He went to the closet, pulled out his boots, coat and gloves, and slipped them on. Inside them, he felt uncomfortably hot and clumsy, but he knew he would be grateful for it outside.

“I’ll be right back,” he said. Helen followed him to the door. “Keep her occupied while I’m gone, will you? I don’t want her to see me out in the woods. It might freak her out.”

“I…Just be careful,” she said. “Please.” Outside, he blinked in the brilliant sun, now low in the sky. Any wind that had been blowing had died, and in the dead calm of the late afternoon it was warm enough to keep his jacket unzipped.

He saw Jessie’s footprints leading off the hard-packed snow near the front steps to the white expanse of snowcovered lawn, and he followed them towards the shed, struggling through the knee-deep drifts while the crust bit at his ankles through his pants.

About halfway across the lawn, his own madly stumbling tracks met hers and they continued together for several feet before stopping just to the left of the shed door. The rest of the lawn was perfectly smooth. If anyone had been near the house, they had either covered their own tracks or the fresh snow and fierce winds of a few days before had done it for them.

Or there was never anyone here.

That was, of course, the only reasonable answer. And yet he couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that had crept over him. Jessie’s strange behavior had apparently affected him more than he realized.

He stomped towards the shed, trying to ignore the difficult footing. The padlock on the shed door was unlocked, the snow around it unmarked, except around the door. There the drift was pushed back a bit, as if somebody had yanked the door and realized it was stuck. The marks were not fresh; a small dusting of powder had drifted down into the crack, bits of dead grass sticking of out of it from below.

Suddenly, he felt eyes studying him just as surely as he felt the warmth of the late afternoon sun on the back of his neck. He whirled around quickly, heart in his throat, but there was no one in sight. The woods remained silent and dark, the close-knit branches heavy with snow. Nothing moved.

There’s a perfectly logical explanation for everything. Some animal tried to get into the shed during the last storm, a stray dog or raccoon. Christ, you’d try it too if you were out in that stuff. And it’s probably watching me right now, that’s what I feel. Some poor, skinny stray.

Or I’m going crazy like my daughter; she had to get it from somewhere—