Page 20 of Night So Silent
I click on the first motion detection just after the 0300 timestamp. Taking a sip from my mug, my hand stills as I watch a dark shadow flit in and out of the light at the edge of the trees beyond the shed. It could be one of the many deer or elk that traverse the mountain. It moves in the shadows, too dark to see at first, as though deciding whether it’s safe to emerge. But the way it moves is unsettling, which makes me think it’s something else. There’s a break in the snowfall for about 15 minutes when a dark leg finally steps out into the stark contrast of the snow.
It’s not a deer or an elk.
Soon, a black shape slowly emerges from the tree line. It takes two strides forward before it hesitates and remains still for three minutes and 18 seconds, making sure to stay out of the light. Periodically, it jerks its head from side to side, scanning the terrain. Finally, it begins creeping toward the house, its face obscured by its hunched posture. It reaches the rocks lining the foundation, crouched slightly as it lifts its nose to the edge of the window.
The bedroom window.
After another minute, it lumbers around the corner of the house and up the porch to the full-length windows and slowly turns to stare through the glass for 12 minutes and 38 seconds...
Watching me sleep.
I’m surprised my gaze detection didn’t trigger from how intently it’s posted up just on the other side of the window. Eventually, it pivots and ambles back the way it came, careful to stay in its original tracks.
Very smart. Very intelligent.
After it retreats back to the cover of the forest, the remainder of the night is uneventful. The usual wildlife triggers the cameras and the snow returns to cover the tracks. I watch the footage three more times as I finish my drink, studying the size, stature, and uncanny movements of the interloper. I’ve never seen it before, and the way it constantly glances around and hesitates suggests that it’s probably never been here before, either.
Barrett is still asleep, so I take the opportunity to go outside and examine the path myself as the sun rises. Smoky grey clouds still hang heavy in the sky, ready to drop more snow, but I can see the remnant prints easy enough.
The invader is clever, but not perfect.
The house blocks the west wind, leaving three tracks still visible at the edge of the foundation where the fresh snow drift doesn’t reach. I crouch down to examine the pristine white indentations.
The prints are larger than a deer, but smaller than a bear. I’m used to bears, but clearly, I’ll be tracking something else—something with decidedly more anthropomorphic characteristics.
I doubt Barrett will be coming outside to wander around anytime soon, but just in case, I don’t want to concern her. I start sweeping my boot back and forth across the prints, until they’re nothing but a smear intermingled with my own. Then Ihead back down the hill, following the tracks into the woods to see how far they go.
If I come across any more signs to indicate this is what I think it is, I’ll be returning for a weapon. And if that’s the case, then no one will be setting foot outside this house again until I’ve neutralized it.
Chess, not checkers.
CHAPTER SIX
Four Days Until Christmas
Barrett
My eyes begin to focus and, a few seconds later, I find myself staring through the crack in the bathroom door, watching Sergei pull his damp hair back into a tight bun at the crown of his head.
Except he's stark naked.
My heart starts pounding, but I don’t dare move.
Oh my god, what are you doing? This is so inappropriate. You're invading the man's privacy.
But I'm just laying here. And he’s the one who left the door open.
Close your eyes. Turn over. Now.
Maybe in a few seconds…
Sergei is tall—like,reallytall—but the mirror is still too high above the sink to reflect anything lower than his chiseled abs and hip V that ends where my imagination begins. I watch him smooth his hair back and inspect his thin beard. I’ve never been a fan of facial hair. It probably has something to do with how it obscures a man’s face. But I like Sergei’s because it’s light enough and short enough that I can clearly make out his features.
My eyes move down his neck, to his shoulders, and are soon drawn to his back, covered in grey and black ink from his broad shoulders all the way down to his waist. What’s more, I recognize the image immediately. It’s a Roman style depiction of Saint Michael the Archangel, standing with wings outstretched, driving a spear through the devil under his feet. The detail is sointricate that if I was thinking of averting my eyes before, I sure as hell am not now.
But my gawking is brought to a disappointing end when Sergei pulls on a pair of boxer briefs, followed by black pants and a thermal t-shirt. He turns around and I immediately shut my eyes, pretending to still be asleep until I hear the tiny click of the door against the frame as he leaves.
Disappointing, indeed.
