“Hello, doll,” he called.

I walked toward him slowly. I hardly knew this man. He was tall and thin, with a carefully trimmed white beard and hair that was slicked back, resting just beneath his ears. He wore a red-and-black flannel jacket, jeans, and darkly tinted aviators. He walked around the truck and as he crouched to hug me, I saw my reflection in his sunglasses.

“Hello, Grandfather.”

He opened the door and helped me onto the passenger seat. My legs dangled, unable to reach the floor.

My grandfather climbed into the driver’s seat, and as he shut the door, he passed me a contraption. “Hold onto this for Grandpa.”

Reluctantly, I reached for it, placing it between my knees. It resembled the noose I’d seen once in a movie my parents said I wasn’t allowed to watch but had watched anyway. “What is it?”

“It’s a snare.” He looked over his shoulder as he backed out of the driveway. “To catch rabbits.”

I examined the snare. It was just a stick with an attached wire. Tugging its end, I watched as the silvery loop tightened and loosened.

We drove in silence to my grandparents’ cabin, the wipers flicking at full speed as snow flew at us, my grandfather hunched forward, clutching the steering wheel. I stared out the windshield. The dash was covered in a layer of dust that lifted off as soon as the heaters kicked in. It felt like we were hurtling through outer space.

When we arrived at the threshold, my grandfather put the truck in park before climbing out to open the wooden gate. I examined the cabin, which was built from misshapen logs that had been painted light blue. The driveway was completely untouched and white. It looked like something from a fairy tale; a witch’s dwelling in the woods that a group of kids had happened upon in misfortune.

My grandfather returned, climbing into the driver’s seat once again, leaving his seat belt unbuckled as we drove through. The truck beeped repeatedly in warning as I glanced in the rear-view mirror, noting the disturbance we were causing to the peaceful, resting snow. An ugly wreckage of tire marks and dripping oil.

My grandfather led me down a path into the woods. I didn’t know what to do with the snare, so I carried it as we walked, clutching it tightly. I wanted to drop it and pretend it was an accident. I didn’t want any part of this.

The evergreens were blanketed with snow, their limbs drooping from the weight. We walked, and I counted the trees.

I’d gotten to sixty-six by the time my grandfather stopped. “This is a good spot. Give me that.” He motioned to the snare, and I handed it to him. He scanned the distance before bending, raising the snare, and driving it into the snow with a sharp blow.

I dropped to my bum then flopped back, windshield-wiping my arms and legs.

“Look at me,” I announced. “I’m an angel.”