There’s a certain feeling you get when you suddenly realize you have gone into a situation unprepared.

Like when you go to give a speech in front of a room full of people, and you don’t have your notecards. Or when you go on a road trip with the baby and realize, after you are hours away from home, that you forgot the baby’s bag.

When you follow your dog outside chasing a scary creature, and you don’t have your phone, a flashlight, or a weapon.

It starts in your stomach, then goes to your head, then your legs, and finally your arms. You feel like you are sinking down through a hole in the ground butt-first.

The dog looks left, then right. The sun isn’t out yet. It’s so dark, every dark spot is a threat.

I decide to trust the dog’s natural instincts, and the dog goes left. I follow the dog to the left. We peek around the left side of the house, and the dog looks, sniffs the air, and turns quickly away and goes to the right.

The dog gets to the right corner of the house before me and stops. He starts to growl.

I rush over and look. In the corner by the fence, there is a large, dark lump. It looks like a person squatting. Slowly, it starts to rise and laugh. The dog moves in front of me and begins to bark. The figure continues to rise to its full height, laughing that terrible laugh as he stands.

He looks at me and says, “Peek-a-boo,” then disappears.