Narrator

Sunlight through trees, coffee steaming, Maddie laughing too loudly at something Eric said, like she was trying to shake the night off.

When fear doesn't have a place to go, it turns into performance.

I went outside and walked the perimeter of the porch and the driveway, looking for footprints.

The ground was hard-packed gravel with scattered leaves.

If someone had stood on the porch steps, there should have been something.

Mud, scuff marks, displaced leaves.

I found nothing.

Not even the kind of evidence you'd expect from a raccoon.

The porch boards were clean.

The only thing I found was a smell.

It came in short waves, like it was caught in pockets of air.

Wet fur, and something sour underneath, like old meat.

It wasn't strong enough to be a dead animal nearby.

It was more like the lingering trace of something that had been there and then left.

We decided to hike that day because staying in the cabin felt like hovering over a question.

The area had trails.

Nothing official right off the property, but a forest service road a couple miles away that connected to an old footpath.

The binder mentioned an historic cemetery and an old logging grade, which again, sounded like local color.

We packed water, snacks, a basic first aid kit.

Eric took a small GPS unit because he likes gadgets.