Fifteen minutes and I hit the park. I love this place because most people stick to the main area with the playground and the duck pond. The trails into the woods are usually empty.
The temperature drops under the trees. It’s cool and pleasant in the shade. Running centers me. It’s my one escape from all my problems. The trail winds deeper. I know these paths by heart. There are markers every half mile and clear signs where private property starts. Big fences. No Trespassing signs that look serious. I’ve never been tempted.
At three miles, I stop to breathe, my mouth parched, my body covered in sweat. I pull out my water bottle and am about to take a drink when I hear a sound.
Crying.
For a moment, all the ghost stories from the woods that circulate in town pop up in my head. Strange howling at night, large monsters sighted, terrifying noises. But all the ghostly tales happen at night. I’ve never experienced anything out of the ordinary, and I run here every week.
I look around, and then I hear it again.
“Hello?” I call out. “Is someone there?”
This part is desolate. I haven’t seen anyone in twenty minutes.
The crying continues. High-pitched and broken.
It sounds like a child.
My heart slams against my ribs. “Hey, it’s okay! Where are you?”
No one appears, and the wailing continues.
“Hey, kid. Come out. What’s wrong?”
I try to locate the source of the crying, and then I see some bushes on the side, a little ahead, rustling. I immediately hurry forward just as a small figure crawls out, covered in dirt and leaves. He can’t be more than four, dark hair sticking up everywhere. The biggest amber eyes I’ve ever seen. His hands and feet are scraped raw.
Oh God.
I drop to my knees. “Hey, buddy. Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
He stares at me with wide eyes filled with tears, and my protective instincts go into overdrive.
“Do you want some water?”
I hold out the water bottle, and he hesitates. Terror is written all over his little face.
Then he leans forward and sniffs.
At first, the assumption is he’s sniffing the water, but then the realization hits. It’s not that.
He’s sniffing my cap.
What the hell?
“Are you sick?” The question comes out concerned. Why is he sniffing so much? I check his temperature, but he doesn’t seem too hot to the touch. Then my eyes focus on his expression and the way he’s fixated on my hat.
“Do you want the cap?”
He nods, a tiny movement.
I pull it off and settle it on his head. It’s way too big and slides down over his eyebrows. But he relaxes immediately. His little hands come up to touch the brim.
“How about that water now?”
This time he takes it. He drinks in long gulps that make me wince.
“Easy, buddy.” I take it back gently. “Not too fast.”
