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The original was posted on /r/truescarystories by /u/Sensitive-Edge-2698 on 2025-05-25 22:43:51+00:00.

This happened when I was 8. I lived in a very small village, more of a patch of houses really. Barely any people, the kind of place where everyone knows everyone. I don’t even know if it had a real name, but we just called it “The Ridge” cause of the tall hill near the east side.

My best friend back then was a girl named Emmie. We were both 8, maybe 9. We did everything together—biked, played in the woods, made little hideouts behind sheds. Summer lasted forever back then.

One day, the old lady who lived at the edge of town, Mrs. Telly, told us she was having her 80th birthday party that weekend. She was always kind, gave us little candies when we passed by. She said she needed two full pails of blueberries for her birthday pie and jam, and asked if we could go out and pick them.

We said yes right away. No hesitation. I remember feeling proud that she trusted us.

We went out after lunch with two rusty metal buckets and started picking in the fields near the old road. It was hot that day. Like sunburn-after-five-minutes hot. We picked for what felt like hours but barely filled half of one bucket. The bushes were all picked over, or the berries were shriveled and dry.

I was sweating through my shirt, and Emmie had tied hers around her waist. Her cheeks were bright red. We were about to give up and head back when we saw them.

Two men walking toward us from the side of the field. Not old, but not young either. Probably in their 20s. Both wearing button-up shirts, black pants, and sunglasses. In the middle of a heat wave.

One of them leaned down and smiled, said something like,

“What’re you kids up to out here?”

“Picking blueberries,” I said.

He nodded and crouched down next to us. His friend just stood behind him, not saying anything, just looking around like he was waiting.

“There’s a whole patch of 'em up over that hill,” he said, pointing behind him. “Really fat ones. Hardly anyone knows it’s there.”

Emmie was looking at me weird. She didn’t say anything, but I remember her hand tugging a little on my sleeve.

“We can show you, if you want,” the guy said.

“You’ll have your buckets full in no time.”

And for some dumb reason, I said yes.

I didn’t think about it. Didn’t wonder who they were. Didn’t ask why two grown men were walking through fields without any buckets or gear or anything. I just said yes. And we followed.

As we walked, Emmie stayed quiet. I kept trying to ask questions.

“Is it far?”

“Do you guys live here?”

“What’s your name?”

They gave vague answers like “you’ll see” or “almost there.”

The second guy still hadn’t said anything at all.

The grass got taller and the sun felt worse the higher we climbed. We couldn’t even see the village anymore. I remember my stomach started to feel weird. Not sick, just… off. Like a knot was forming.

Then Emmie leaned toward me and whispered in the softest voice I’ve ever heard:

“Something’s wrong with these guys. Run.”

I barely had time to process it before she bolted.

Full speed. Down the hill. Not even looking back. I dropped the bucket and ran after her.

I don’t even know if they chased us. I didn’t look. I just ran and ran like my life depended on it. The grass slapped my arms, my legs hurt, my chest was burning, but I didn’t stop.

We finally saw the village again. The tiny road. The roof of Mrs. Telly’s house.

We ran straight into her yard. She was sitting on her porch, sipping sweet tea. We tried to explain but were both breathing so hard we sounded insane.

She got us inside, locked the door, gave us water. When we finally calmed down, we told her everything. She didn’t say much. Just looked out the window for a long time.

The men were gone. Completely vanished. We never saw them again. No one in the village had ever seen them before.

Sometimes I think about what would’ve happened if Emmie hadn’t said anything. If she hadn’t ran. If we’d followed them another five minutes.

I still dream about their faces. That smile. The way they kept looking around like they were waiting for something.