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The Footsteps at Batiquitos Lagoon: A Carlsbad Ghost Story

Ben
Yawnder Night Stories · Carlsbad · Fiction
The footsteps are easy to mistake for your own.
Until you stop walking and they don’t.

The lagoon trail had been quiet all evening.

Rachel was nearly back to the car when she heard footsteps behind her.

The Second Set

Her shoes crunched on the trail.

Crunch.

Crunch.

Behind her:

Crunch.

Crunch.

She slowed.

The other footsteps slowed.

The Test

Rachel stopped.

The footsteps continued.

Crunch.

Crunch.

Crunch.

Then stopped directly behind her.

Don’t Look Back

She remembered a warning she had heard from another walker:

“If something follows you on the lagoon trail, don’t turn around until you reach pavement.”

Rachel started walking again.

The footsteps followed.

The Breathing

Halfway to the parking area, she heard breathing.

Close to her right ear.

She could feel warm air against her neck.

Still she did not turn.

The Pavement

Rachel stepped onto the parking lot.

The footsteps stopped.

She turned around.

The trail was empty.

She laughed from relief.

Then noticed muddy footprints on the pavement.

They ended at her car.

The Passenger Seat

Rachel unlocked the doors.

The interior light came on.

The passenger seat was wet.

Covered in lagoon mud.

On the window, drawn from the inside, was a single word.

TURN.

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This story is fiction. The setting is real; the haunting is ours.

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