Footprints In The Snow
During the Winter of my 12th year, I encountered the small foot prints again. It was a bright, clear morning after a Nor' Easter had dropped close to two feet of snow on us. I was out walking around the yard thigh deep in the fresh, cold powder. I noticed something odd. There was a set of footprints in the new fallen snow. This was the morning after a major Winter storm. There was little or no chance that anyone would have been out roaming in the snow filled blackness of the previous night. The tracks came across an open field on the other side of the street, through our yard and down into the back woods. I got a chill when I got close to the foot prints because I realized that they were small, like a toddler's feet. I knew those tracks. They were the same ones that were on the porch on the morning of the visit of the Howler. I followed the tracks down the hill. There, I stopped dead and my heart jumped into my throat. At the bottom of a small rise the tracks seemed to split. The left foot went in one direction and right in another! That scared me just looking at it. The tracks, each foot on its own path, disappeared into the woods. I didn't follow them further. I did stand for a long time looking at the small footprints. I tried to puzzle out what I was looking at. I was 12 at the time, not a small child. I could think. And I couldn't find an explanation for what I was seeing. Soon enough, I ran back to the house and went inside. I never mentioned the tracks to anyone.