I walk on the Castleton Rail Trail every day, with my noise-canceling headphones on and some kind of music or podcast blasting through them.

I’m so disconnected from the world around me that the only thing that snaps me back to reality is when a runner jogs by. Unable to hear them approach, I practically jump in the air as they pass by me.

As parodical as it sounds, I’ve mastered the art of being both completely oblivious and deeply paranoid.

 Most of the time, I’m lost in my own world, but that undercurrent of paranoia is always there, like a quiet hum in the back of my mind. So, when I saw a man standing dead still behind me in the middle of the trail, dressed head-to-toe in black, my heart dropped.

 For a split second, fear gripped me. But then, I brushed it off, because this unwarranted fear is something I feel frequently.

I picked up the pace a little, just to put my mind at ease. As I rounded a curve, I did a double take, turning back to check if he was still there. But when I looked over my shoulder, he was gone. 

Just like that. 

No footsteps, no noise, nothing. 

Vanished. 

Was he ever really there? Or was it just my mind playing tricks on me?

I’ve accepted that I get anxious for no reason. It’s just who I am—a little paranoid, a little too quick to assume the worst. I’ll often see someone far behind me and pick up my pace, even if they’re not doing anything remotely threatening. 

That day was no different. I called my mom, as I often do, so I could finish my walk in peace. It was no big deal, and I knew that. 

The next day came, and I went to a meeting for The Castleton Spartan Newspaper. We were brainstorming topics for the next edition, and I pitched an article I’d been working on about my love for the Castleton Rail Trail. 

I talked about how I felt the trail, and the forest in general, were misunderstood, especially in light of the tragedy that had happened there last year. I’ve always thought that fear of the trail was misplaced—I wasn’t scared of it, not really.

After I finished my spiel, our advisor, David Blow, asked if I’d seen the email alert from Public Safety about a suspicious person reported on the trail that same night. I hadn’t. 

Curious, I opened the email.

It read: “Public Safety received a report of a suspicious person on the Rail Trail. The only description provided was an individual dressed in all black clothing with a black cap.”

It was the exact description of the man I’d seen. And, I wasn’t the only one who had noticed him.

Other people had seen him too, and they had found him suspicious enough to report to Public Safety. I thought, maybe my paranoia didn’t feel so irrational after all.

Even with that strange encounter, I still walk the trail every day. I still believe it’s misunderstood and deserves more credit than it gets. The forest, with all its quiet beauty and wildness, doesn’t deserve to be feared just because of one tragic event. 

And yet, I still carry a sense of unease with me—a feeling that maybe paranoia is part of the human condition, a natural response to the unknown.

The man in black, the one who vanished from the trail without a sound, serves as a reminder of the thin line between fear and reality. 

Sometimes, it’s hard to know what to trust: our instincts, our paranoia, or the world around us. 

But one thing’s for sure; the trail, the forest, and even just the shadows deserve more than just our suspicion.

– Emily Ely