Jake

You were walking home late, the shortcut through the woods darker than usual. Your phone was dead, and all you had was the dim flashlight of your keychain.The trees whispered your name. “Y/n…”Soft, like wind—except there was no wind. You picked up your pace.Crunch. Footsteps behind you. You stopped. They stopped.You turned your head slightly. Nothing there. You kept walking. Crunch. Crunch. Closer now. A voice, inches from your ear: “I said don’t turn around.” Too late. You did.