Wes Coffey

I was shaking badly now, full body shaking, not shivering.

This was adrenaline.

This was fear in a way I had never experienced.

I had my headlamp in my jacket pocket, but I did not turn it on.

I understood, without knowing how I understood, that turning on a light would be the worst thing I could do.

The footsteps started again, another circle, same direction, south to east to north to west, but this time the radius was smaller.

I could tell because the sound was louder, closer, the crunch of the leaves, the weight on the dirt.

It was inside the shooting lanes now.

If there had been enough light, I would have been able to see it.

It completed the second circle.

Stopped.

Started again, tighter.

I counted three more circles over the next twenty minutes.

Each one was closer.

By the fifth circle, I could hear each footstep as clearly as if someone were walking on a wood floor in the next room.

Whatever was making those sounds was no more than twenty yards from the base of my tree on every pass.

On the sixth circle, it stopped directly below me again.

I looked down.

It was full dark now.

I could not see the ground.