I experienced what I can only imagine as an otherworldly occurrence when I moved to the Sierra Nevada's about four years ago.

I've been living in the South Lake Tahoe area of California for many years and spent a decent amount of time in the outdoors hiking, camping, and generally enjoying the beautiful place I was

lucky enough to call home. Now I don't get scared quickly. I'm used to being by myself,

and I carry weapons everywhere I go. Being a 52 and 110 pounds female, I go out of my way

to ensure I can protect myself. Many people in the outdoor community

told me about being careful on the trails in the forest. I usually do these things alone, save for my

trustworthy, though somewhat cowardly dog. But I had never felt as uncomfortable, confused, and

downright afraid,

as I did in my apartment one night when I finally relocated away from Tahoe to Reno, Nevada.

I had moved to Reno to escape the isolation of living in Lake Tahoe,

and though it is only about 60 miles away, it felt like a whole different world.

Now the city itself isn't necessarily huge,

and I was living in the north end of town,

surrounded by high desert foothills and somewhat sparsely populated

compared to more of the urban city center.

Still, I never felt like I was out in the boonies or anything.

I lived alone with my dog, and we liked our little apartment.

So to set the scene here, it was early fall, and the sun was beginning to set at a much earlier time of day,

which was exemplified by the fact that the city sits in a valley, so sunset seems to approach much faster than in other places in northern Nevada. My apartment sat just in the middle of the city sits in a valley, so sunset seems to approach much faster than in other places in

northern Nevada. My apartment sat just above street level, with a window in the kitchen next to my

stacked washer and dryer that looked out into an alley, maybe about 10 feet above the small street

beside the small fourplex building. It was dark outside, and I was alone with my dog doing laundry.

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