While browsing local job listings last week, I came across an interesting position: NIGHTSHIFT GROUNDSKEEPER. The listing had been posted by a golf course about ten minutes from where I live. At first, I showed my wife and laughed. Why does a golf course even need nighttime security? All I could picture were rich old guys so uptight they needed someone guarding their precious grass all night.

But the pay was good, especially considering the description. The hours were 11 PM to 6AM, and the pay was listed at $30 an hour. At first I thought it had to be a mistake. That was well above the average starting pay in my town. But after responding to the listing, I found out it was completely accurate.

I should’ve known something was off when the owner requested we meet for the interview at 10 PM. Then again, if they were hiring for a night shift position, maybe he was covering the job himself. It made sense at the time.

Mr. Wells was nice enough. He looked to be in his late fifties, though those years hadn’t been kind to him. Nothing against the guy, he just looked exhausted. The collared shirt he was wearing looked like it hadn’t been washed in months. He was drenched in sweat, and in the right lighting, I swear it looked like there were ketchup stains dried into the corners of his mouth.

Again, nothing wrong with that. If the man had been working long hours, I understood. I’ve been there myself. It just wasn’t what I expected. Then again, the course itself wasn’t what I expected either.

It was a small nine-hole course about fifteen minutes from the nearest town. Mr. Wells explained that the original plan had been to expand the property and eventually build a neighborhood around it, but the land was technically marshland. No housing could legally be built there because of the risk of flooding or the entire place sinking after a bad hurricane.

So for now, it was just a dingy little nine-hole course with one maintenance shed and three ponds full of largemouth bass.

Apparently, they’d been having problems with people sneaking onto the property after hours to fish in the ponds or dive for lost golf balls to resell. I couldn’t imagine there were enough golf balls out there to make it worth the effort. The whole place felt pretty much abandoned.

My job was simple: stop that from happening.

According to Mr. Wells, there were cameras scattered across the grounds, but the system was ancient. The footage lagged, froze, and sometimes skipped entire minutes at a time. So instead of relying on the cameras, he wanted me to drive around the course all night making rounds in a golf cart.

Seemed easy enough.

Arrive at the maintenance shed at 11 PM, fuel up the cart, and patrol the property until 6AM.

If I saw anyone on the grounds, I was supposed to ask them to leave. Mr. Wells’ exact words were: “Don’t be a hero. Ask them to leave and go about your business. If they’re still there when you circle back around, call the police.”

In all his years running the course, he claimed he’d only had to call 911 once, and that was because of a pair of drunk teenagers looking for privacy.

I told him I could start immediately, and without hesitation, he handed me the key to the front gate. He didn't ask for a background check, no formal application, he just handed me the key. 

That should’ve been another red flag, but I wasn’t about to question the dude willing to pay me thirty dollars an hour to ride circles around a golf course all night.

First Night

I pulled up to the gate at 10:56 PM. It was chained shut with an old rusted padlock that refused to open no matter which way I turned the key. After a few tries, it finally came loose. I drove my truck through the gate and locked it behind me.

When I arrived at the maintenance shed, there was a note taped to the door.

The first sentence was written in huge letters:

ANDREW, DO NOT STEP FOOT INTO THE PONDS.

Underneath, in smaller handwriting :

“We are treating them with chemicals that, while not dangerous, should not directly contact human skin.”
— Mr. Wells

Fair enough. I’d seen ponds being treated before. I won't pretend to know much about the chemicals, but I’d definitely seen the bright blue dye before, and I wasn’t taking any chances.

So I went around back, fueled up the cart, and started the ignition.

Before pulling out of the wooded maintenance area and onto the paved cart path, I checked the tools on my belt. Mr. Wells never specified what I should bring, so I used my own judgment.

I brought a large flashlight, pepper spray, a multitool, and a second smaller flashlight because, well… you never know.

I patted around my belt, making sure everything was there.

Time to start the rounds.

The maintenance shed sat tucked away in the treeline on the western side of the course. A small pond rested about fifty feet from the building, with the cart path crossing over it on a narrow wooden bridge.

The other two ponds were farther north. The largest sat almost directly in the center of the course, while the last one was on the eastern edge, behind a wall of trees. The easternmost pond wasn’t directly accessible by cart, but there was a concrete storm drain cutting through the bushes that could be used as a walkway if someone really needed to get down there.

The first part of the night was uneventful.

I started near the first pond and followed the path north, stopping every so often to shine my flashlight across the water. There were no signs of anyone on the property, save a few squirrels and the ever present crickets and bullfrogs. Out here in the quiet, they were louder than I ever imagined they could be.

It was almost peaceful for a while. Sitting beneath the stars, surrounded by the sounds of nature.

Then suddenly, everything went silent.

No crickets. No frogs. Not even the faint buzz of mosquitoes. It felt like the moment the power goes out in a crowded house. The audible sound of everything shutting down.

I pulled out my flashlight and shined it into the woods to my left. Nothing.

Then farther down the path ahead of me, past where the cart’s headlights reached. Still nothing.

Finally, I turned the flashlight toward the largest pond on my right.

The second the beam touched the water, I heard it.

A faint slapping sound somewhere behind me in the distance.

At first, it was too far away to understand, so I turned around and pointed the flashlight down the cart path behind me.

Nothing was there.

But the sound was getting louder and faster now. My heart began to race.

“Hello?” I shouted. “Nobody’s supposed to be out here. I don’t want to have to call the police!”

I put the cart into drive and pressed the pedal as hard as I could, but the sound was still getting closer.

Close enough now that I could finally make it out.

Bare feet. 

Wet bare feet. Dozens of them.

Dozens of wet, bare feet slapping against pavement. 

Even over the hum of the golf cart speeding down the trail, I could still hear them behind me. They were chasing me.

And they were gaining on me.

I decided at that moment to get back to my truck as fast as I could. The cart path circled around the largest pond before heading back toward the maintenance shed where I had parked, so I was forced to take the long way around.

I made it about halfway around the pond when the footsteps suddenly stopped.

It was instant. Like whatever or whoever was chasing me had frozen dead in their tracks.

Then…splash.

Not the kind of splash a fish makes. Not even an alligator. This sounded like someone had dropped a full-sized minivan straight into the center of the pond. What the fuck could possibly splash that loud?

I slowed down, debating whether I should just keep moving and get the fuck out of there. But curiosity got the best of me. I had to look.

I turned and shone my flashlight over the water.

Nothing.

The pond was completely still. But I swear it looked like the water had risen at least two feet. 

Then, as if a switch had been flipped, the night came back to life. Crickets chirped. Frogs croaked. I could hear squirrels and insects buzzing all around me. Fireflies danced in the trees. Even the moonlight seemed brighter.

When I finally made it back to the maintenance shed, I rushed inside and locked the door behind me. I grabbed my phone to call my wife. I was ready to tell her I quit. Ready to tell her everything that had just happened to me.

But then I saw the photo on my lock screen.

Her hand rested on her pregnant belly. In that moment, I remembered why I took this job in the first place.

I couldn’t do this to them.

There are only so many jobs in a town this small, and this one pays too well to walk away from. Once the baby arrives, we'll need all the specialists we can find. How will i pay for that? I have to do this. For them.

So instead, I sat down at the rickety desk beneath the security monitors. I turned on every screen and watched that pond for the rest of the night.

For the next three hours, I watched that pond like a hawk. If something came crawling out of that pond, I was going to see it.

But nothing did.

The rest of the night passed in complete silence. No movement in or around the water.

As the sun finally started to rise, I felt myself begin to relax. For the first time in hours, I felt like I was safe to breathe again.

I decided I had to tell Mr. Wells what happened.

It was 5:55 when he pulled through the gate.

I shut off the security monitors and walked outside to meet him.

“Hey there,” he said with a smile. “How was your first night?”

I told him everything. The footsteps chasing me along the path. The massive splash in the pond. How high the water had gotten. Every detail.

He didn’t seem surprised. If anything, he seemed annoyed.

“Hm,” he said with a sigh. “You know, sometimes things sound worse in the dark than they really are. An ant sounds like a rabbit, and a rabbit sounds like a bear. You sure it wasn’t just the jitters?”

The jitters? 

If it weren’t for my wife and daughter, I would’ve driven away from that place right then and never looked back. But I can't. I have to stay. For them.

The pay is just too good, and my family needs me.

So I nodded along and told Mr. Wells he was right. Maybe I’d gotten spooked and confused. But there's no doubt in my mind.

Something chased me along that cart path.

Something jumped into that pond.

And whatever that something was, it didn't come back out.

“It gets easier with time son. You get used to being out here in the dark, you'll see. Be back tomorrow at the same time. I'll make the first round with you.”