I kept seeing someone walking a dog that was supposed to be missing.

A few years ago, I lived in a quiet town where nothing much really ever happened. I worked at a local retail store, went out to a nearby bar to see my friends most evenings, and walked home the same way every night.

Then one night I spotted a poster taped to a lamppost at the end of the road.

The photo of a small, fluffy white dog on it caught my attention, and I stopped to take a closer look.

It looked like a bichon or something similar, with big dark eyes and clean fur.

One of its ears didn’t sit quite right – slightly folded, like it had healed that way, and its lower teeth poked out just slightly.

LOST DOG – BISCUIT

Microchipped, no collar. Friendly, but please approach cautiously. He is afraid of men and loud sounds. If found, please call:

A number at the bottom.

By the end of the week, I saw many more of the same posters on lampposts down my street and the ones next to it. Whoever owned Biscuit clearly cared a lot. Having lost our family’s golden retriever a few years ago, I couldn’t help but feel for them.

I was walking home from the bar and had just passed the local corner shop when I spotted her.

A middle aged woman, walking slowly down the opposite side of the street.

She wore a long dark navy trench coat. Her hair was tucked in her collar, and she wore sunglasses, even though it was dark out.

Walking beside her was that dog.

Same fluffy coat. Folded ear. Lower teeth poking out slightly with its mouth closed.

I blinked and glanced back as she kept walking. I debated following, but as she proceeded further down the street and out of view, I told myself I probably saw wrong and went home. After all, it was almost midnight, and I only saw the dog clearly for a moment under a street lamp.

But the uneasy feeling persisted.

A few nights later, I was walking down the same street when I stopped and did a double take.

It was the same woman walking the dog as I passed the corner store. I stopped in my tracks and took a proper look this time.

The dog was Biscuit, I was absolutely sure of it.

“Hey,” I called out, but she didn’t respond. Just kept walking with her head slightly down, leash loose in her hand.

I called the number as soon as I got inside, and it rang twice before a man answered.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” I said quickly. “I think I might’ve just seen your dog.”

There was a pause.

“Oh my god, are you serious?”

The relief in his voice was immediate.

“Yeah, I think I saw a woman was walking him about half an hour ago. Looked exactly like the one in the photo.”

Another pause.

“Someone else called and told me that a few days ago too,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Was it near a corner shop?”

Something about the way he said it made my stomach drop.

“Yeah,” I said. “Just past it.”

“Okay, okay… and did anyone else see her there?”

“No, it was just me. I called out to her but she kept on walking like she didn’t hear me.”

I could hear him thinking.

“God, that’s suspicious. You walk past that place often?”

“Couldn’t agree more. And yeah, I walk past that shop most nights when I go home from the bar. I take the bus from there to Church road and walk past it on the way back.”

“Alright, I’ll be on the lookout in that area. If you see her again, do not approach her. Just drop me a text ASAP telling me where you saw her and where you think she’s headed, if you don’t mind. I’d appreciate that.”

“Of course.”

“Thanks for calling. The police are crap with this sort of thing.”

“Yeah, I believe that,” I sighed.

He exhaled shakily.

“Name’s Matt, by the way. And you are?”

“Sarah,” I replied.

“Well, thanks Sarah, this is a huge help. Can’t thank you enough. I can’t promise a huge cash reward but if I can just help me get him back, I’ll do anything I can to repay you.”

“No no, honestly Matt, it’s fine. Glad to help.”

When I hung up, I remember feeling good, like I’d done something kind.

I saw her again a few nights later.

I’d just gotten off the bus outside the library coming home from the bar, the streetlights casting that dull orange glow over everything. I crossed the road, hands tucked into my coat, already thinking about getting home.

Then I froze.

Across the street, moving slowly past the row of parked cars was the woman in the trench coat, walking Biscuit again.

For a second, I just stood there, watching. Then I fumbled my phone out of my pocket and typed quickly.

Just saw her again. Outside the library. Heading east towards Waverly.

I hit send.

I hesitated… then started walking as I kept my eyes on her.

Slowly at first, keeping a good distance. She didn’t look back, just kept walking at that same steady pace, holding the leash.

I typed again as I followed.

She’s just turned onto Maple. Still heading down.

No reply from Matt yet.

I followed discreetly for a minute or two. I kept well back, my footsteps quiet against the pavement, my eyes fixed on her, trying not to lose sight of Biscuit.

She turned down a road, then again down another a few moments later – a narrow road I no longer recognized.

And then she slipped into an alleyway.

It was long and dark, running between two rows of buildings, barely lit except for a flickering light at the far end. She didn’t hesitate, just walked straight into it.

I approached its entrance.

She’s gone into an alley off Maple. I’m right behind her.

I pressed ‘send’ and stepped in cautiously.

My footsteps echoed faintly as I moved forward, and my eyes adjusted to the dim light. I could still see her, further ahead now, her silhouette stretched long against the wall.

She kept walking, but she was speeding up now. I took a few quicker steps, my heart starting to pound, but it wasn’t long before she disappeared into the darkness.

“Dammit,” I muttered to myself.

I stood there for a few seconds, breathing unevenly, listening, then looked down at my phone.

Still no reply from Matt.

I swallowed, suddenly very aware of how alone I was, deep in the alleyway. Hoping Matt would see the texts in time to do something about it, I put the phone back in my pocket and turned to leave.

That’s when something grabbed me from behind.

An arm wrapped around my upper body, yanking me backwards before I could even react. Another hand clamped over my mouth, cutting off the scream that tore out of me.

Panic exploded through me as I thrashed, kicking, trying to wrench free, but the grip tightened instantly – strong and controlled around me. I tried to scream again, but it came out muffled against the hand as I was dragged towards a van parked further down the alley.

My phone slipped in my grip slightly, then suddenly, light.

The torch had switched on, bright and blinding.

I didn’t think – just twisted my wrist and shoved it back toward the attacker’s face. The beam hit him directly.

He flinched just enough for his grip to loosen. I elbowed him as hard as I could in the side and tore free.

My feet pounded against the concrete as I sprinted down the alley, my breath coming in sharp, panicked bursts and sobs. I didn’t look back, I just ran as fast as I could.

When I reached the end, I finally glanced over my shoulder.

Nothing. The alley behind me was empty, like it had never happened.

I didn’t stop running until I got home. Slamming the door behind me, I locked it with shaking hands, my chest heaving as I pressed my back against it.

Then I sank to the floor, tears streaming down my face as I called the police.

I gave them the details they asked for, and when I hung up, I checked my phone, scrolling up my notifications.

Absolutely nothing from Matt.

By blood ran cold when I saw the article a week later.

“Lost Dog” Posters Linked to Attempted Abductions

Police in Oregon are issuing a public warning following a call from a woman connected to fake “lost dog” posters.

Investigators believe the posters, featuring a small white dog and a contact number, were used to identify and target individuals in specific neighborhoods. A similar incident was previously reported by a young woman in Colorado, prompting concerns that the method was used across multiple states.

Police are advising residents: do not call numbers listed on unofficial posters, do not follow associated individuals, and report suspicious activity directly to authorities.

I stared at the screen as everything began to fall into place.

Only people living in my area would’ve seen those posters in the first place. A predictable radius.

Then the woman – she was placed, walking the same route, at the same time every night. Only people out that late would notice, and she was dressed suspiciously… conspicuously enough to be noticed.

Out of those people, only some were out late predictably enough to see her more than once to be sure. Predictably enough that no one would report them missing for hours.

And out of those, only some would care enough to call.

People who liked dogs, and felt bad. People who were easy.

And then… it was just a case of picking out the voices belonging to young women, his target of choice.

“Did anyone else see her there?”

At the time, it sounded normal, but it wasn’t a question. It was a filter.

Were you walking alone late at night?

Not only had I answered, I told him everything. Where I usually walked, and where I’d seen her. I thought I was just being helpful.

While he was mapping the route I took home, so he could place her along it, where I’d be sure to find her.

“Just drop me a text ASAP telling me where you saw her…”

Live updates. Real time tracking.

“… and where you think she’s headed.”

Of course.

Of course I followed her.

Not too far, just enough to step exactly where he needed me in the middle of that dark alley.

I had wondered that night how there were hands on me out of nowhere, like he’d been standing there the whole time. Waiting.

It was because he knew exactly where I was, and exactly where I’d be.

There could’ve been no victim more perfect, and his system had been designed to select it.

Thousands of people had walked by those posters, possibly hundreds caring enough to stop and notice. Maybe a dozen of those called. Then they were crossed off one by one, until there was only one left. I slowly lowered my phone, my fingers trembling.

While I was looking for his “lost” dog…

He had already found me.