"The Trap":
I was pet-sitting for my neighbor while she was away on vacation. She had a golden retriever named Max, a friendly dog with a playful streak that could sometimes get him into trouble. She’d given me a spare key to her house and her car, just in case I needed to take Max somewhere. It seemed like an easy job—feed him, walk him, keep him happy. But on the third day, everything went wrong.
I decided to take Max for a walk in the nearby park, a place with open fields, a pond, and a wooded area he loved to explore. It was a warm afternoon, perfect for a stroll. We arrived at the park, and I parked my neighbor’s SUV in the lot. Max was excited, sniffing everything, his tail wagging like crazy. I clipped on his leash, and we started walking.
Things were fine until we reached the edge of the woods. Max spotted a squirrel, and before I could tighten my grip, he yanked the leash from my hand and bolted into the trees. “Max! Come back!” I yelled, but he was gone, a flash of golden fur disappearing into the forest.
I sighed and chased after him, calling his name. The woods were thicker than I expected, with tall pines and dense underbrush blocking out the sunlight. The path twisted and turned, and soon I couldn’t see Max at all. “Max!” I shouted, my voice echoing. No response.
The deeper I went, the quieter it got. Too quiet. A chill crept up my spine, like someone was watching me. I told myself it was just nerves and kept searching, pushing through branches and stepping over roots. The light was fading fast—sunset wasn’t far off.
After what felt like hours, I heard a faint whine. I followed the sound and found Max, his paw caught in a hunter’s snare. The wire loop was tight around his leg, and he looked up at me, eyes wide with fear. “Oh, Max, hold still,” I said, kneeling to help him. My hands shook as I worked to free the wire.
As I untangled it, I noticed something else caught in the snare—a scrap of fabric, torn and stained with what looked like dried blood. My stomach twisted. What kind of place was this? I glanced around, the trees looming darker now, shadows stretching long.
Then I heard voices—low, rough, and close. “Check the traps,” one said. “Someone’s been out here.” My heart pounded. I freed Max’s paw and whispered, “We need to get out of here.” But which way? Every direction looked the same, and I had no idea where the park was.
I started walking, Max limping beside me. The voices grew louder, and now I heard footsteps—heavy, deliberate. I spun around, but no one was there. Or were they? “Max, come on,” I urged, quickening my pace.
The footsteps followed, faster now. “I saw something move,” a voice growled. “Over there.” Panic surged through me. I grabbed Max’s collar and ran, weaving through trees, branches scratching my arms. My ankle throbbed from a bad step, but I didn’t stop.
We stumbled into a small clearing, and I saw lights in the distance—the park. Hope flared, but then I spotted them: two men in camouflage, rifles in hand, scanning the woods. They were looking for us.
I pulled Max behind a thick tree, my breath ragged. Their boots crunched closer. “Thought I heard something,” one said. “Just an animal,” the other replied, but his voice was cold, like he didn’t believe it. They passed within feet of us, and I held Max tight, praying he wouldn’t whimper.
When their footsteps faded, I whispered, “Stay quiet, boy.” We crept toward the park, sticking to the shadows. Every snap of a twig made my heart leap. Finally, we broke through the trees and reached the parking lot. I sprinted to the car, Max hobbling behind me.
I fumbled with the keys, got Max in the back seat, and locked the doors. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely start the engine. As I pulled out of the lot, I glanced in the rearview mirror, half-expecting to see those men chasing us. The road was empty.
Back at my neighbor’s house, I checked Max’s paw. It was just a shallow cut, thank goodness. I cleaned it, bandaged it, and gave him water and treats. Sitting on the couch, I tried to calm down, but my mind kept replaying the voices, the rifles, that bloodstained fabric. What were those men doing out there?
I knew I had to tell someone. My neighbor was out of town, so I decided to call the police the next morning. But as I reached for the phone, I noticed the landline was dead. My pulse spiked. Had someone cut the line? I grabbed my cell phone from my bag—thankfully, it worked—and dialed 911.
I told the operator about the snare and the men with rifles, trying to sound calm. “They seemed dangerous,” I said. “I think they were looking for me.” The operator promised to send a patrol to check the woods and asked if I was safe. “I think so,” I said, but I wasn’t sure.
While waiting for the police, I double-checked every lock in the house. Every creak made me jump. When the officers arrived, I showed them the locket I’d found near the snare—a small, silver one with a picture of a young woman inside, the name “Emily” engraved on the back. They took it as evidence, along with a description of the men.
“We’ll look into it,” one officer said. “Stay out of those woods. Sounds like private property, and some folks don’t take kindly to trespassers.” I nodded, my throat tight.
The next day, I called my neighbor to check in. “Max is fine,” I told her, mentioning his cut but nothing else. I didn’t want to scare her. She thanked me, clueless about what had happened.
For the rest of the week, I kept the doors locked and the curtains drawn. I took Max on short walks, always in busy areas, never near the woods. When my neighbor returned, I handed over the keys, gave Max a final pat, and left, relieved to be done.
But I couldn’t shake the fear. Who was Emily? What were those men hiding in the woods? Late at night, I still hear those footsteps in my mind, and I wonder if they saw me better than I saw them. I’m just grateful Max and I made it out alive.
"The Pet-Sitting Call":
I had been pet-sitting for a few years, mostly for friends and neighbors, but this was my first job through a professional service. The family, the Johnsons, were heading to Europe for a two-week vacation. They needed someone to care for their two dogs, Max and Bella, and their cat, Whiskers. I was thrilled—good pay and a chance to hang out with animals? Count me in.
Their house was in a quiet suburban neighborhood, with a big backyard perfect for the dogs. Mrs. Johnson walked me through the routine: feeding times, walk schedules, and where Whiskers liked to hide. “We might not have great phone service abroad,” she said, handing me the keys. “Call if there’s an emergency, but we’ll try to check in when we can.” I nodded, petting Max’s fluffy head as Bella wagged her tail.
The first evening went smoothly. I fed the pets, took the dogs for a walk, and settled on the couch with some TV. Around 9 PM, the house phone rang. I figured it might be the Johnsons checking in. “Hello?” I said. Nothing—just faint breathing on the other end. “Hello?” I tried again. The line went dead. I shrugged it off as a wrong number and went back to my show.
Fifteen minutes later, the phone rang again. Same thing—breathing, then silence. Now I was annoyed. Kids pulling pranks, probably. I decided to ignore it if it happened again. But it did, every ten minutes or so. Each time, just breathing or dead silence. The house started feeling too quiet, except for the occasional creak or the dogs shifting in their beds. Whiskers stared out the window, her tail twitching.
I got up to check the doors and windows, making sure everything was locked. The back door was a problem—it wouldn’t close all the way, leaving a tiny gap. I pushed it shut as hard as I could and wedged a chair under the handle. It wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do.
Back on the couch, I tried to focus on the TV, but the phone rang again. My patience was gone. I grabbed it and said, “Look, this isn’t funny. Stop calling this number.” More breathing, then a click. My stomach twisted. This didn’t feel like a prank anymore.
I thought about calling the police, but what would I say? “I’m getting weird phone calls”? They’d think I was overreacting. Maybe I should just go to bed and forget it. As I was getting ready, I heard a noise upstairs—like footsteps. My heart stopped. Max and Bella were downstairs with me, sprawled on their beds. Whiskers was on the windowsill, her ears perked. None of them seemed worried, but I was.
I grabbed the flashlight by the door and crept upstairs, shining the light into each room. Everything looked normal—no one in the closets or under the beds. I felt silly but relieved. Just an old house creaking, right?
Back downstairs, I froze. The front door was slightly open. I was sure I’d closed it earlier. My blood ran cold. Had someone been in the house while I was upstairs? I slammed the door shut, locked it, and checked every window again. Everything seemed secure, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wasn’t alone.
I decided to call the police. As I reached for the phone, a voice came from the kitchen: “Hello? Is anyone there?”
My whole body went numb. That voice wasn’t mine, and it wasn’t coming from the phone. Someone was in the house.
With shaking hands, I dialed 911. “911, what’s your emergency?” the operator asked.
“There’s someone in the house,” I whispered, barely keeping my voice steady. “I’m pet-sitting, and I think there’s an intruder.”
“Stay on the line,” the operator said calmly. “I’m sending officers to your location. Where are you in the house?”
“I’m in the living room,” I whispered, backing into a corner. “I can hear him in the kitchen.”
“Try to stay quiet and hidden,” she said. “Help is on the way.”
Footsteps moved closer to the living room. Max and Bella started barking like crazy, and Whiskers hissed, her fur puffed up. I ducked behind the couch, holding my breath, praying the police would get here fast.
Suddenly, the front door burst open. “Police! Come out with your hands up!” someone shouted.
There was a scuffle, then silence. After what felt like forever, an officer stepped into the living room. “Ma’am, are you alright?” he asked.
I nodded, still trembling. “There was someone in the house,” I said. “I think he was trying to rob the place.”
The officer helped me up. “We’ve got him. He’s in custody. You’re safe now.”
They caught a burglar who’d been watching the neighborhood. He saw the Johnsons leave and thought the house was empty. When he realized I was there, he tried to scare me off with the phone calls, hoping I’d leave so he could rob the place.
I called the Johnsons to tell them what happened. “Oh my gosh, are you okay?” Mrs. Johnson asked, her voice shaking. “We’re so sorry you went through that.”
“I’m fine,” I said, though I wasn’t. “Just shaken up.”
They offered to send a friend to stay with me, but I couldn’t stay in that house another night. I packed my things, made sure the pets were safe, and went home. The Johnsons arranged for someone else to take over.
That night taught me to trust my gut and double-check locks when pet-sitting. It also left me with a story I’ll never forget—a pet-sitting nightmare that still makes my heart race when I think about it.
"The Weekend I Never Slept Again":
I was 17 when I agreed to dog sit for my mom’s friend, Lisa. She had a nice house in the suburbs, with a big yard and a friendly golden retriever named Max. I’d been there a few times before, so I thought it would be easy money—$50 for the weekend, which felt like a fortune back then. Lisa showed me around, gave me Max’s feeding schedule, and handed me her house keys. She’d be back Sunday afternoon, she said. I waved her off, feeling confident. How hard could it be?
The first few hours were fine. I watched some TV, played fetch with Max in the backyard, and took him for a walk around the block. The neighborhood was quiet, with big houses and well-kept lawns. Everything seemed normal.
But as the evening wore on, things started to feel off. Around 9 PM, the phone rang. I picked it up, expecting Lisa checking in. “Hello?” I said. Silence. No breathing, no static, just nothing. I hung up, figuring it was a wrong number. A few minutes later, it rang again. Same thing—silence. This happened three more times over the next hour. Each time, my stomach tightened a little more. Who would call and not say anything? I tried to brush it off, but my hands were clammy.
Max seemed to sense something too. He stopped lying at my feet and started pacing the living room, his ears perked up like he was listening for something. I got up and checked all the doors and windows, making sure they were locked. The front door was secure, the back door bolted, and the windows all latched. But I still felt uneasy, like someone was watching me.
Around 10:30 PM, I went to the kitchen for a glass of water. The house was dark except for the glow of the TV in the living room. As I filled my glass, I saw a shadow move past the window overlooking the back porch. My heart stopped. Then, I heard it—the back door handle rattling. Someone was trying to get in.
I froze, my mind racing. “Max?” I whispered, but he was right beside me, his low growl making my skin crawl. The handle rattled again, more forcefully. My hands shook as I grabbed the phone and dialed 911.
“911, what’s your emergency?” the operator asked, her voice calm but firm.
“There’s someone trying to break into the house!” I whispered, my voice barely steady. “I’m pet sitting, and I’m alone except for the dog.”
“Okay, stay calm. I’m sending officers to your location. What’s the address?”
I gave her Lisa’s address, my heart pounding so loud I could barely hear her. “Please hurry,” I begged.
“They’re on their way. Stay on the line with me.”
I could hear sirens in the distance, getting closer. Max started barking, loud and frantic, which made my nerves fray even more. “Shh, Max, it’s okay,” I said, though I didn’t believe it.
A few minutes later, flashing lights lit up the front window. I ran to the door and let in two police officers—a man and a woman. “Are you alright?” the woman asked, her hand resting on her holster.
“I think so,” I said, my voice trembling. “Someone was trying to get in through the back door.”
They checked the back door and the yard but found no one. “It might have been kids playing a prank, or maybe someone checking if the house was empty,” the man said, his flashlight sweeping the porch. “But we’ll stay here for a bit to make sure everything’s secure.”
They walked through the house, checking every door and window. I stayed in the living room, petting Max to calm him down—and myself. After about 20 minutes, they were satisfied no one was around. “We’ll patrol the area tonight,” the woman said. “But if you feel unsafe, maybe call your parents to come get you.”
I thought about it, but I didn’t want to worry my parents, and I couldn’t leave Max alone. “I’ll be okay,” I said, though I wasn’t sure.
They left, and I locked the door behind them. I decided to sleep on the couch in the living room, with Max by my side, so I could keep an eye on the front door. But sleep didn’t come easy. Every creak of the house, every rustle outside, made me jump. I kept imagining someone lurking in the shadows, waiting for their chance.
The next morning, I woke up exhausted but relieved nothing else had happened. I took Max for a walk, fed him, and decided to check the house before leaving. When I went into the guest bedroom where I’d left my overnight bag, I froze. My clothes, which I’d left neatly folded on the chair, were scattered across the floor. And my favorite hoodie was gone. I searched the room, under the bed, in the closet—nothing. Then I noticed the window. It was slightly open, even though I was sure I’d closed it the night before.
A chill ran down my spine. Had someone been in the house while I was there? Had they gone through my things? The thought made my stomach churn. I grabbed my bag, wrote a note for Lisa saying Max was fine but I had to leave early for a family emergency, and got out of there as fast as I could.
When Lisa came back, I told her everything was fine. I didn’t mention everything—I didn’t want her to worry, and I wasn’t even sure what had happened. Was it my imagination? Or had someone really been in the house?
To this day, I don’t know for sure. But I never pet sat again. The thought of being alone in someone else’s house, especially at night, was too much. That weekend taught me that sometimes, the simplest jobs can turn into nightmares you never forget.