The wind shrieks. The sky drips black. This night already has his neck hair standing on end.
The security guard sweeps his flashlight along the far edge of the abandoned playground. He catches a glimpse of the little boy in the neon yellow hoodie, the same one he sees every night.
He no longer bothers giving chase – kid’s too young, too quick. But tonight, the little boy doesn’t run. He stands motionless, arms locked at his sides.
He’s not alone either. There are five more right beside him – same age, same yellow hoodie.
And they aren’t running.
They’re closing in.
