and drier than this one, a fire destroyed 360,000 acres in three days.<br><br>I heard there were some missing children in the town nearby; people said that one of the boys was found face down in the creek on the edge of town, his head drowned in a pool of water no deeper than a child’s palm.<br><br>I saw nothing all summer, until that last night. I had a pair of 7x50 field glasses, perfect for spotting fires in daylight, but not so useful when the sun goes down. I started to nod off, but something jolted me awake. I looked out the window, and nothing appeared different; the moon had risen and I could still make out the tops of the trees. When I looked closer, I noticed the tops of the trees, the highest leaves that broke through the canopy, were rustling.<br><br>I had told myself the wind was in the forecast, but it was a skinny lie I wouldn’t swallow. I knew there wasn’t any wind in the forecast, and I could see the flags all limp at the nearby park. I tried to fall back asleep, but I couldn’t. I had that feeling that you couldn’t explain, when someone was watching you. I looked behind me, out the window in the rear of the tower, and nothing. I looked back at the trees, and the leaves were still rustling, almost in unison. I couldn’t explain it; it was like a rhythm, like a drum line, like a heart that was beating in unison with mine.<br><br>I zipped up my jacket, and stepped outside onto the deck that encircled the cabin. The wind had picked up, and the flags at the nearby park were flapping wildly. The rustling in the leaves was now so loud, it sounded like rushing water. I walked over to the rail, and looked down. The rustling had stopped, and the trees were quiet. I looked out into the darkness, and I couldn’t see much. A few trees just below me were swaying in the wind, but the rest were still.<br><br>I turned to walk back inside, but I heard it. It was almost imperceptible, but it was there. A low hum, a vibration, that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. I turned back, and looked down, and then I heard it again; louder this time, closer, sounded almost like a moan. I stepped over to the edge of the rail, and leaned over, but I couldn’t see anything. The moan seemed to be moving from east to west, and I followed it along the rail, my head stuck out into the night like a puppy hanging his head out of the back of an SUV. <br><br>I heard it again, louder, and I could tell it was coming from a patch of trees on the edge of my field of vision. It sounded like someone was down there, running at full speed, crashing into the underbrush as they went. I turned my head to see it closer, but as I did, there was a flash of light so bright, it blinded me. I fell backward, landing on my right shoulder, and my left arm propping me up.<br><br>I got up slowly, and stepped back to the rail. From my vantage point, I could see that there was a fire; it was so large I couldn’t see the edges of it. I put my glasses over my eyes, and looked at the flames. I could see dark shapes, running between the trees, parallel to the leading edge of the inferno. I heard the moan again, over the crackling of the fire, and I saw that the shapes were getting closer together. The fire was moving rapidly in my direction. I ran inside, and hit the panic button. <br><br>I ran down the stairs, and started to flee down the road that led to the highway. My arm still hurt a little, and my eyes were blurry from the flash, but I kept running. I know I only went about a quarter mile, but the flames were almost to the tower. I sat down on the side of the road, and watched it burn behind me. Twenty minutes later, I saw lights coming down the road. I stood up, and waved my arms. It was a fire engine. It screeched to a halt, and a firefighter jumped from the cab, and ran up to me.<br><br>“Sir,” he shouted, “you can’t be out here. This is an active fire.”<br><br>“I’m the watchtower,” I said. “I called in the panic.”<br><br>The firefighter looked back at the tower, the flames engulfing it. “I don’t know, sir,” he said. “We had a report of a missing person.”<br><br>I shook my head. “Nope.”<br><br>“There’s no one else up there?” he said.<br><br>“No, I’m sure of it.”<br><br>The firefighter nodded at me, and walked away. The fire burned for ten days, and it destroyed most of the forest. Honestly, I never went back to find out what happened to the tower. I never watched that forest again. I retired.<br><br>But I hear it sometimes, in my dreams, that sound, that rustling in the leaves, that moan. I can’t explain it, but I’m sure of it. One day, it’s going to find me.