Samantha (Corrections Officer)

my heart hammered against my ribcage my mind jumped back to that camouflaged hunter months ago only this situation was worse my dog was nervous the park was empty and nobody was around to see if anything went wrong i stood still scanning the spot where the noise came from A moment passed, and the forest returned to its unnerving stillness. I suppressed the urge to call out.

my heart hammered against my ribcage my mind jumped back to that camouflaged hunter months ago only this situation was worse my dog was nervous the park was empty and nobody was around to see if anything went wrong i stood still scanning the spot where the noise came from A moment passed, and the forest returned to its unnerving stillness. I suppressed the urge to call out.

Something told me not to give away my exact location to whoever or whatever might be lurking. Without a solid plan, I moved forward, each footstep measured. My dog crowded close, panting shallowly. The trail felt endless, winding through silent trees that seemed eager to hide secrets. I did my best to keep calm, but every shift of the wind, every shuffle of leaves, raised my tension higher.

Something told me not to give away my exact location to whoever or whatever might be lurking. Without a solid plan, I moved forward, each footstep measured. My dog crowded close, panting shallowly. The trail felt endless, winding through silent trees that seemed eager to hide secrets. I did my best to keep calm, but every shift of the wind, every shuffle of leaves, raised my tension higher.

Eventually, the path opened near the edge of the woods, and I glimpsed the parking area in a clearing through the final stand of timber. Relief washed over me, but I kept glancing back, half expecting someone to burst from cover.

Eventually, the path opened near the edge of the woods, and I glimpsed the parking area in a clearing through the final stand of timber. Relief washed over me, but I kept glancing back, half expecting someone to burst from cover.

reaching the lot i found it as deserted as the trail a single street lamp hummed flickering weakly getting my dog into the car took two tries because she was trembling her paws slipping on the seat i fumbled with the keys resisting the panicked urge to floor the accelerator the moment the engine came alive Pulling away, I glanced in the rearview mirror.

reaching the lot i found it as deserted as the trail a single street lamp hummed flickering weakly getting my dog into the car took two tries because she was trembling her paws slipping on the seat i fumbled with the keys resisting the panicked urge to floor the accelerator the moment the engine came alive Pulling away, I glanced in the rearview mirror.

For an instant I thought I caught movement among the trees, a lean shape or a silhouette, but it faded when I blinked. It could have been my anxious mind playing tricks. Safe behind the wheel I should have relaxed, but that tingle of being watched refused to vanish. Questions swirled. Was it a big cat? A reckless thrill-seeker with a scope? or simply my imagination amplifying every stray noise.

For an instant I thought I caught movement among the trees, a lean shape or a silhouette, but it faded when I blinked. It could have been my anxious mind playing tricks. Safe behind the wheel I should have relaxed, but that tingle of being watched refused to vanish. Questions swirled. Was it a big cat? A reckless thrill-seeker with a scope? or simply my imagination amplifying every stray noise.

Truth be told, I had no real answers. All I knew was that the uneasy hush in those woods felt different from any ordinary day. I wasn't going back any time soon. Even as I drove away, the sense of invisible eyes lingered, a reminder that sometimes, in places meant for peace and recreation, there are watchers who don't belong.

Truth be told, I had no real answers. All I knew was that the uneasy hush in those woods felt different from any ordinary day. I wasn't going back any time soon. Even as I drove away, the sense of invisible eyes lingered, a reminder that sometimes, in places meant for peace and recreation, there are watchers who don't belong.

I remember the drive out to my grandparents' place being both nostalgic and strangely tense. The asphalt seemed endless, winding through fields that felt emptier than I remembered. When I finally pulled into the long gravel driveway, the crunch of the tires set me on edge for no real reason I could put into words.

I remember the drive out to my grandparents' place being both nostalgic and strangely tense. The asphalt seemed endless, winding through fields that felt emptier than I remembered. When I finally pulled into the long gravel driveway, the crunch of the tires set me on edge for no real reason I could put into words.

My grandparents' little farmhouse came into view, and although it looked the same, white paint peeling in places, a sagging porch that needed new boards, I got the sense something about the area had changed. Maybe it was just my imagination acting up. Grandma and Grandpa greeted me at the door, fussing over how much taller I'd gotten since my last visit and asking if I was hungry.

My grandparents' little farmhouse came into view, and although it looked the same, white paint peeling in places, a sagging porch that needed new boards, I got the sense something about the area had changed. Maybe it was just my imagination acting up. Grandma and Grandpa greeted me at the door, fussing over how much taller I'd gotten since my last visit and asking if I was hungry.

The smell of fresh cornbread wafted through the open window, which usually made me feel right at home. It sort of did at first. But while Grandma rambled about chores that needed doing, and Grandpa talked about a recent coyote problem, I found myself glancing over at the tree line more often than I wanted to admit. Nothing stood out as threatening. Still, my gaze kept drifting over there.

The smell of fresh cornbread wafted through the open window, which usually made me feel right at home. It sort of did at first. But while Grandma rambled about chores that needed doing, and Grandpa talked about a recent coyote problem, I found myself glancing over at the tree line more often than I wanted to admit. Nothing stood out as threatening. Still, my gaze kept drifting over there.

Eventually, I decided to stretch my legs and wander out toward the woods. That big yard used to be my stomping ground when I was a kid, a place where I'd spin around until I got dizzy and collapse on the grass, staring up at the sky. Now, the grass felt too tall, prickly against my ankles, and the air tasted heavier. Each step I took seemed to stir up old memories.

Eventually, I decided to stretch my legs and wander out toward the woods. That big yard used to be my stomping ground when I was a kid, a place where I'd spin around until I got dizzy and collapse on the grass, staring up at the sky. Now, the grass felt too tall, prickly against my ankles, and the air tasted heavier. Each step I took seemed to stir up old memories.