Day 15: A Trail Runner's Close Encounter

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There was a ghost of early winter bitterness in the afternoon drizzle. The trail on the emerald hillside grew treacherous, so I slowed into the next sloping corner, and there it was, my biggest fear—an ownerless dog.

I slid to a halt.

The steady drizzle became a heavy rain that softened the ground into a muddy quagmire.

It bared its runny, dripping claws and made grim growling sounds.

Terror rooted me to the spot and I'm not ashamed to admit that I felt a dim warmth spread across the front of my lycra undershorts.

The mutt came at me.

A dark gloom gripped my heart. It reared up—this was it, a mud fight to the death—forced me to the ground and pinned me there.

The large locket around its thick neck opened, seemingly of its own accord, and stained scraps of parchment fell upon my chest. The dog retreated, appearing to merge with the mud.

Curious, I read:

"I have risen at this foreordained hour, caught between the shining of the sun and the glimmer of the moon, released by the rain to unburden myself. Herein is recorded a story, the scariest tale in the world."

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