When I was young my parents owned a couple of airstream trailers that were set up near the Sequoia National Forest. I don't know if that mountain community had a name, I never noticed. There were four or five blocks of houses, big rambling blocks up steep streets.
On the edge of one of these blocks was a brand new cabin being built. It was owned by our neighbors in Valley Acres (where we lived at the time). My cousin Jill and I thought they might be home and would give us a tour. So we walked over there.
The cabin was built on the edge of the side of the mountain so that the back of the house faced the road and the front overlooked the mountains. There was a big wrap around porch. We walked to the front of the house and knocked. No answer, there was a truck in the driveway so we knocked again. No answer. We walked to the driveway and there was a big pile of gravel. So we sat down and started tossing bits of gravel at a for sale sign on the next lot.
I don't know why we were sitting there, if we thought they would be home soon and wanted to wait or if we had nothing better to do. We sat there for a good fifteen minutes and all of a sudden we hear the front door open and slam shut. Then we hear heavy boots clomping across the deck. So we think someone has been home and just didn't hear us knocking.
We get up about the time the clomping boots turn the corner. Only there's no one there. And that clomping is coming towards us. So we bolt, I realize Jill is not next to me and I turn she's running in place and screaming that it's got her. I grabbed her arm and yanked. Whatever it was let go and we ran home.
We never went anywhere near that cabin again.