A wave of guilt and remorse smacked him, and he ran south, searching for tracks or sign that the pooch had gone into the forest. He couldn’t find any. He focused his headlamp light cone into the woods again and again, wondering if the little dog could’ve gotten lost. Matt combed fifty yards deep on both sides of the road amongst the sedges and ferns. No tracks or fur. He’d picked up a few ticks and spiderwebs, though. After brushing off the insects, he sighed and shone the lamp south down Julip, expecting to see the glowing eyes of Elmo.

Nothing.

Matt shuffled up the driveway, cold and tired.

It could’ve been a coyote, he thought. Or an albino fisher. Albino animals did exist in the Northwoods—sometimes they showed up in photographs on the walls of local shops. Albinism was a rare skin condition that made animals (including people) white. Also, his father and Ron had seen albino deer a few times in the area. Albinism had its negative aspects, such as hunting season. Albino animals didn’t survive long up here, standing out against the greenery.

Follow your old friend, the little anxiety voice said.

“I’m tired,” Matt said. “Too tired. And besides, Elmo is gone.”

He waited for a response from the irritating voice, but there was only silence.

It had been a hell of a night. He was beat up, his senses overworked. Matt closed the gargantuan door and reached into the blue cooler for the fat bottle of Crown Royal. He wasn’t much of a drinker, but this was sort of tradition up north. He unscrewed the cap and put the glass to his lips. The harsh fluid soothed his nerves and warmed him. With his senses dulled, he slid inside his sleeping bag, keeping his headlamp on. He checked the window over the grungy couch. Nothing.

Soon he drifted off, three last words trailing across the musty shack: Miss you, Elmo.

Day One

DAY ONE

Matt checked his watch. 10:00 a.m.

Shit.

He twisted out of his bag, wincing as he stretched. His arms were laced with puffy scratches from his foray into the forest last evening. The physical pain was easy to ignore as his thoughts turned to Elmo and what he’d seen in the night.

Elmo had not been a wimp. A German Sheppard decided to visit the yard one day and of course was chased off. The family had watched from the big living room window, bursting out in laughter at little white and brown Elmo, on the heels of the big Sheppard.