It was one of those crisp October nights when the world feels a little off-kilter, like a scene from a dream you can’t shake. Carl didn’t usually go for late-night walks—especially not when the wind had a bite like this—but after spending the last two hours doomscrolling on his phone, he needed to clear his head.

The leaves crunched beneath his boots as he strolled down Elm Street, his breath puffing out in little clouds. It wasn’t late enough for the neighborhood to be truly asleep yet, but it was just past the witching hour of 10 p.m., when all the early risers had retreated to their beds, and the night owls hadn’t fully committed to whatever questionable choices they’d make later.

Carl shoved his hands deeper into his jacket pockets. It wasn’t just cold—it was kind of cold that seemed personal like it had singled him out. He couldn’t even remember why his walk was a good idea. 

At least the air smelled good: damp leaves, wood smoke, and the faint trace of pumpkin spice wafting from someone’s porch. All of it is tinged with the ominous undertone that accompanies the month of Halloween when every shadow seems a little darker, and every gust of wind carries a whisper that you can’t quite make out.

As he turned the corner onto Maple Avenue, something shifted in the air. Maybe it was the breeze, or Carl glanced behind him.

Nothing.

Just the empty street and the occasional flicker of a porch light.

He shrugged it off and kept walking, but that feeling came again, like someone was watching him. Not in the casual, nosy-neighbor kind of way, but in the unsettling way you feel when you catch something out of the corner of your eye but can’t quite pin down what it is. 

Carl wasn’t paranoid—at least he didn’t think so—but the sensation was prickling at the back of his neck, the kind of subtle anxiety that sneaks up on you like a slow build in a horror movie. 

He turned again, this time more deliberately.

Still nothing. Just a line of parked cars, their windows catching the glow from the streetlights like little mirrors, reflecting nothing but the cold, empty sidewalk.

Carl shook his head. “Get a grip,” he muttered, quickening his pace. The breeze seemed to laugh at him, mocking him with little howls between the trees. As he passed the old Smithson house, he caught a glimpse of something—or someone—moving in the shadows.

It was subtle—just a flicker.

His heart kicked up a notch, but the yard was empty when he squinted. No one was there. Just the old oak tree swaying in the wind, its branches looking more like skeletal fingers reaching out to snatch anyone dumb enough to walk this late.

Carl kept walking, though now he was acutely aware of his surroundings. He could feel it—there was definitely something back there, something following him. He chuckled nervously. Maybe it was just his imagination. Perhaps it was one of those weird late-night jitters you get after too much caffeine and too little sleep.

“Or,” he thought, “maybe it’s some deranged lunatic in a mask. Because that’s what happens in every horror movie that starts like this, right?”

The thought wasn’t as funny as he hoped it would be. 

Carl turned another corner, taking a sharp left onto Oak Street, but the feeling followed. He didn’t dare look back this time. He didn’t need to. 

Whoever—or whatever—it was, they were quiet. Too quiet. His footsteps, not typically loud against the pavement, felt muted now like the weight of his paranoia was drowning them out.

He should have brought something for protection. A baseball bat, a wrench… hell, even a half-empty can of hairspray would have been better than nothing.

As Carl neared the park at the end of the street, his brain began an entirely unhelpful monologue, narrating his imminent demise. 

This is it, Carl. You’re going to end up in one of those Dateline specials. They’ll interview your co-workers and say, ‘He seemed like such a quiet guy. Always kept to himself.’

He chuckled out loud this time, the sound echoing down the street in an absurd and unsettling way. He had to get a grip. It was probably nothing. 

Just a stray cat, or maybe one of those awkward neighborhood kids trying to pull a Halloween prank early. But still…

He ducked into the park, moving under the cover of trees. The wind was quieter here, and the branches overhead formed a kind of canopy. The shadows were more prolonged and deeper. His breathing was loud now, too loud. Every step felt like it was amplifying the silence as if the night held its breath.

Suddenly, he heard it. A faint rustle behind him. It was barely audible, but it was there—distinct, deliberate.

Carl whipped around heart thudding.

A figure. Definitely a figure this time, standing half-hidden in the trees. They were dressed in a dark hoodie, their face obscured in the shadows. They stood perfectly still, watching him.

Carl froze. His mind scrambled for something to say, something to do.

“Uh… nice night for a walk, huh?” He immediately wanted to slap himself. Who says that?

The figure didn’t respond. They just… stood there.

Carl backed away, one step, then two. “Okay, cool, no need to chat,” he mumbled, feeling a surge of adrenaline spike in his chest. “I’ll just—uh—be going now.”

He turned on his heel and walked, trying to stay calm, but his legs had their own, and soon, he was jogging and then sprinting. The park stretched out before a labyrinth of paths that seemed to go nowhere. He could hear his own thing, ragged and uneven, but worse—he could hear footsteps.

Behind him. Fast. Gaining.

He veered off the path, running through the grass, his heart pounding in his throat. He glanced over his shoulder. The figure was closer now, moving quickly, almost gliding across the ground. 

And then, just as Carl was sure his lungs were about to explode, he tripped. Because, of course, he did.

He hit the ground hard, rolling onto his back, eyes wide with terror as the figure loomed over him, a dark silhouette against the starless sky.

And then, in a voice that was less terrifying than Carl expected, the figure spoke.

“Dude, you dropped your wallet.”

Carl blinked. “What?”

The figure held Carl’s worn leather wallet, dangling it between two fingers like a peace offering. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for like five blocks. You dropped it back on Maple.”

Carl sat up slowly, his brain working overtime to catch up. “Wait, you—you’ve been following me this whole time to give me my wallet back?”

“Yeah.” The figure shoved its hood back, revealing a skinny teenager with messy hair and a tired expression. “I tried calling out a couple of times, but you were in your own world, man. Then you started running, and I was like, ‘okay, I guess we’re doing this now.’” The kid chuckled, clearly amused by the whole situation.

Carl stared at him, still trying to process. “So… you’re not a serial killer?”

The kid snorted. “No, but thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Carl let out a long, shaky breath, lying back on the cold grass and laughing. It started as a low chuckle and then bubbled up into something ridiculous, echoing through the park.

After a moment, the kid joined in, and for a good minute, they both sat there, laughing into the October night.

Eventually, Carl sat up again, wiping his eyes. “Sorry, man. I guess I just got a little freaked out.”

“Hey, no worries. It’s Halloween season—everyone’s on edge,” the kid said, handing over the wallet.

Carl took it, feeling sheepish. “Thanks, uh—?”

“Ethan.”

“Thanks, Ethan. I owe you one.”

“Don’t mention it.” The kid got up, brushing off his jeans. “Maybe next time, try not to look like you’re auditioning for the lead in a slasher flick.”

Carl grinned, getting to his feet. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

As they parted ways, Carl couldn’t help but laugh at himself. The night felt different now, lighter, less ominous. And as he walked back home, he realized that maybe late-night walks weren’t so bad after all.

As long as he remembered to keep a better grip on his wallet.

The End

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