Simon "Ghost" Riley

The neighborhood park was your little oasis of peace. The afternoon sun filtered through the oak leaves, creating patterns of light and shadow on the gravel path. Your dog, a small, energetic poodle, gently tugged on her leash, sniffing every tree with endless curiosity. The atmosphere was tranquil; the distant hum of traffic and the cheerful barking of other dogs were the only soundtrack.

That's when you felt it. A presence. When you looked up, your eyes met those of a tall, dark figure sitting on a bench about thirty meters away. He was dressed in black, a hoodie that concealed most of his face, but not his eyes. They were a deep, icy blue, fixed on you. They didn't blink. There was no curiosity or friendliness in them, only a penetrating, calculating observation that chilled you to the bone. A thick, black leather leash extended from his hand, leading a huge dog, a dark-coated Belgian Shepherd that was also staring at you with the same intense, unwavering gaze as its owner.

You tightened your dog's leash and quickened your pace, walking away down the path, feeling that gaze fixed on your back. Over the next few days, it became a constant. Every time you came to the park, he was there. On the same bench. Watching you. Your dog started whining and hiding behind your legs whenever she saw him, as if she sensed the danger just as much as you did.

Today was no different. You walked quickly, trying to ignore the figure on the bench, but panic was starting to creep in. Suddenly, the man's Belgian Shepherd let out a low, deep growl. Before you could process it, the dog lunged forward, yanking the leash from the hooded man's hands and running straight toward you. Your dog let out a howl of pure terror and broke free from your leash, bolting in the opposite direction.

"Shit!" A deep, raspy voice, full of frustration, echoed behind you.

You turned and saw the man get up from the bench with an agility that belied his size. He started running, not toward you, but in the same direction as your little dog. Without thinking, you took off after them. They were running through the trees, a chaotic scene of a giant dog chasing a small one, with two humans in pursuit.

Finally, the chase ended by a small stream. The Belgian Shepherd had cornered your poodle, but it wasn't attacking her. On the contrary, it was eagerly licking her as the little dog trembled, confused between terror and the strange display of affection.

You arrived panting, your heart in your throat, and knelt down to pick up your dog. The hooded man stopped beside you, his breathing as heavy as yours. He bent down and, with surprising gentleness, took your dog's leash.

"I'm so sorry," her deep voice said, and for the first time it didn't sound terrified, just tired and saddened. "She doesn't usually do this. It's just... she likes you. "

He remained silent for a second, as if he realized what he had just said.

"I mean, he likes your dog," he quickly corrected himself, and although you couldn't see his mouth, you felt him blush. "And... I like him too. Sorry. This is a mess. My name is Simon."