Jonas

I had the trash swept up and cranked open two side windows.

The air inside was thick, damp, smelled like mildew and old flannel.

Every time the wind kicked up, the back door creaked open, so I dragged over a rock from outside and wedged it behind the bottom corner.

While I worked, I kept thinking about those sleeping bags.

There were three of them, all flattened, dirty, and arranged in a weird kind of triangle.

It didn't seem like just one person had stayed here, but if there were more, I didn't see their stuff.

No packs, no clothes, not even extra cans.

Just those three flattened backs and a few scattered cigarette ends.

Sweep went fast.

One big room, two little side rooms.

One had a busted cot.

The other was mostly empty except for a small desk and an old standing coat rack in the corner.

That room made me uneasy, though I couldn't say why.

There was something off about how clean it was, like someone had recently been using it, but only briefly.

No dissettled, no footprints, just bare wood and that coat rack standing stiff as a person.

I was just about finished when I noticed something strange.

On a wood floor, there were deep drag marks leading from the main room into the back one.

Not scratchy or erratic clean lines.

Wide, too wide for a person.

Too straight for an animal.