When Wolves Watch

The night held its breath. I hated walking home late, but I had no choice. The last bus had left, and my father’s house was only a short distance away if I cut across the corner road. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to look brave. The lamps above me dance, humming like tired bees. My shoes clicked on the sidewalk, each step too loud in the silence. The whole town seemed asleep, but the forest wasn’t. The forest never slept anyways. A soft wind brushed my face, carrying the smell of a wet world. I peeked toward the trees. Black shadows rose like walls. The branches wavered gently, but the sound was strange — not like leaves moving, but like something breathing. My chest pulled. I looked straight ahead, refusing to stare too long. That forest had sipped too many stories. Missing hunters. Dead sheep. Old gossips about “the eyes.” Nobody said the word wolves out loud anymore. I kept walking. One step, then another. But then it came — the feeling. The consequence. The sense that something was watching me. Not from a window, not from a house, but from the shadows between the trees. My throat went dry. I slowed my speed, every part of my body on alert. Then I saw them. Eyes. Two circles of faint gold, glowing through the darkness. Not bright, not wild — but steady. Watching. Unblinking. My breath seized. The world leaned. My heart began to pound so hard I thought it might break my ribs. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t scream. The eyes didn’t shift. They just… stayed there. As if the darkness itself had decided to stare back at me. And then the figure stepped out. He wasn’t an animal. He wasn’t a villager. He was a man. Tall — too tall. His shoulders broad, his bracket sharp under a long black coat that wavered with each step. His hair was dark, slicked back like he had just left some grand party. Even in the dim streetlight, I could see his shoes shone like glass, polished beyond reason. But it wasn’t the clothes that froze me. It was the way he moved. Slow. Calm. Certain. Like a vampire that had already decided I couldn’t escape. My knees are shaken. I took a step back, but he didn’t rush. He didn’t speak. He only looked at me, I yearned for soft— those faint glowing eyes locking me in place. I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. The silence pushed. Every sound — the buzzing lamp, the cold wind — seemed to fade until it was only him and me on that lonely road. Finally, he stopped. Just a few speeds away. Not close enough to touch me, but close enough for me to feel trapped. He inclined his head, studying me like I was something fragile, something breakable. My breath nodded. “W-who… who are you?” The corner of his mouth lifted. Not a smile. Not really. More like an answer he wouldn’t give. He didn’t reply. The eyes, though — they seemed to burn deeper, brighter, like fire was hidden just behind them. I stumbled backward, my pulse racing. Every instinct cried out, Run. Don’t wait. Run. My feet finally obeyed. I turned and stepped on down the road, my shoes slapping the ground, my lungs on fire. I didn’t dare look back, but I felt him. Not chasing, no — worse. Just standing there. Watching. By the time my house came into picture, tears had already blurred my sight. I felt the gate, my hands shaking too badly to lift the other. At last, it was related, and I rushed inside, slamming the door behind me. I pressed my back to the wood, breath in, listening. But there was nothing. No footsteps. No voice. No sound at all. Still, I knew. Deep in my life, I knew. He wasn’t gone. He was out there. Waiting. And somehow, I also knew one more thing. He had seen me. Truly notice me. Poor me. And I wasn’t sure I would ever be invisible again.