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Footprints in the Forest

by Catlyn Ladd

When I find the footprints it feels like fate. Like I knew they would be there.

I kneel, feeling the cold ground through my snow pants, and place my fingers in the frozen impression. The print of the sole crumbles beneath my fingertips and I look at the icy residue on my mitten. Standing, I place my own boot next to the print. It’s the same size. I follow the tracks through the eerie silence of the woods. Of course, there are few animal sounds in winter but I often hear geese calling, wind in the branches, the crunch of snow and leaves underfoot. Now there’s nothing.

The tracks lead me into a hollow and up the ridge on the other side. With the leaves off the trees visibility is good, especially with the light from the low sun reflected off the snow. I am not cold, though I feel the air on my face.

In the distance, a dog barks and my heart leaps. I know that bark. Beck has been with me since I was seven, my companion and protector. Sometimes he runs off to track an interesting scent, but he always circles back and finds me.

“Beck!” I call.

Then, when the bark comes again, I call even louder.

I stop, listening. But he does not bark again. I begin to feel afraid. The light has dimmed and I don’t want to be out here at night. I tell myself that’s the reason for my fear.

Following the footprints I top the rise and look down across a long, wide valley. The trees are thin and I see towering cliffs in the distance, marking the path of the river far below. If I can get to the river, I can follow it out. I know these woods, have spent my life exploring them. But they look different under snow, the landmarks muffled, the trees strange with no leaves. I don’t know exactly where I am but I know that going downstream will lead me to a road. Safety.

The tracks lead straight on and I call for my dog again. But all is still. I pull my hood tighter and start down into the valley.

I don’t immediately recognize the cabin as a building. It’s set back under dark evergreen trees and their fronds cast deep shadow across the sagging front porch. I see the glint off glass and a window materializes out of the gloom, the lines reconciling into a square façade, steps, a low eve.

I stop and listen. The cabin doesn’t look occupied but a girl alone in the woods can never be too careful. I’m young but not that young. I hear the stories.

Nothing, not even the soft plop of falling snow. I could be in a painting it’s so still. I wonder if Beck could be up under the porch; it’s close enough to the one at home that maybe…

I walk closer. It is colder under the evergreens. Darker, too.

I expect the step to creak under my foot but it’s solid. Pine needles are piled in brown drifts next to the wall. The door has a window that opens on darkness. The knob turns smoothly.

I hesitate on the threshold. Inside is very dim – I make out an open front room and the entrance to a hall but there the shadows swarm. “Beck?” I call. My voice feels like an invasion and I hold my breath, hoping nothing answers.

Nothing does. But the house doesn’t feel empty.

I tell myself it’s my imagination. Too many horror movies at Jenny Wade’s house after school. I need shelter and this is it. I step inside.

I wait for my eyes to adjust and see a stone fireplace swim out of the murk. I’ve never had to start a fire from scratch but I know the mechanics; I’m a girl scout. I make my way across the front room and down the black hall. I want to be absolutely sure this place is empty.

The door at the end is closed and I push it open, eliciting a squeal from rusty hinges. Beneath the dirt streaked window a hump of shadow leans against the wall and I freeze. But nothing moves.

I force myself to step closer. I can’t immediately make sense of what I’m seeing: a red coat, puffy like mine, legs stiff, ending in boots. I catch a glimpse of hair, dark, against the front of the jacket. The tip of her nose peeking from beneath the hood is frostbit.

“H…hel..,hello?” I whisper, though I know whoever she is, she is past hearing.

Knowing she is dead makes it easier. I’m careful as I approach; I’ve seen CSI. But I need to be sure so I can tell the authorities whenever I make it out of here – staying the night is no longer a possibility.

Carefully, I kneel and push the hood back, using only my fingertips. I don’t understand what I’m seeing: my face, my curling hair, my black eyes, squinted in death. There are ice crystals in my eyelashes.

Movement in the corner of the room sends me scrambling backward. It’s Beck. He barks at me.

I scream, and stumble back. I trip on my shoelace but make it to my feet, running, tearing through the cabin, down the steps and into the forest, blind with panic.

The trees flash by.

It feels brighter.

Eventually I slow to a walk. I can’t exactly remember why I was running. I look around for landmarks but don’t recognize any. When I find the footprints it feels like fate.