I was followed into the woods

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As children, we are all taught to trust adults. Whether it be our parents or guardians, relatives or teachers, we always have been told we could trust these people. However, not every family friend you meet can be trusted.

I’d like to say that I am a female, fourteen years of age, as of me writing this. When the story happened, I was around five or six years old.

When I was little, I always went to work with my father on Sundays for many reasons. A few of them being because I didn’t want to be bored at home and only hearing the whirring of my mother’s sewing machine, as that’s what she did on Sundays. Sew, sew, sew. Another reason was because behind my father’s work, there was this wide expanse of forest. Trees for miles and miles.

I lived in a town where nothing really ever went sour. Everyone sort of knew everyone around and people let their kids play outside after four by themselves. It was quite peaceful and I enjoyed it as a kid. I mean, I still do now, but I am more cautious than I was a long time ago.

This particular Sunday really didn’t seem off, until I asked my father if I can go back into the trails in the woods. You see, there was this paintball park right next to my father’s workplace and all these long trails were being built so that when the park was opened and everything was finished, players can go back into the woods to do some shooting with the paint balls. However, since they were closed on Sunday, my father let me go back there. Honestly I sort of wish he didn’t.

Like I mentioned earlier, I was five or six years old at the time. So little me was skipping down the trail, landing in puddles where it rained the night before. I never went too far, since I knew where to stop when in started getting a little too dark under the canopy of tall tree leaves.

I was passing a small clearing to the right side where a log was, when I noticed I heard footsteps behind me. Turning around, as I was a curious little child, I saw it was one of my father’s friend’s brother. Now, what I did not know was that the man that stood behind me was very messed up in the head.

I went from staring at him in confusion to greeting him politely. For this story, I’ll call him Bob.

“Hi Bob! Why are you back here? Did you want to look at the trees to?” I asked him, still a little unsure. He shook is head and walked ahead of me, sitting against this fallen over log in the clearing. Bob turned to me and asked; “It must have been a long walk. Would you like to sit on something?” His face had a small grin on it.

Now, as a child, I was very, very innocent. Back then I thought magic did exist and, well, thought he brought along a chair or something. So, being the naive child I was, I asked him; “What?”

He looked down to the jeans he was wearing and unzipped the zipper in the front and his private part was out. Even as a child, I knew something was terribly wrong here. “Nevermind.” I said, quite weirded out. I then started walking quickly the other way back to my dad’s work.

He shouted behind me; “Come back here!” and before I knew it, I was being chased.

This man, Bob, was quite overweight. Not to be rude, but it was true. I ran like a bat straight out of hell away from him as he jogged about 20 or so feet behind me. In his right hand he held one of those Swiss Army pocket knives, I believe they are called. You know, the one that the blade goes into the handle and such. He threw it behind him and gave up trying to get to me.

I made it to the treeline behind my dad’s work, and he wasn’t up there. He was at the paintball trail entrance. thinking that’s the way it led out. Instead of meeting me, he met Bob. He then asked Bob what he was doing, but my father told me he said nothing.

I only remembered this story recently and have told both of my parents. My father pointed out that he also always went into the room where I’d watch some cartoons and lay on the bed with me in strange, inappropriate positions. Not only that, but he always felt up my cousin’s arm whenever they were around.

We haven’t seen Bob in a while, but I’d rather not meet him again.


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