Mattie was so frightened she could hardly feel her body. Her limbs seemed both stunningly heavy and light as air, and she felt caught in a kind of slow-motion haze. Her head throbbed, especially the left eye, and her mouth kept filling up with saliva, forcing her to swallow convulsively over and over. All the while she felt the shadow moving in time with her, smelled the rank scent of its fur and the blood on its breath.
The blood in the snow and the animals hanging from the trees. Why does it do those things? Why does it not eat its prey the way an animal is supposed to? Why is it following me? Does it want to eat me or add me to its collection?
The atmosphere seemed to shift, the quality of the creature’s attention changed. She sensed it, the way she could smell a storm approaching on a sunny day. Mattie’s heart beat even faster than it already was doing—a little rabbit sprinting away inside the hollow of her body.
It’s had enough of this game. It’s going to attack.
She curled up her fists, though she didn’t know what to do with them, didn’t know how she might hurt the creature, didn’t know if she’d even have a chance. Her hands seemed like tiny, pathetic things—weak and useless.
You’re useless. That’s what William always said.
And then the clouds shifted and the tiny sliver of moon was revealed and she saw the end of the path just ahead of her. The end of the path, and the clearing and the cabin beyond.
“William,” she said, and a surge of energy she didn’t know she still had pushed her into a run.
William had the gun. William could shoot the creature. He’d wanted to anyway—that was what the ridiculous, exhausting trek was supposed to be about earlier. And now Mattie was bringing the terror right to their door. All he had to do was stand on his porch and shoot it and she wouldn’t have to be afraid anymore, wouldn’t have to spend any more terrified nights out in the woods.
Her sudden movements must have surprised the animal, for she didn’t hear it follow as she half-ran, half-staggered to the cabin.
The lights were out—of course they were out. It was the middle of the night and William was asleep. The door seemed so far away, then it abruptly jerked closer, like time and space had suddenly shifted.
Almost there, Mattie thought. Almost there.
The creature hadn’t followed. She sensed its hesitation, its reassessment of potential threats. It snorted and pawed the ground, much like it had before it settled down to sleep, except this didn’t sound like settling. This sounded more like it was deciding to charge or not.
The cabin door was suddenly before her, though she didn’t know how she’d managed to get there. A thrill of triumph shot through her as she grasped the knob, turned it, and pushed. The door rattled, shifted, stopped as it met the pressure of the bolt on the other side.
William had locked the door.
“William!” she called, pounding the wood with her fist, but her cries were small and feeble things just like her fists. He’d squeezed her throat too hard and she couldn’t scream even though she wanted to.
“William!” she cried again, banging her forearms against the door. It rattled the bolt but stayed fast.
She threw her body against it with all the strength she had left, calling her husband’s name, all the while thinking, How could he? How could he lock the door against me? How could he leave me out here?
He was a heavy sleeper, so it was possible he hadn’t heard her knocking, but she had to wake him. If she didn’t wake him she’d be out in the clearing all night, and sooner or later the creature would come out of the trees. She didn’t think it would wait much longer.
And when it did, it would open her up, take her bones, string her to one of the branches that lined the path to its cave. All William would find in the morning would be a splash of scarlet in the snow.
Like the fox, except it didn’t take the fox. I wonder why.
She wondered, too, how part of her was still wondering about the fox when she was about to meet its fate.
“William,” she called. “Please, wake up. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please let me in.”
She thought she heard movement in the cabin—the creak of a floorboard, the faint rustle of clothing.
“William, please, I’ll be good, I’ll do anything you say, only let me in because the monster is out here with me, it’s been following me, please, please let me in.”
She scraped at the door with her mittened hands, slumping to the ground. “Please,” she whispered. “Please, please.”
Another creak. Mattie was suddenly certain that William stood on the other side of the door, perfectly awake.
He never went to sleep. He was sitting there in the dark, waiting for me, waiting to punish me no matter when I got home.
“William,” she said, but she couldn’t yell any more, or try to. She didn’t even know if the word actually came out of her mouth.
A third creak. She knew he was deciding whether or not she deserved to stay out all night for coming home later than he’d said to do.
I’m going to die. Everything I’ve done to get here has come to nothing, because William is not going to open that door.
She knew it with the same certainty that the sun would rise in the morning. He wanted to teach her a lesson, and he probably didn’t believe her when she said the creature was following her.
William was not going to let her into the cabin. Mattie should save her energy, stop banging away at the door. She needed to find somewhere to hide. But where?
The storehouse was just as bad as the cabin—William locked the storehouse and kept the key hanging on a special key ring, the
