You quickly slam the door shut in fright, not knowing what to do. Who the hell was at your house durring the night, or maybe in the morning. The footprints were fresh, or so you thought. The only way to figure out was to open that door again. Slowly but surely you crept open that door, yet the foot prints were definitely fresh. So again who the heck was at your door this morning. This whole stupid conversation with myself was making me more worried. I had to tell myself, okay Lacey, it’s gonna be okay. If someone had really come to my house this morning, why? Did they find out? Was I in danger? Wait a minute, the foot prints were going out of my house not towards it! I looked frantically around my house for any evidence of breaking and entering, nothing. Then how did this person get into my house. Were they here all night and I just didn’t know. I had no clue about what had just happened, but I knew I could get to the bottem of it.

I stood in the doorway, my breath fogging in the icy air, staring at the trail of footprints in the fresh snow. They started from inside my house—right at the threshold where I now stood—and led outward, disappearing into the pale morning light. The snow had stopped falling just minutes ago, and the layer was pristine except for the steps. Which meant whoever—or whatever—had made them was here only moments before.

But I hadn’t been outside. And I lived alone.

A cold dread crept up my spine, sharper than the chill of the air. I slowly stepped back into the house and closed the door, locking it this time. My mind raced as I replayed the night before. I’d gone to bed around midnight, dead tired after a long day. Nothing unusual, no signs of anyone else in the house. I distinctly remembered locking the doors before turning off the lights.

Yet someone had been here. Someone who left without me noticing. Or worse—someone who was still inside.

I turned back toward the hallway, my ears straining for any sound. The house was silent, but too silent, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath. I grabbed the fireplace poker from its stand—a ridiculous weapon, I knew, but it was the closest thing I could find. Slowly, I began checking the rooms, one by one.

The living room was empty. So was the kitchen. The bathroom door creaked as I nudged it open with the poker, but there was nothing inside. The silence was maddening, broken only by the sound of my own breathing and the occasional creak of the floorboards underfoot. Each empty room brought equal parts relief and unease. If there was no one here, then who left the footprints? And how had they gotten in?

I made my way upstairs, my heart pounding as I approached my bedroom. The door was ajar, just as I’d left it—but now, it felt ominous, like a trap. I pushed it open, ready to swing the poker at the slightest movement. But again, nothing. My bed was still unmade from when I’d gotten up, the curtains drawn tight against the pale morning light.

And then I saw it.

On my nightstand, where I’d left my glass of water, sat something that hadn’t been there before: a single black feather. Long and glossy, it gleamed faintly in the dim light filtering through the curtains. I picked it up carefully, turning it over in my hands. It was unnaturally smooth, with a strange warmth to it that felt out of place in my cold room. A shiver ran through me.

I hadn’t heard a bird all morning.

The sudden knock at the front door made me jump so violently I nearly dropped the poker. The sound echoed through the house, loud and deliberate. Someone was there. Someone who knew I was here.

I crept downstairs, clutching the poker tightly. Through the frosted glass of the front door, I could make out a shadowy figure standing perfectly still on the other side. My breath hitched as I hesitated, every instinct screaming at me not to open it.

The figure knocked again, slower this time. Deliberate. The sound was almost rhythmic, like a heartbeat. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to move. I reached the door and opened it a crack, keeping the chain latched.

But there was no one there.

The footprints in the snow were gone. The yard was untouched, pristine, as if the snow had fallen all over again. But as I looked down, I saw something new—a small object placed neatly on the welcome mat.

Another black feather. And beneath it, a folded piece of paper.

With trembling hands, I reached down and picked up the paper. The feather slipped from my grasp and landed in the snow. I unfolded the note, the words scrawled in a handwriting I didn’t recognize.

“We’ll come back when you’re ready to remember.”

The snow around me was silent again, heavier somehow. And deep inside, a part of me stirred. A part of me I’d thought I’d forgotten.

I was ran around my house, shoving food down my throat and throwing things in my bag. I was running late as usual and I needed to leave right this instant or I’d get fired.

   I opened my front door and noticed that there was fresh snow on the ground, I smiled at the thought of winter when something strange caught me eye, there were footprints on the snow and they were leading up to my house. At first I just kinda sat there trying to process when I remembered…I lived alone. I haven’t been outside yet either…

   I decided I was gonna shrug it off and go to work anyways so that what I did, I shut and locked my door and headed to my car. I threw my bags down on the seat and started the engine when I saw in the corner of my eye a figure in my bedroom window. I blinked and it was gone… 

   “This is so weird” I say aloud before driving to work.

   The rest of the day was boring and long, by the end of the day I had totally forgotten about the footprints and random person and I went home like usual. 

   That night as I lay in bed I heard strange scratching noises and animal like growling. I began to shake remembering what I had seen earlier and I decided to check my house. 

   When I checked around my house I kept seeing a tall shadowy figure in the corner of my eye. 

   I decided to call the police because that sounds reasonable right??

   The police showed up and checked my house and when they got done they brought out a psychotic looking guy covered in blood. The police gave me a look before telling me they had something to show me.

   They lead me down to the basement and I saw a horrifying scene. There were chopped up guys in a pot and human heads on a shelf. The room was dimly lit with human remains covering the entire room. I looked over at the wall and it said “your next Arianna and I will come back for you, dear”

   I stared horrified as the police reassured me that I was safe…  I knew one thing though. I was not safe.

“Footprints I have not heard “Footprints, “ and I have learned to hear everything. I have had to for survival. Maybe it was just a hunter or a hiker. These woods are beautiful, but I am so far away from anything or anyone, which was purposely done to protect me. Has he found me? Please, don’t let it be. There is only one person I need to find me, and he would knock, not creep around. Was he inside the house? Now that I look closer, the footprints are coming out of the house, not just outside the home. Has he been inside while I was upstairs? Now I’m really scared, with all the bad weather this week, the phone lines are dead. What do I do? The only person I feel safe to come to rescue me is now not reachable.

John’s family was a single parent and lived deep within the mountain. Their father died during he was hunting a bear. One day John accidentally broken his mother’s cup, she was so irritated that she ordered him to stay outside in the snow for 1 hour. Once John wore his jacket, closed the door, he got out and transferred a chair near the door and decide to sleep on it to kill time. Before that, he asked his mother to take a blanket for him. During his sleep, he drowsily heard some noises and someone walking around. Right after he woke up, he saw some footprints leading to the forest on a layer of fresh snow, but the strange thing is, the footprints were pretty huge. He remembered the story his mother told him when he was young. A monster called Bigfoot lure child deep into the woods using footprints and shape-shift. He immediately told his mother about this. His mother briefly went out with a hunting gun after she heard what John said, but she forgot to wear sufficient clothes, so she ordered John to hand his jacket to her and wait inside the house. His mother once told him that Bigfoot’s fur worth a lot. After hours of waiting, he was tired, so he decided to take a nap on the bed. During night John still haven’t fallen asleep yet, he was worried about his mother, nevertheless John was too afraid to go find his mother at night in the forest. Before John eventually fell asleep, he drowsily saw his mother, she told him to follow her. John followed his mother deep into the wood, and he is never seen again. Tomorrow morning the newspaper announced that a mother and her son are missing in the mountain, suspected to be dead.

It’s been several months since I last saw anyone. I barely spoke to the guide when he brought me out here. The last meaningful conversation was one year ago. My punishment is self-inflicted, but well deserved.

The snowprints lead to into the trees, unraveling the carefully cultivated layer I’ve made for myself. The anger returns, the fear. I briefly consider hiding inside, but I’ve never been a good liar no matter how much I hate myself. I’m going to follow the tracks.

An ancient Mauser model 98 is the only firearm I’ve allowed myself. Not from the original production run, but pretty damn close. Erik hid the rest of my stash as a favor, without telling me where. Layers of protection that now seem futile and pathetic.

Boots made the tracks, but they could be a smaller man or a larger woman. The powder is too loose to determine the brand. Alread wind is blowing away the trail, so I cease deliberating and make a parallel path.

Half a mile later, I hear fire crackling. I slow my pace, and note the tracks leading to a small clearing. My quarry is a man. Medium build like I suspected, wearing well maintained winter gear. The cursed boots are Cabela’s, well worn yet ready for years more of service. He sits casually on a pine log by the fire. A knife pierces the improvised seat next to him.

“It took you longer than I thought.”

The man has a nasally, midwestern voice. Not quite a Chicago accent but probably from Illinois somewhere.

My bolt-action rifle is not pointed at the man, but in ready position, safety turned off several paces ago.

“I take it you’re not here for deer season.”

The man gives what he must consider to be a smile. His eyes remain colder than January.

“Did you really think you could just come out here and live out your life in quiet solitude? It’s pathetic. If it were up to me, I’d have ended your little vacation permanently. You can’t rehabilitate a hunting dog that won’t hunt.”

“But it’s not up to you, is it? I don’t know you, but I know where you stand. A lackey. Not good enough to call your own shots, country boy.”

The attempt at a smile enlarges. “You have two choices. One I don’t have to explain. The other, well. You better start remembering some old tricks.”

“I have no obligation. You have no leverage.”

The man is standing now. Five foot eight. “You don’t have as many secrets as you think, Oliver. You have one week.”

He turns his back to me and walks futher into the woods. I hear the sound of a motor start, and catch the glimpse of a Yamaha speeding away through the trees.

The knife remains in the log. I walk over and see the paper stuck there. It says a name.

Sophia Carter.

I open the front door to see a layer of fresh snow, with footprints leading out of my house. It was strange to see them as its been a month no body visited the house. I took a step back closed the door and went to my bedroom I search of my camera for investigation. Opened the drawer full of gadgets. Found a Nikon digital camera and rushed out of the room and at the front door was a tripod stand case. I opened the case and got hold of my metallic tripod. As I fit the tripod at the front door with my Niikon. And hid back the door. I switched on the video. And connected the camera to my phone. Now it was 8pm at night when I was laying down on my bed. Peeping into my phone on camera application. I noticed the front door swang open. There was a handsome young man.who came inside the house. I quickly came down to greet him. “Good evening sir,” I said. “Evening Madam, how do you do?” “I’m absolutely fine sir! Whats your name?” “They call me Philip.” The man replied. “Sir Philip!” What are you doing in my house? Enquired the girl. “Well I’m here to listen to your stories.” “Stories!” But I haven't been outside yet, to buy books or watched any movies. What would you like sir? Tea or coffee? Coffee I suppose. Lets have coffee together. So Philip and I went to the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee and some baked cookies. Oh I smell some cinnamon. Said the boy. Yeah, I just baked cinnamon rolls. Oh wow you've made my day said the boy. They enjoyed the evening together with laughter and joy. Until it was 4am in the morning. The man saw the clock struck 5 and asked her to let him go. She asked if he was the one who came yesterday? He replied I come here often, she was surpriced and asked again who are you? And I haven't seen you here before. Would you explain? “I'm a Demon who’s here to protect you always.” said the man. You mean you're not human? “Yes my dearest I'm your Guardian Angel.” said the boy. I'm beside you always and forever. The girl was surprised and said goodbye my dearest. And he said goodbye until we meet again. The man grabbed his coat and hat opened the front door and vanished into the breezey Snow. He waved, Goodbye Zahra.

It was Saturday morning, the first day of the weekend and the first day since my parents left for their tropical getaway out of country. They left yesterday, at noon, and they let me stay home from school. They departed with their suitcases and tropical shirts and sunglasses, awaiting the airport in an lighthearted mood. I watched them drive off in our grey Honda Chevy. About a month ago, my mother was awarded a job promotion and won a cruise for her and my dad, somewhere much warmer than where we lived. They had been excited and eager ever since. I can’t recall where, but I bet it’s much better than the snowy winter wonderland where I was, homealone. I expect both of my parents to have sunkissed tans and a tropical vibe when they return. I’m a good kid, which was mainly the reason they trusted me to guard the house with our golden retriever Finch, while they were gone for four days. I’m mostly a quiet person, but I do well in school, never skip class, and tomorrow my friend would be letting me stay at their house for the rest of the time until my parents got back, and on the bright side, I would bring Finch. I sit in my family’s living room, on the grey sofa, facing the tv perched on the wall. On the large screen was playing ‘Home Alone’, the Christmas movie, as i snuggled myself into a red blanket, fitting the theme. My phone and a glass of water were nearby if I needed them. Christmas was only two weeks away, and i was eager so I decided to put on the classic movie. I pat my hand on the couch as Finch walks up towards me. “Come here boy.” I say. Finch stares blankly at me then turns his head slowly to the door. I shudder under the soft blanket. No one else is home, and my friend, Eliza isn’t supposed to come until tomorrow. “What’s wrong, Finchy?” I say in a baby voice. Finch lets out a growl and his tail stops wagging. His golden fur follows his motions as he moves his body towards the door of the house. Finch starts barking ferociously as the doorbell rings twice. I feel a sick feeling in my stomach as I take the blanket off me and creep my way to the door, past the kitchen, to the doorknob. I take a moment to unlock, and take a deep breath before peeping the door open an inch and peeking outside into the cold. No ones there, only the two sets of footprints my parents left yesterday in the snow. I give a relieved sigh as I close and lock the door. We had just gotten an electric doorbell, so it must have been a glitch. Before returning to the couch, I head into the kitchen and retrieve one of Finch’s dog treats from the marble countertop, waving it in front of his face, and making him follow me into the couch, once again. This time when he jumps up next to me, I get an alert from my phone that I placed near the blanket. I freeze while reading the words. It was an alert for a missing person, it read, ‘Ella Saunders, missing from December fifteenth.” I drop the phone from my hand, I can’t read the rest. That’s my name. But I’m not missing, my parents left yesterday and I said goodbye to them. Yesterday was the eleventh, not the fourteenth. Wait… I travel from my spot on the sofa and go back to the door, but this time I take a closer look at the footprints. There going inside, not outside. I close the door behind me, but when I look up , I nearly scream. My parents are sobbing, sitting on two of the three chairs on the kitchen countertop. “Mom, dad.” I say, stepping closer to them. They don’t respond. “Mom?” I say, starting to freak out. She doesn’t answer. I feel my eyes puffing up and my heartbeat getting faster. Am I invisible? Did I somehow fall asleep and now they can’t see me? I peek over my moms shoulder and look at the piece of paper on the countertop. I take it and look at it. From the corner of my eye, I see a version of it still on the table. I read the paper. “Ella Saunders, a thirteen year old girl from Minnesota, was taken from her home on the twelfth of December and declared missing only a few hours later. Her parents weren’t with her at the time, but in Costa Rica on a trip. A neighbor received a video tape from their camera, and when looking over on it saw a van pull up to the house. Further notice is under investigation.” I collapse to the floor, my face in my arms, tears flowing out. I feel fur brush against my arm and I look up, red eyed and puffy faced. It’s my best friend, Finch. He rests his small head in my lap and I start to stroke his fur. He would protect me at all costs, and even know I don’t remember what happened, I know he would have had helped me. That makes me wonder… if Finch can see me, he must know what happened. I stand up and clutch the paper. I will find out what happened, and I will spend as long as I need to figuring it out.

“Lillimore!” I called, I knew she ran out here those are her tracks. I don't want her getting caught and taken away by trolls “Lillimore, please! I know you might be upset with me but don't scare me like this, not now!!” I ran out into the snow, mindlessly, frantically looking for my daughter.

“LILLIMORE.!!” I shrieked my voice straining, I tried to follow the tracks the best I could. I can see a small figure in the distance. I ran, I ran, and I ran. I see her… I think. “Lillimore.!” I ran up to her and held her face in my hands. “Baby, what were you thinking?! You had me scared straight.! Don't do that again!” Tears were running down my face. “I’m sorry mama, I'm sorry! Papa slapped me, then hit Olle, and I… I.. I got scared! Please don't tell him I ran away..!” She sniffed as tears slowly rolled down her rosy cheeks. “Tell me where he went.” I grumbled, and I stopped crying. I didn’t show her my rage, or my aggression. I don't wanna scare her more.

Downstairs on the kitchen floor, I found a clear bag of peanuts now scattered all over. Something small with teeth chewed a hole and got violent with the bag.

I followed the small rodent dirt footprints to the front door. When I opened the front door, snow covered everything outside, even the deck and railing. A squirrel left his trail out into the snow. I could tell by the footprints unique size and shape that is was a squirrel.

It was the squirrel I had fed peanuts to on the deck on numerous times before. How he got in the house, that remains to be seen.