I still can’t believe I saw one. I’m giddy to tell my friends about this sighting and show them the evidence.
They’ve teased me for years about my firm belief thatsomethinglives in these trees. But my brothers and I spent every summer growing up combing the ground for tracks and listening for knocks, our pockets full of apples to share. They’re the reason that even as an adult I keep an eye out—a nostalgic habit that ended up paying off. My brothers are going to straight updiewhen they see these pictures. I need to send them to the family group chat.
“Ike!” I hiss. “August! Are you guys out here?”
Something rustles in the shrubs to my left, but that’s it. No sign of my friends. I swipe open my phone as I walk, dialing Marlow. I tried calling her on the way here, but it went straight to voicemail. This time it only rings once before she picks up.
“Stevie!” She says my name like a gasp. “Where are you? Are you okay?”
I step over the same tree root that I crossed earlier when we were on the phone. “I’m more than okay,” I murmur, keeping my voice low. “I saw one.”
“One what?” She doesn’t wait for my answer. “It’s her. She’s okay,” she says away from the phone. “Where are you?”
“I’m in the preserve. I saw Diana’s car.” I step around another tree. “Where are you guys?”
A looming figure steps out of the trees onto the path barely three feet in front of me.
With a short, piercing scream—muffled quickly by the thick woods—I hurl my phone at the tall shape.
The figure holds its hand over its face, moaning and muttering, but his fingers smother the words.
Oh, phew. It’s just a man. I suck in a relieved breath, pressing my hand to my chest.
Oh, no. It’s aman. My heart thumps.
He’s a stranger in the woods at night. What business does this random man have in the forest at night? It can’t be wholesome. And he’s almost a foot taller than me, we’re alone, and he has my phone. It's by his feet, anyway. I step backward, but something catches my heel. Then something snags my other heel, and I’m falling. I grapple for something to steady myself, but my hands only meet air, and I land on my backside. My head snaps back, hitting the ground hard. Then the world goes black.
“Carrot Cake.” A man’s voice finds me in the darkness, then there’s a hand on my arm. “Carrot Cake,” he says again, his voice urgent. “Wake up.”
I can’t seem to open my eyes. Why is this random person calling me Carrot Cake? My name is Stevie, and my head hurts. I just want to sleep.
“What are you doing out here at night?” the voice mutters, jostling my arm. He has a deep voice. It’s rough and raw, like it’s hardly been used. “Come on, wake up.” He’s panicky now. “Wake up, Carrot Cake.”
No, thanks. I need a nap. I let myself sink back into sleep.
The next time my mind stirs close to consciousness, I’m drifting in the air. I’m floating, but nestled against something hard. My ear is pressed against warm skin. It has a hammering pulse. I’m being carried, I realize, by anaked man. The man from the woods is taking me back to his kidnapper van with blacked-out windows, and he has no clothes on.
I scream.
The man startles. “Gah!” he bellows, losing his grip on my legs.
Flopping like a fish out of water, I throw my elbows in as many directions as I can. Being raised with a feral pack of Irish brothers has its benefits. I know how to hold my own against a big man: throw elbows, fight dirty, and get loud.
“Put me down!” I screech.
My elbow connects with his face, and I’m on the ground again. Scrambling to my feet, I don’t think. I kick. My hiking boot connects just below his midsection, and he crumples with a loud groan. I dart into the darkness, hopefully toward the small parking lot.
“Stevie!” August calls.
Oh, hallelujah. My friends are close. But his voice came from behind me, in the direction of the naked kidnapper. Oh, no.August.
“Here!” I yell, breathless. “I’m here. And there’s a man back there! A naked man!” I can barely get the words out. “He tried tokidnap me,” I shout as I scramble away. Pain vaguely registers in my head, and I can’t seem to walk in a straight line. “You guys have to get out of here. Follow my voice.”
“Stevie, stop!” August calls. “Come back,” he wheezes, his voice full of laughter.
Marlow’s soft giggling echoes from the same direction.
“Sorry, man,” August says, quieter this time. “You okay? She got you good.”
