At 2 a.m., I heard the gravel hush outside Cabin B and found a raccoon, bandit mask and all, dragging our dented Folgers s’more tin like a treasure chest toward the lake. I gave chase in my mismatched socks and counselor voice, waving a stick like a torch while Denise’s whistle squealed somewhere behind me, and the thief paused only to dip a marshmallow in moonlight like it was fondue. What’s your wildest lights-out raid — the kind that makes the fire crackle louder when you tell it?