One early evening when I was 15 I took my doddery little dog for a walk around the park. One area was a winding path around a large pool edged by dense, high rhododendrons, more secluded than I liked.
As I entered the path at one end of the pool, a man entered from the opposite end, and then we were walking towards each other.
The longest 20 seconds of my life. I knew. I knew, immediately. He stared, and he held that stare, walking towards me, never dropping his gaze, no matter how many times I looked away and glanced back.
I spent those 20 seconds arguing with myself.
You're being ridiculous.
It's just a walk.
It's not dark.
He's just a man.
Do I keep hearing directly towards him?
If I turn in the opposite direction I'll look ridiculous.
I wish my dog wasnt so old.
Or a sheltie.
Look brave.
Look confident.
Look carefree
Look breezy.
Don't look victimy.
Call your dog. Make sure he knows you have a dog.
It's fine.
You'll be past in a second.
Don't be such a scaredy cat.
Heart pounding. Highest of high alert. For no other reason than man walking, like me, in park, but staring and giving off pure malevolent, predatory vibe.
As we reached each other to pass, he stopped. He turned to me.
And he wordlessly reached up to my neck, taking hold of one end of the dog lead which I had dangling loosely around it like a scarf. And he started to pull the lead around my neck.
I instinctively grabbed the other end of the lead with my right hand and whipped it down, hard, shearing it out of his hand. He stood, hesitated a microsecond, then ran. He ran, fast away from me.
He was never caught, although I told the police what happened, with a decent description of him.
I've thought often that I might have been his first attempted victim, pure opportunism for an impulsive crime that he tried out but abandoned. That perhaps he went on to plan and execute crimes with more planning.
Years later I learned of a serial rapist in the region, who planned his attacks carefully. His mugshots gave me a similar fear sensation, the eyes.
We're animals. If we're lucky enough to have a preserved, visceral sense of danger, we should heed it, even if we doubt it or don't understand it.