Realwifestories Shona River Night Walk 17 File

“Don’t run,” Mark said again. But this time, his voice cracked.

We didn’t run. Runners are trackers, my father used to say. Instead, we walked fast, backs straight, refusing to look back even as the hair on my neck screamed to do so. We had walked this trail once before, during daylight, two summers ago. There was no bridge. But at 11:17 PM, we stumbled upon a wooden footbridge spanning a tributary creek. It was old—rotten planks, rope railings covered in moss. And on the far side of the bridge, a lantern. Identical to ours. realwifestories shona river night walk 17

I should have listened to the knot in my stomach. “Don’t run,” Mark said again

We reached a clearing I didn’t recognize. There was no bioluminescence. No glow. Just black water and the silhouette of what looked like a figure standing on the opposite bank. Runners are trackers, my father used to say

The river answered. And then the footsteps started again— toward us .

“Feel that?” I whispered.