The first accident was dismissed as a fluke. A rainy morning, an inattentive driver, a wet road. But then, they started happening with increasing frequency and a disturbing pattern - always at the same intersection, always involving a squirrel.
This was no ordinary squirrel. It was larger than any I’d ever seen, with fur the color of dried blood and eyes that gleamed with an unsettling intelligence. It would wait patiently at the edge of the intersection, observing the traffic with an almost predatory focus. Then, as a car approached, it would dart across the road, a deliberate, calculated movement.
The drivers, caught off guard, would swerve to avoid hitting it, often losing control of their vehicles. The crashes started minor, fender-benders and dented bumpers. But soon, the consequences became more severe. A broken leg, a fractured skull, even a fatality.
As a journalist, I couldn’t ignore this story. I started investigating, poring over police reports, interviewing witnesses, even venturing to the intersection myself. The more I learned, the more convinced I became that this was no ordinary animal.
One witness described the squirrel staring directly at her, its eyes filled with a chilling malice. Another claimed to hear it whisper just before it darted across the road, a sound that sent shivers down his spine.
One day, I was at the intersection when I saw it. The squirrel, perched on a telephone pole, its beady eyes fixed on me. A wave of fear washed over me, but I forced myself to stand my ground. We locked eyes, a silent challenge passing between us.
Then, the squirrel twitched its tail and leaped into the road. I watched, heart pounding, as a car screeched to a halt, inches from its furry form. The driver leaned out the window, his face pale with terror.
But the squirrel didn’t retreat. It stood its ground, staring defiantly at the driver. After a tense moment, the driver slowly backed away, his eyes never leaving the creature.
The squirrel watched him go, then turned its gaze back towards me. In that moment, I knew. This was something more, something ancient and powerful, playing a deadly game with the human race.
The days that followed were filled with an unnerving quiet. No more accidents, no sightings of the squirrel. It was almost as if it had vanished into thin air. Yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Every rustle of leaves, every shadow flitting across the periphery of my vision sent shivers down my spine.
One evening, as I sat working in my dimly lit apartment, I heard a faint scratching sound coming from the window. My heart hammered against my ribs as I slowly turned my head towards the sound. A flicker of movement caught my eye, a dark shape disappearing into the darkness beyond the glass.
I’m still investigating, still trying to unravel the mystery of the squirrel. But one thing is clear - the game is far from over. It’s out there. It wouldn’t stop until it had claimed its prize. And that prize, I realized with a sickening dread, might just be me.