Page 7 of Little Darling

But the too-close sound of a branch snapping had that anxiousness filling me once again.

And that’s when I saw him—or I thought I did, anyway. It was a dark, enormous shadow between the trees. Just a flash of movement and shape but it made me pause midstep.

The shape looked like a man, a tall, muscular figure. But just as quickly as I’d seen it—the sight out the corner of my eye, just at the edge of my vision and partially obscured by the trees—I blinked, and he was gone. He was too far away for me to make out any clear details, but there was definitely someone out here.

A chill raced down my spine.

I shook my head, trying to convince myself that it was just my imagination. It had to be, right? But even repeating that in my head didn’t make me feel calmer in the slightest. Because the image of that figure was seared into my mind.

I continued walking, picking up my pace. All I wanted to do was break through the tree line and go back to where the safety of the townspeople was.

But as much as I tried to focus on looking collected and not at all spooked, the worse I failed at it. I glanced back constantly, searching for that figure again, expecting him to be right behind me.

The opening of the trail loomed ahead, and I exhaled in relief, but one last glance behind me had a sharp shot of panic slamming into me.

Because I saw him. It was still just a glimpse, still at the edge of my vision, and not fully clear enough I could make out his features, but I knew I saw him. And I knew one more thing for certain.

I have to get out of the isolation of the forest.

What was painfully undeniable was I was being followed, tracked… stalked.

“Thank God,” I breathed out when I reached the clearing, seeing the village just across the way and the bustle of the morning rush of people moving back and forth over the cobblestone sidewalks and streets.

As I made my way out of the forest and across the street, I could feel the weight of his gaze heavy on me. It was an oppressive feeling that made it hard to breathe.

But no matter how hard I tried to act like I wasn’t scared, I knew I failed.

Sightseeing today was done. I’d worry about food later. I wanted to be in the safety of my rental with locked windows and doors. So I took a different way home, wanting to make it hard—impossible—for my stalker to follow me.

He probably already knows where you’re staying, a nasty little voice whispered in my head.

The image of that man in Paris suddenly appeared front and center in my mind, but I pushed it away as quickly as it came. There was no way it was the same man, no way he followed me across Europe.

But the unease that had been gnawing at me for days was now a full-blown fear because… what if?

7

DOLLY

SEVERAL DAYS LATER

Days had passed after my walk in the forest, and since then, nothing had felt off. And it was that sense of safety that allowed me to calm and settle my nerves.

Today, there was a small flea market style setup in the center of town. I wandered over the cobblestone streets lined with stalls that were selling everything from handmade crafts to fresh produce and pies.

I inhaled, taking in the scents of rich spices, baked goods, and salted and smoked meats. I stopped at a stall and bought a few sweet pastries filled with honey and nuts and a loaf of warm, crusty bread that would pair perfectly with the cheese I bought my first sightseeing day, after my adrenaline had settled from my close encounter in the woods and I realized just how hungry I was.

There were tourists, the first I’d seen since arriving, and locals milling about, trying to enjoy the last lingering light of the sun before it set. I let contentment and the safety of the crowd wrap around me, feeling the last remnants of unease fully leave me.

I even spoke to a few locals who directed me to some shops that needed help. Things were definitely looking up.

After ten more minutes of shopping, mostly for food, I wrapped things up and made my way back to my little cottage with thoughts of a home-cooked meal playing through my mind. The evening was cool, and I wrapped my new, handmade shawl—which I bought this morning—around my shoulders. It was perfect for keeping the chill at bay.

A group of tourists were laughing and taking pictures of the old church as I passed them. And a couple of locals gave me small smiles in passing. But as I turned down the narrow path that led to my rental, something in me shifted.

The air grew heavier. The shadows stretched longer than they should have, and everything took on a dangerous glint when I realized there was no one around.

I’d picked this village, this cottage, precisely for that reason, but now, I wasn’t enjoying the solitude I had so desperately craved.

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