My grandfather was a superstitious man. Any body ache meant rain was coming, and every new year he always included black-eyed peas and greens on his plate for good luck. As a child, he’d chastise me for playing while he swept the floor, saying if I don’t move, I’m gonna gain bad luck. On his deathbed, he asked to speak to me alone, claiming he needed to tell me something that he had dreamt the night before.

“You better run, boy, if you see a fox on your tail,” he uttered with all his strength.

I looked at him baffled because we lived in the city where things like foxes just weren’t around. I wrote it off as delirium, never thinking about it again until that strange day at the park. Every morning, when I run in the park, my earbuds are always at the loudest volume as I focus on keeping my legs moving. Almost every time I saw someone with a little dog, there was a bit of fear that swirled up inside of me, but only for a moment, as I was brought back to my grandfather’s words.

I am not a superstitious man. I don’t keep a Bible under my pillow to ward off witches. I don’t think a spider in my house means someone’s coming for a visit. I live my life always planning for the next day, never dwelling on past mistakes or taking preventive measures to ward off supernatural beings. In my eyes, there’s no such thing as bad luck, just a lack of access to a good opportunity, and with every step I take, I get closer to having a seat at the table.

“It’s good to be ambitious, boy, but don’t play with your luck. You never know when you gonna need it.” My grandpa once said to me when I was thirteen.

I was in his driveway, shooting hoops after coming back from the barber, where I got a fresh new fade. My grandfather was always getting on me about my hair. It was always, “You look ridiculous!” or “Why you letting it grow that long?”I remember always feeling like everything I did was a problem for him.

“I make my own luck, papa,” I replied, using a name for him I hadn’t used since I was seven.

I stopped using it after feeling embarrassed when my friends overheard me call him that as I thanked him for the bike he gifted me over the phone. They laughed and said it was weird because they just called their grandfather's grandpa. After I stopped using it, my mom got on me, saying I’m “always letting others define how I be,”which is ridiculous. It was just normal kid embarrassment that has nothing to do with who I am as a person.

“You gonna wish you listened to me one of these days, boy.”

I had to hold back a snort as I continued to shoot hoops.

On the strange day at the park, I took a break near a bench, bringing the water bottle in my pocket now hot from the heat to my lips. I take a long sip as I look around the park. An officer was lingering nearby, so I immediately put my bottle back in my pocket, and get back to running. As I run, I press my earbuds to pause my music and make sure I’m aware of my surroundings. A strange sound is near by me, almost sounding like the pitter-pattering of feet. I look behind me to see a fox trailing me.

I stumble over my feet and hit the pavement hard as I put my arms out to lessen the pain from my fall. The palms of my hands sting with pain and I’m sure I’m bleeding. I look around baffled, thinking the fox trailing me was some kind of hallucination, but then I see them. It's to my side now, waving its tail, its nose held up as it looks at me like I don’t belong here.

I close my eyes, counting to ten and the fox is still there.

“I’ve never seen you around here before,” the fox says, his eyes narrowing.

“Are you…am I…” I mumble, on the verge of losing my mind.

Or is my mind already gone?

“Are you here to make trouble?” The fox says, walking around me like I was the predator in this situation.

“No, sir, uh, fox, sir?” I say, standing up with a wobble. “Just running.”

“Where are you running to?”

"Uh, just for a run, no real destination just yet.”

“There’s a rabbit around here that matches your description,” the fox says, looking me over in a way that makes me shift under his gaze.

“I’m not a rabbit! I’m a person,” I say, baffled.

“What’s that on your hands?”

“Blood…” I say, wiping my hands on my pants, then clarify my statement. “My blood.”

“Mmm, your blood,” the fox repeats, not believing a word I’m saying.

“Yes, my blood. I just cut myself on the pavement just now.” I showcase my cuts but the fox looks at my hands as if I’m lying.

"Sure, you did,” the fox says, then sneers at me. “Keep those hands up.”

“What?” I say this as the fox snarls his teeth at me, ready to bite.

“You heard me, keep those hands up, rabbit.”

“S-Stop calling me that,” I say, getting angry.

“You threatening me?” The fox says, his tail swaying as he gets closer.

“What, no?!”

“I don’t like your tone.” The fox says this as he bares his teeth even more, looking ready to pounce.

“Look, I’m not looking for trouble. I’m just on a run and I...”

“Shut up, rabbit,” the fox says with a growl, his teeth appearing sharper and larger somehow.

I back up into a tree, a kite string hitting my face. I look up and see that the kite is a beautiful ruby red. I push the kite string off me and it swings as I turn my attention back to the fox. I take a deep breath and try to calm myself.

“Look, I have proof that there’s no reason to be suspicious of me at all…” I say, then reach into my pocket to grab my phone.

The fox attacks me, biting into my stomach. My blood turns his snout ruby red, the same color as the kite stuck in the tree. I think of my grandfather’s warning all those years ago as I fight to live. When I saw that fox, I should’ve ran. I should have known that meeting them would lead to something like this.