My sister and I eagerly set out on a weekend camping trip, thrilled to pitch our tent deep in the woods and escape the noise of daily life. The air was crisp, the sun golden through the trees—it felt like the perfect adventure.
But our excitement began to fade when we came across a bald man in a blue shirt walking his dog. At first glance, he seemed ordinary, even friendly. Yet something about him felt… off. His eyes lingered too long, his smile seemed strained.
“I took a photo of him out of instinct,” I later confessed to my sister. “Just in case.”
We shrugged it off and continued toward the lake, trying to shake the unease. But as we rounded a bend, there he was again—standing by the water, pretending to throw sticks for his dog. When he saw us, he started asking questions that felt too personal: Where are you camping? Are you here alone?
My sister quickly lied, saying our dad was joining us soon. Then, without a word, we took a different trail back, moving faster than before. Still, I couldn’t help glancing over my shoulder. Each time, I caught glimpses of him—his dog trotting beside him, his gaze fixed in our direction.
By the time we reached our car, my hands were trembling. That night, when we told our mother what had happened, her face went pale. She recognized the man from the photo on my phone. He’d recently been arrested for a series of house break-ins near the area.
What started as a carefree escape into nature became a chilling reminder that danger often hides behind the most ordinary smiles. We never went camping again without telling someone exactly where we were going—and we never forgot the bald man in the woods.
