You avoided the Puller for a day, the little voice said. That’s the best you have done so far.

Best? he asked. Yippee. I was just a dog on a longer leash.

It was good practice and a lesson. You would be wise to remember it, the voice said.

He walked over to the window above the grungy couch and yanked the chair. The crusty nails groaned and bent and the chair gave way.

He didn’t need it anymore. What he needed was to see.

Matt looked out at the big aspen and the outhouse. No sign of the Being, no sign of anything. He opened the shack door and urinated in the orchard grass. A cool breeze swept across the land, refreshing the still air and ushering images of lit pumpkins and laughter in the streets.

Matt limped up to the leaning post and gazed across the southern valley. The trees had begun to turn, their color morphing from green to saturated reds and yellows. The beauty almost made him forget his predicament for a moment, as wild and impossible and hopeless as it was. Denial was a heavy dose of comfort.

He grabbed the handles of the wheelbarrow and turned it down the path towards the shack. On the western wall of the shack he found a shovel behind the firewood, blade rusted but solid. He placed the shovel in the wheelbarrow and rolled it downhill to Julip Road. When he reached the road, he noticed several fallen aspen crossing the road seventy yards to the north, their cracked trunks white and fleshy. The downed trees were absent of chew marks from beavers, the only thing that caused a tree to fall like that other than wind.

Oh we know it’s not a beaver, the little voice said. Why would a beaver try and dam a road? Pull your head out of your ass, Matthew.

“Go fuck yourself,” he said. Matt forced the wheelbarrow into the thick ferns on the eastern side of the road, his teeth clenched.

The downed trees made him feel more isolated than he already was. If the Being did lay those trees, what was it protecting? What was the point? Was he that important? He doubted it. He was just a plaything, not food—at least not yet. One thing was certain—the downed trees were the action of a territorial creature. He shivered from his core and dropped the wheelbarrow handles.

What if there are other Beings?

Why else would it employ territorial behavior? His stomach gurgled and bile rose in his throat. He swallowed it down, pushing the thought away.

Please don’t let that be true. Please.