Wes Coffey

The base of the ladder had been pulled about 18 inches away from where it had originally sat.

I could see the drag marks in the dirt and leaves.

The bottom rung was bent inward, like something had gripped it and squeezed.

One of the two ratchet straps that held the platform to the tree had snapped.

Not unbuckled, snapped.

The strap was made of two-inch nylon rated for three thousand pounds.

It had been torn apart about six inches above the buckle.

The frayed ends looked like the bristles of a brush.

The other strap was intact but had been pulled so tight against the tree that the bark underneath was gouged.

The tree itself had marks on it.

I could see them clearly in the morning light.

They started about three feet off the ground and went up to about seven feet.

They were vertical scratches in the bark, each one about a half inch wide and eight to ten inches long.

They weren't deep enough to hit the cambium, but they'd taken off the outer bark clean.

There were at least a dozen of them on the side of the tree facing away from the stand.

i looked at the ground around the base of the tree the leaves were disturbed in a wide circle pressed flat in some places scraped away to bare dirt in others and in the dirt i could see impressions they were not tracks in any way i could identify they weren't boot prints they weren't animal prints they were oblong depressions in the dirt each one roughly fourteen inches long and about five inches wide

There were no toe marks, no heel marks, no tread pattern.

Just smooth, pressed down dirt like someone had taken a long, flat stone and pushed it into the ground with enormous weight.

There were dozens of them.

They went around the tree in circles, just like the footsteps I'd heard.