The warm scent of fresh bread from Mr. Lewis’s bakery floated through the air, promising a sweet treat waiting at home.
Everything felt normal. Too normal.
She hummed a silly song from school about a duck that hated baths, her red sneakers hopping over cracks in the pavement. She imagined her mom waiting with milk and cookies, and that thought pulled her forward.
Then something shifted.
Not a sound. Not a smell. A feeling.
A sudden chill ran down her spine despite the warm sun. Emma stopped mid-step.
She looked ahead.
At the far end of the street, under the long shadow of an old oak tree, stood a man. Tall—too tall. Dressed entirely in black. A wide-brimmed hat hid his face in darkness.
Her heart stumbled, then pounded hard.
Maybe it was just a neighbor. Or the mailman. Or her imagination playing tricks again. But he didn’t move like someone passing by.
He was standing still.
Watching.
Emma started walking faster. No more skipping. She glanced back again and again.
The man began to move—slow, deliberate steps, his presence growing closer with each second.
Fear crept up her throat. She wanted to scream, but her voice wouldn’t come. Her legs felt weak, like they might give out.
Her house was just a block away. The blue door. The little flower pot. So close—but suddenly so far.
The man was almost beside her now. The air felt heavy, like it had lost its oxygen. She could feel him—his shadow, his presence—right next to her.
She didn’t dare look up. Her eyes stayed fixed on her feet.
Then she saw them.
Black polished shoes stepping into her path.
They stopped.
A voice broke the silence. Deep. Rough.
“Emma?”
Her name.
That changed everything.
Fear twisted into something sharper—anger, confusion. How did he know her name?
Emma lifted her head. Her wide eyes met his shadowed face. Beneath the hat, his eyes were dark, empty—like they swallowed all light.
He didn’t move. Just stared.
A second passed. Then another.
Instead of running or crying, Emma did something unexpected.
She turned fully to face him, lifting her chin with a quiet, trembling defiance.
“Who do you think you are, following me like this?”
The man stiffened slightly, caught off guard. Silence stretched between them again.
Emma didn’t back down, though her body trembled.
Finally, he moved, slipping a gloved hand into his coat. Emma held her breath, ready to run.
But he pulled out a small package.
Brown paper. Thin string. Simple. Harmless.