44.1644° North

Realizing I was walking farther than I’d intended, I slowed my steps. I wasn’t far from the pub, but despite the parked cars and lights gleaming distantly through trees, it suddenly felt a long way away from civilization. From the safety of other people.

My nerves flared at the chomp of boots on snow behind me, and I turned, walking backward a few steps, keeping space between me and whoever was coming. Someone trying to find their car, I assumed, but you don’t spend your free time poring over cold cases and not learn to be cautious of your fellow man. And fellow woman.

My eyes raked the darkness.

I didn’t see anything, which was exactly what I expected.

But as I continued watching, a tall shadow seemed to materialize out of the darkness. He was still several car-lengths away, walking toward me.

My scalp prickled.

Was I being followed?

This had to be someone looking for his car.

The shadow remained too far away for me to be able to make out the features, even if he—given height and build, it had to be a he—hadn’t worn a hoodie. Or maybe it was the hood of his coat. There was nothing inherently sinister about a hood or a hoodie. Everyone up here was dressed for a polar expedition, me included. But silent hooded figures following you? Yeah, creepy.

I watched as he plowed on, walking steadily with speed and determination, facing front—facing me. I couldn’t see his face, let alone his eyes, but I knew he was staring at me.

Like the way I’d known Rory No Last Name had been watching me long before he spoke up. I wasn’t being paranoid. Or at least, I wasn’t only being paranoid.

Anyway, the silent purpose with which this guy walked toward me was unnerving.

Was this someone just going to his car?

I continued to stare, still walking backward. This was definitely starting to feel weird. Weird or ridiculous. Or both.

I raised my hand and called, “Hey.”

A second passed.

Another.

No response. Only ominous stillness broken by the slip-slide of boots on snow and the eerie echo of the woods. He didn’t speed up. He did not slow down. And that focused, measured pursuit was… Well, it was starting to worry me.