“Yeah. Good enough to draw it. Hold on, I’ll get it for you.” I left him with both beers and trotted to the house. When I returned, he was staring across the road, his eyes unfocused.
I exchanged my beer for the drawing. I’d had most of the night to work on it. The creature on the page glared at us with a realism that made my heart stutter.
Peter looked down and his face lost all color. “God, you can sure draw. It looks so real.”
“It was real. I saw it at McClellan’s dairy this time. Just the smaller one. It wasn’t a wolf.”
Peter drained his beer in three loud gulps and slumped in his chair. I guess in his shoes, I’d be wondering about my sanity too. But I have the paw prints to back this up. He returned the drawing and I looked at it again.
“Doesn’t look like a wolf,” Peter admitted. “Don’t know what it looks like. Lot of detail here for something you saw at night. Maybe it was a bear?”
“The hind legs were long and sort of coiled beneath the body, and it moved in these great bounding leaps. Bears aren’t that light off the ground. Plus”—I hesitated—“it stood.”
“It stood? On its hind legs?” Peter shot me a glance. “Like a bear?”
“No.” I swallowed. “Fully upright. Straight. Like a person. Then it ran. On two legs.”
Peter looked away and rubbed a big hand over his face. The skin sagged and there were new lines around his eyes, making him appear older than usual.
“When will you get a chance to show your friends those paw prints?”
He juggled the empty bottle between his hands. “Sometime this week, I expect.”
I finished my beer and returned to work. After a moment, Peter joined me, and we worked in companionable silence, mending our fence.
* * *
Keen and I went for a good run that evening, splashing through the puddles on the full six-mile loop. Back at my place, I showered and was cooking dinner when the Chevy pulled in. Dillon and Chloe entered above my head—arguing—and soon Peter’s voice joined theirs. My suite was well insulated, so I couldn’t hear the words, only the tone. My friend’s distinctive voice sounded pissed. Dillon’s bass rumble gave as good as it got. Chloe’s contributions were indicated by the gaps in the conversation. The argument continued for almost half an hour until a door slammed. Moments later, the Chevy screamed out of the driveway. My jaws paused in their chewing as I recognized the sound of someone crying—Chloe. Damn it. What the hell did he say to make her cry? I wanted to go up there, but I could barely decipher another voice, talking to her—Peter—and I had no place in it.
I’d lost my appetite, so I wrapped the leftovers and put them in the fridge. Restless, I wandered to my door and stared at the lock. Somewhere out there, Dillon sat behind the wheel of an automobile, madder than hell and likely out for blood. I doubted my presence would be helpful or welcome. With a mental shrug, I threw the deadbolt and retreated to the bedroom. I flipped through the satellite channels on the TV, trying to ignore the silence upstairs. I figured they were safe so long as Dillon stayed away.
After a while, I shut off the TV and pulled out my tablet to surf the net. At some point, I must have dozed off. A rumble in the dark woke me—Keen. When had she turned into such an angry dog?
She stopped growling when I laid a hand on her, and the room fell silent. Not just the room but the world. Even the frogs had ceased their song.
I stood and moved to the bedroom window, peering out into the darkness. The lawn stretched before me, the grass a little too long—the fence had taken all afternoon—I’d have to cut it after work this week. I didn’t see anything, so I paced into the living room, where the windows revealed nothing further. But Keen followed me, grumbling, and I trusted her instincts.
On bare feet, I padded into the darkened kitchen. From the side window, I noticed that the Chevy had returned, but the vehicle sat dark and quiet. I pushed strands of sleep-tangled hair out of my eyes as I paused in the middle of the room. Keen looked at me, her blue eye shining in the darkness.
The sniff was loud in the sudden silence, and the dog and I froze, staring at the door. I put a hand out to still any reaction Keen might make. I needed to listen to whatever stood outside.
My suite had originally been a cellar, back before they finished it. The entry sat on a concrete landing at the bottom of several steps. At this time of year, water often collected in front of it, since the drain designed to take it away froze when it dropped below zero.
A crackle startled me—feet breaking through the thin layer of ice, into the water below—followed by another strong sniff from beyond the door.
I swear every hair on my body stood on end. Keen trembled against my leg, but I tightened a warning hand in her thick ruff. I had no doubt that something large, black, and so not a wolf lurked on the other side.
The farm’s yard light cast a soft glow through the door’s small window, and as I watched, a broad head with sharp-tipped ears appeared. The thing was standing. Like a human.
Beneath my fingers, Keen’s hackles rose, and she snarled low in her throat. As though we sat trapped in a nightmare, the knob twisted, the latch slipping free from the strike plate. The whole door vibrated and shifted inward as the creature rammed it against the dead bolt, and something exploded from somewhere deep inside me. Rage. Molten, unreasonable. And demanding action.
I released Keen and she flew at the
