I crouched down and looked more closely. In a small hollow in the ground lay a dense mass of tiny yellow balls, pressed tightly against each other, as if someone had deliberately hidden them there.

Now I could see clearly: they were moving slightly, as if the entire cluster were breathing. They were not toys, and they were not mushrooms. It was alive.

I sharply pulled Michael back. A terrifying thought flashed through my mind: if he had managed to touch them, everything could have ended very differently.

I remembered reading about insect egg clusters that, at the slightest disturbance, can release toxins or cause severe skin reactions.

We slowly backed away, not taking our eyes off that strange discovery. The silence of the park suddenly felt oppressive, as if nature itself were warning: not everything around you is safe, no matter how calm it seems.

Later, I learned that such yellow clusters are the eggs of a rare species of insects that are best left undisturbed. The realization came too late, but the most important thing was that we managed to leave in time.

Since then, I look at ordinary walks differently. Sometimes a nightmare begins exactly where you least expect it — right under your feet, among the grass and the earth.