Many people experience things in their youth that haunt them until the afflicted man or woman finally comes to pass. Often they are soldiers, first responders, or blue collar workers that witness terrible accidents or crimes during work. Sometimes they are children, a girl who lost her father too soon or a boy forced to shoulder great responsibility from a young age. Perhaps they witnessed a great tragedy or an unstoppable force of nature. These things are grizzly in their own right, true as they are awful. Those who suffer from the supernatural are not so known, however. Those who suffer from the supernatural often do not reveal their plight, and often when they do, they are heckled and berated, taken less seriously than anybody else. I too have heckled a poor individual with supernatural claims or a person I thought crazy for seeing ghosts or spirits. For a long time I thought them all to be liars and fakes, simply bored people who touted false messages to serve some narrative. This belief came to pass when I was seventeen years old, and I experienced a great tragedy of my own, staining my life with a dark shadow that has never truly left.
I knew Kender was a small town, even as a child. Until I was nine I lived in Detroit, a city that my mother hated. It was easy for me to understand this even in my young age, as my mother spared no breath in yelling this to my father mere minutes after I was sent to bed. We had thin walls in that house. On more than one occasion either one of my parents would come into my room with talk of moving, though they never talked about it together with me. As an adult, I now know why.
At first I quite disliked the idea of moving, but as the wedge between my parents sunk deeper, I came around to the idea. As a kid you don't really understand what moving means for your life or future, but it was after a particularly hot summer that my mother came home one day and filled her car with both my things and hers. She asked if I was ready to move away from Detroit.
By the end of that week I was in an entirely new town, somewhere vastly different than the bustling city I knew. It was a small town called Kender, and if you ever have been to South Dakota you might know that it was tiny even by midwestern standards. For example, when I was a freshman in high school my graduating class was only about fifty, and my graduating class was smaller than that, being around only thirty students. The town itself was greatly aware of its small size, and tried very hard to grow during the time I lived there. There were plenty of local clubs and organizations, and often the churches would donate money in order to construct stores or other businesses. Our only floral shop had been built by the baptists next door, and was sold to the florist at a very modest price. In a big city elementary schools are often multiple floors with dozens of classrooms for each grade, with a great playground out back and an expansive parking lot out front. Even if this was not the case for every school, there was bound to be one mere streets away that was like this. In Kender however, this was not (and still is not) the case.
The only elementary school anywhere near the town was a small single story building that smelled of dust and mildew. The building itself was super old, and though it is hard to remember, I think there were only three classrooms for each grade, so about twenty in the whole school. This bothered me when I was young as I was rather studious as a boy. I figured that this school could not possibly compare to my other school, and I was worried that I wouldn't like my new teacher. Then came the matter of friends. I wasn't sure I’d find anybody willing to be friends with me, so throughout my first day in Kender I kept to myself, electing to be the shy new kid, hoping someone would come to talk to me. That day I had a few people ask where I was from or what I liked, but it still felt awkward. I was in a new town, and I had just left the only life I’d ever known in Detroit.
It was later that day that I took my things from my cubby and walked outside to see about a half dozen big yellow schoolbusses parked in the lot. I found the one my mother had told me to take and stepped aboard past the driver, a large man with a beard named Mister Wick. He eyed me in the mirror that views the aisle as I walked past dozens of seats already filled. Unfamiliar faces looked at me as I walked, though nearly every seat already had two passengers. I reached the end of the bus without finding somewhere to sit, and Mister Wick gave me an annoyed expression from where he sat.
Just as I thought the driver would yell at me to sit down, a boy with tanned skin and a green button up scooted over in his seat. “Hey, come on!” He said as he patted the seat next to him.
Relieved, I sat next to him, but tried not to sit too close. I guessed we were the same age but in different classes, based on his size. “Thanks.” I said quietly, happy to have found a seat, but feeling awkward this close to a stranger.
“My name’s Hugh, what's yours?” He asked.
“Nick.”
For the remainder of that ride Hugh seemed to sense my apprehension and allowed me to keep my space. That remained until we reached the stop at the end of a long dirt road that eventually led to my house, and both of us stood from our seats. I didn't think anything of it, and started the walk to my new home, but Hugh trailed behind me for some time.
“Are you new here?” He asked from behind.
“Yeah.”
“Thats cool. We never get new kids here. I was new too, but that was two years ago.” He said.
Curious, I turned to look at him “Where did you live before you moved?” I asked.
“This place called Nome. It's in Alaska.” I had only heard of Alaska one other time, and I imagined Hugh going to school and reading books in an igloo, something which a childish me thought was common.
“Thats cool.” I said, trying to seem cool myself. “I’m from Detroit, it's this really big city.”
“I’ve never been to a big city before.” Said Hugh.
We continued to walk for some time, talking about childish interests and telling stories from our old schools. That was until we reached a four way junction in the road, and I knew to turn left. I hoped Hugh would too, but he turned right. This however is not the last I would see of the boy, and that was the start of our years long friendship.
For the next few years Hugh and I ate lunch together, played at recess together, and the years that we were lucky enough to be in the same class we studied together too. On many occasions I found myself at his house, which my mother appreciated since she often had to travel for work, often for long periods at a time. When I was in sixth grade I asked my mother if I could start playing hockey, which she allowed only after I explained that Hugh’s mother offered to drive me to and from practice, which Hugh also attended. During my years following my move to Kender I became very close with Hugh’s family, especially his older brother Scotty.
Missus and Mister Jacobs had three kids, all boys. The oldest was Scotty, and Hugh was the middle child, but they had a younger son named Tuck, whom I didn't interact with much until high school. His mother Vera was nice, though even as a kid I thought she was rather odd. Once she gave me a thorny stick called devil’s club and told me to put it above my front door to prevent bad spirits from coming in. When I came home that day my mother obliged, but promptly suggested that Vera was a nut. One Christmas Vera gave my mother a gift, but when she opened it there were a half dozen dried fishtails and instructions to hang them above doors and windows. My mother refused but never told Vera, and I was okay with this because I thought they smelled weird.
Odd as she was, I certainly preferred Vera over Hugh’s dad Petey who was reserved but very strict. On most days he would spend hours on end in his workshop, only leaving to lecture us kids on what was allowed and what wasn't, never forgetting to rudely eye me as if he thought I was some sort of rulebreaker. We were never allowed in his shop without supervision, but that was likely due to the many machines and tools that lay strewn about. Us boys didn't mind, as we figured all the shop was good for anyway was sharpening skates and gluing old sticks back together.
We were never allowed in the attic either per Petey’s instructions, though I sensed Vera enforced this rule too. Hugh and I never minded though, as Tuck and Scotty went up there once and came back down saying it was used only for storage. Even though Tuck was two years younger than me, Scotty was two years older, and this made his word reliable. The attic was a rare object of thought in my mind, as the many abandoned buildings and structures around town offered much more adventure.
One day in the late summer when I had freshly turned seventeen, Hugh and I were alone at his house, something which didn't happen often. From what I remember, Vera and Petey had taken Tuck to the town over for a doctor’s appointment, and Scotty had gone to spend the night at his girlfriend’s house. We did what little homework we had and made some food that wasn't great, but after a half hour of boredom Hugh suggested something I hadn't expected.
“You wanna see what's in the attic?” He asked.
I took a moment to answer. This caught me off guard. “I thought your dad hid the key.” I answered, hoping to divert the conversation.
He shrugged. “Yeah, but Tuck found it the other day when he was looking for a spare cord for the super nintendo.”
I sighed. Though I was curious to see what was in the attic I was conflicted about breaking the rules Petey had clearly defined so many times. “Fine, but just for a few minutes.” I said.
Hugh got up from the couch and walked into his kitchen. After a few minutes he returned with a bronze key in his hand, smiling as he made his way down the hall with me in tow. I never considered before why it was that we weren't allowed in the attic, but when I thought about it I couldn't find any believable reason why. If it was simply for storage, why was Petey so stern in his ruling? I shook my head, figuring my questions would be answered soon. Hugh put the key in the lock and turned.
I thought that when the door opened that my nerves would subside, though they only grew when I saw the curious sight on the other side. The door that Hugh opened led into a narrow stairwell with rickety wooden steps, atop which sat a particularly weathered door with peeling paint. We knew that Hugh’s house was old, but most areas never showed it. We figured it was built in the fifties or sixties, but nobody in the family was quite sure. We figured that's why the door looked so beat up with its stripping paint and tarnished bronze handle, but that was hardly the strangest thing about the stairwell.
“Weird.” Hugh said as he pointed a finger above his head, but I was already looking at what he was pointing to. Canopying over the entirety of the stairwell were dozens of dried fishtails and sprigs of devils club, all suspended by strings, dangling gently as they swayed.
Needless to say, this gave me an awful feeling. “Come on man, I think we should go.” I said.
Hugh gave me a look that told me he thought I was lame. “Dude.” Was all he said.
“Those are supposed to ward off bad spirits, your mom tells us all the time.”
“Come on man, my mom’s a nut, even your mom says that.”
I rolled my eyes. My mother was hardly a reliable source. “Your mom clearly thinks something's up with the attic, that's why your dad always says not to go in there.” I argued.
“Oh right, yeah. There's an eight foot tall demon in there and fishtails are stopping it.” He said sarcastically. “I’ve lived in this house for years, it's nothing to be worried about. Scotty says it's just used for storage anyway.”
After thinking for a moment, I relented, knowing that Hugh would go by himself if I chose to leave. “Okay fine, but we’re just looking around for a few seconds.”
As soon as the words left my lips Hugh started up the rickety stairs, not once turning an eye to the odd decorations that hung above our heads. I followed behind, and when we reached the top he set his hand on the tarnished bronze handle and turned. What lay on the other side of the door was not an eight foot tall demon or a monster of any sort, but instead were dozens of cardboard boxes and plastic totes. Sunlight peeked in through the small windows that were set on either side of the attic, illuminating the dust that invaded every part of the air, shedding light onto the stacks of boxes and storage containers stacked along the wall.
On the other side of the room hung a large curtain, and Hugh and I both approached it, wondering why it hung. It divided the room in two, but when we came close it became obvious that it wasn't a curtain at all, but a simple white bedsheet tacked to the ceiling, used as a makeshift divider. I thought about pulling it aside to see what was beyond it, but I hesitated, and Hugh pulled it open instead. In the darkness behind it was an empty area, populated by only a single box, taped closed with large black letters on its side, sitting alone. “Inupiat items, do not open,” it read.
At that time I was unfamiliar with the word, and I didn't know who the Inupiat people were. Curious at the lone box, we approached it slowly, trying not to disturb the silence that hung over the room. I was apprehensive about looking into the box, and I knew Hugh was too, but for curious kids a mystery so easily accessible was hard to turn down. We both came close and Hugh took a pocket knife in his hand then cut the packaging tape that held the box closed. Without saying anything he opened the flaps and took out only a single item. I looked into the box as well, and saw that the item was the box’s only inhabitant. Hugh held a bundle of patterned cloth about the size of a basketball, clearly wrapped around a smaller item, likely fragile. We both looked at it for a few moments, and I wondered if he got the same sinister feeling from the bundle that I did. That's when the sound of Scotty’s car door closing made its way to the attic, and we knew then to leave.
Quickly we descended the staircase and locked it behind us, just as Scotty got up to the second floor with an irritated look on his face. He explained how he and the father of his girlfriend got into an argument, and the mean old man kicked him out. Luckily, he didn't seem to suspect anything.
For a while the mysterious box and cloth wrapped item came up frequently in conversations between Hugh and I, though neither of us ever found the time or the nerve to go into the attic and unwrap it. After a few weeks the cloth wrapped item worked its way back out of our conversations. That was until one night in October when the captain of our hockey team threw a party. Naturally, Hugh and I were both invited, so around nine at night we borrowed Scotty’s car since my truck didn't have a backseat, and we took Tuck along with us to the house of Jeremy Lidden.
The Lidden family was well known and respected around town, as Randal Lidden (Jeremy’s dad) owned the gun store on Cotton Street, and his wife was a clerk at the elementary school. Jeremy is the youngest of four, though his older sisters had all moved out by this time. Naturally their home was big, and since it was nearly a mile away from the nearest neighbor, this made it the best spot for parties when Jeremy’s parents were out of town.
As soon as we arrived there were a dozen cars parked in front of the house, and partygoers both inside and out. We found a spot to leave our car where we were certain it wouldn't get hit and went inside. Drinks had clearly been flowing for some time, and the smell of burning weed floated from the garage into every other room of the house. Tuck split from Hugh and I as soon as we entered the Lidden house, presumably to go find friends to talk to. Familiar with these sorts of parties, Hugh and I found ourselves drinks and sat on the living room couch and watched the NHL rerun that was already on. We sat for a while watching the game and drinking, and the party passed the way they always did. Angsty teens drank more than they should which led to the same bad decisions we watched our peers make for years. For a short few minutes we were pulled from the TV to witness a fight between two kids on the junior varsity, but it was short and anticlimactic. After this it seemed like there was something on Hugh’s mind, and he finally said what it was.
“You remember that cloth thing we saw in the attic?” He asked with a slur.
I nodded and attempted to force my vision to focus. “Yeah.” Was all I could muster.
“Well I saw what it was a few days ago.” He said.
My nose crinkled and my brow furrowed when I heard this. I couldn't believe he went back up there without me. “What was it?” I asked.
Hugh sighed and took a moment to answer. “It was this freaky looking mask with one face inside another with hair and fur all over.”
His answer reminded me of the fishtails and devil’s club, and I wondered if it was related. “You saw it without me?” I asked.
“I don't know man, I just wanted to see what was in the box.” He said.
This irritated me, more than it should have. Irritated, I decided not to continue our conversation as I knew Hugh didn't react well to anger. For a while longer we continued to drink and watch hockey while Tuck and other rowdy individuals continued some of the wildest aspects of the party in Jeremy’s garage. Eventually he emerged with red eyes and an awkward demeanor, explaining he was ready to go home. It was then that I realized we had never decided who our driver would be. I suspected Tuck of smoking, but I knew Hugh was in no state to drive. I tried to stop them from leaving saying we should call Scotty’s girlfriend Gina or some other friend of ours, but Tuck insisted he was sober. Regrettably, I believed him.
I elected to stay at the party for longer as there was a cute blonde girl that I had been eyeing occasionally throughout the evening. I had never seen her before, and I hoped that after my friends left that I would have the chance to speak with her. At that time I was good friends with Jeremy, and I knew I would be able to crash on his couch that night, so there was no rush for me to return home.
After bidding farewell to Jeremy and some other partygoers, Tuck took the keys from Hugh and both of them left along with Kenny Sauer, the team goalie who also happened to be their neighbor. The door closed behind the boys as they left, and it almost sounded louder than normal, as if it was cementing their departure. I watched the headlights leave the driveway, then drunkenly stood from my seat on the couch as I approached the girl that had caught my attention.
“Hey, you new in town?” I asked, though I knew the answer.
The girl laughed. “Sort of.” She said. “I’m Nancy Lidden, Jeremy’s cousin.”
I nodded, but I knew my expression showed surprise. Jeremy didn't talk about his family much. “What are you doing here in Kender?” I asked.
“Oh I’m just here for a few weeks to see if I like the place.” She said.
By the way she spoke I got the sense that something about her home life wasn't stable. I nodded understandingly, knowing mine wasn't stable either. “Well there's not much around here, but also plenty to like.” I joked.
Nancy’s thin lips cracked into a smile. “Like what?”
I thought for a few moments, searching for an answer that was charismatic but not too bold. “Well the school’s nice, and the town’s sort of charming.” I answered, hoping I didn't sound like a nerd.
“Charming?” She asked. “I don't know about that. It seems kind of dull here.”
“Some people like dull things.” I answered, definitely sounding like a nerd.
“So you play hockey too?” She asked in a change of subject. “Are you any good?”
For a moment I thought about what I should answer, but things were going well with Nancy, so my confidence grew. “I’m pretty good, but maybe you should come to a game and see for yourself.” I suggested.
To my surprise Nancy agreed, and we spent another fifteen minutes talking to each other in the kitchen as the attendees of her cousin’s party started to filter out. Eventually Jeremy found us both in the kitchen, and nodded with a knowing smile.
“That's my boy!” He hollered loudly as he patted my back.
Embarrassed, I brushed his hand off. “Dude, come on.” I said, hoping this would stop his odd behavior. Nancy just laughed.
It was then that Jeremy’s landline rang, and he walked in between us both, rubbing his face in an attempt to force himself sober. “Lidden house.” He said as he picked up the receiver.
For a few moments he said nothing, but his breathing became irregular. I saw subtle shifts in his expression as whoever was calling spoke, and his face grew to worry.
“Nancy, you need to take us to the hospital.” He said as he dropped the phone, letting the receiver dangle over the side of the counter.
I knew immediately that something had gone terribly wrong, and though I thought I knew what it was, I refused to believe it. For a few minutes he didn't give any details, and refused to say what had happened, but both Nancy and I understood his urgency and didn't press him. Just as Nancy’s driver side door closed Jeremy looked at me in the backseat, wearing an expression that said what I needed to know. His mouth struggled to find the words he wanted to say, and I can't remember exactly how he said it, but he explained that it was Kenny Sauer who called. Luckily he owned a cellphone at that time, which he used to call Jeremy through pained breaths and panicked tears. He, Tuck, and Hugh had been driving when another driver refused to dial down his high beams. Through that and Tuck’s inebriated state the boys were sucked into a ditch on the side of the road, then through a farmers barbed wire fence. Apparently Kenny didn't share details on the state of Hugh and Tuck, though to this day I’m unsure if that was true, or if it was a lie made on Jeremy’s part in order to spare my emotions.
We took a long and sobering two hour ride to the nearest town with a fully functioning hospital, and it occurred to us then that we weren't sure how to find our friends in the large construction that was Willowville general. Anxiously we departed from Jeremy’s car and entered the hospital with our hearts in our throats and shaking hands. We asked the receptionist where we could find our friends, and she looked at us with a grim expression when we did. We were directed to a hall on the second floor, but said she wasn't sure if the doctors would let us see Kenny or Tuck.
“What about Hugh?” Jeremy asked, but the woman didn't answer. “Hey, I’m talking to you!” He yelled angrily.
My heart fell at the woman’s silence, and I knew that something terrible had happened to Hugh. Even all these years later, that moment still doesn't feel real. Both Nancy and I tried to calm Jeremy down, but alcohol still lingered on his breath and in his system. Worried, I left them both and started down the hall to the elevator. I went to the second floor as I passed tired doctors, angry nurses, crying mothers and anxious partners, all in the emergency section of a hospital a hundred miles away from my home. When I reached room 208 I nearly ran into a doctor who closed the door as I reached it, and he stopped me from going inside.
From what I gathered in the minutes that followed, Hugh was in a coma and paralyzed from the waist down well before the ambulance made it to Willowville general. His skull had been fractured as had his neck, and multiple teeth were missing. During the crash Tuck’s arm had been broken and dislocated, and though he was alive he certainly wasn't well. His face was covered in lacerations and brutal scrapes, though doctors said he would recover fully within the year. Kenny fared the best between the three boys, as he was sitting in the back seat, and was spared most of the injuries that came with the wreck, but I didn't try to see him that night.
I told Jeremy and Nancy to leave me in Willowville, and at first they both protested, however after I insisted Nancy relented. She took my hand in hers and squeezed compassionately, and even though she didn't know me well, she seemed to sympathize. She wrote her number on a napkin from her pocket in blue pen and told me to call if I needed anything, though I knew I wouldn't. After her and Jeremy left I slowly walked to a payphone across the street, trying to figure out how I would tell Vera and Petey what had happened. I thought that my footsteps were too fast, so I deliberately slowed down to allow myself more time to think, but when I reached the phone it was all the same. I called once and nobody picked up, but when I called again Petey’s voice answered in a grumble.
“Petey, it's Nick.” I said flatly.
“What do you want?” He grumbled. I understood his annoyance, it was nearly one in the morning.
I sighed and my breaths were unsteady as I chose my words carefully. “I don't know how to tell you this, so I’m just going to say it. Me, Tuck, and Hugh went to a party and they drove back without me. Later, Jeremy Lidden got a call from Kenny Sauer who was riding with them saying they wrecked the car. I’m in Willowville at the hospital, Jeremy’s cousin drove me.”
For a while there was silence and I thought it would never end, but I knew Petey was on the other side, speechless at my words. “And my boys?” He asked after an eternity.
I had my own moment of silence, wondering if it was better to tell him or let him see for himself. I had no idea. If it was best to tell him, how could I possibly say it? I sighed, apparently loud enough for Petey to hear.
“Nicholas, answer me.” He demanded. His voice wasn't loud or raised, simply defeated at my lack of answers.
“They’re alive.” I finally said. “I’ll be outside when you get here.” I hung up after that promise.
I sat on the sidewalk outside the hospital, leaning against the wall. I watched cars pull into and leave the parking lot, and many other cars simply drove past. I woke up nearly two hours later with my nose cold and my face red from the chilly air as Vera shook me by my shoulders with tears in her eyes. I didn't know what to say, and as I looked into her sparkling blue eyes I felt as if I had failed her. Why didn't I stop Tuck from driving? What had I done?
After a long time in the hospital Vera drove me back to Kender, telling me that it wasn't my fault and that she was glad I was safe. The whole time I stared out the window, wishing I’d perish at that very moment. No matter what she said, I thought I could have done something, and her reassurances of faultlessness made me feel like shit.
For the next few days I sat at home, skipping school and lazing around without an aim. More than once I thought about driving to Willowville, but I figured I couldn't handle the silence of a two hour drive. Once I dug through my pocket and found the napkin with Nancy’s number, and I thought to ask if she would come with me. Then I thought against it, wishing not to bother her any more with what had happened. I crumpled it up and threw it in the trash, knowing I had put her through enough.
At one point Vera invited me to dinner but I didn't go. Scotty was out of town when it happened, and now that he was back from Iowa I didn't know how I'd ever be able to face him again. After all, I had let both his brothers nearly die. I didn't like the thought, but I wondered if their behavior was false. Vera had always been nice, but how could she still look at me so kindly? Was it simply a mask? And if it was, how could I really face her either? I thought about masks a lot those days.
About two weeks after it happened, I finally dragged myself to school for that week. It was awful. I was tired and exhausted, and I wanted nothing more than to go to class then go to practice then go home, but in the small halls of Kender Senior High School I felt like all eyes were prying and all ears were listening. So many people asked me how I was doing or what happened, but nobody really cared. They all wore masks of care, of compassion. They only asked because that's what you're supposed to do when a tragedy occurs. I walked around like a zoo animal that week because bad news spreads faster than wildfire in a small town.
One night towards the end of that week I was up late watching a movie, though I wasn't really watching it. About halfway through I watched more intently though, and I found myself becoming increasingly interested in the lead actress. Her hair was amazing. Long and black with dark curls that bounced when she moved, and I realized then that I had never found hair so interesting before.
Then came a sound from outside. Curious, I stood from the couch and peered out the living room window to see nothing but darkness. For a moment I stood and thought, wondering what it could have been and if it was worth investigating at all. A harsh windstorm had been attacking the town for the past couple days, and I figured it was nothing. I started to sit back down, but as I did there came another sound. This one was quieter and slight, but it was unmistakable. The sound of boots on gravel came from outside my house, light as if whoever was there was trying to remain quiet. After a couple seconds there was yet another sound, this one of my front door being tried.
I stood up fast and quietly walked towards the door, hoping not to be heard. I was never one to leave the door unlocked, especially when my mother was out of town. I also kept a weapon near the door when she was gone, so with my left hand I set my handle on the knob as I wrapped my hand around the old hockey stick I kept next to it. I considered my actions for a brief moment, wondering if there was some blood crazed killer or drugged up robber on the other side. Then, I flung the door open.
Harsh winds beat against my chest and my clothes fluttered in the gusts that attacked my property, but all that sat in my yard was my gravel driveway and early snow that had yet to melt. Weeds swayed in the darkness, great blonde strands of foliage that danced in the wind like hair fluttering. The darkness cast shadows within it, and for a second I thought whoever was here may be hiding in them. Then the wind blew again as if to say “nothing here!”, and the weeds parted to reveal nothing but empty space between them. I thought I might have been hearing things, but then I shook my head. Of course I wasn't hearing things.
I walked around my house to the back, repeatedly looking at the weeds that were rough and brittle, blonde locks swaying in the weather, moving with the trees that shook violently far above the ground. Again there was nothing, and nobody stood where I could see them, though I still felt eyes on me. Scared and without a proper way to find my watcher, I walked back towards the front door, passing something peculiar on my way.
In the late autumn snow often descends upon the midwest and Kender was no exception. Usually these snowfalls attack then retreat, melting before winter truly begins. This happens multiple times a year where light snowfalls arrive then melt, and it always takes multiple times before the snow stays for good. Often, these early snows do not melt entirely, and they leave ice and hardpack in their wake. My yard was always especially cold, so snow and ice stuck around longer than usual, which is likely the only reason why I saw it. Beneath my living room window were two bootprints in a size larger than my own, pressed into the hardpack. They stood with their toes pointed towards the window, as if they were looking at me as I rested on the couch. Unnerved, I went back inside and ensured my windows and doors were all locked. I didn't sleep much that night.
