Chapter 5
1482 Words
Chapter 5: Shadows in the Snow
Rita's POV
“Henry,” I whisper again, my voice sharper this time. “You’re freaking me out.”
“Stay there,” he says, his tone low but firm. His eyes don’t leave the window, his whole body tense like a coiled spring.
My heart is pounding so hard I’m sure he can hear it. I glance toward the stairs, thinking of Lily. She’s still asleep — she has to be. I bite my lip, trying to decide if I should run up and check on her or stay put like Henry said.
“Do you see them?” I ask, barely breathing.
“Not anymore,” he mutters, shifting to the side to get a better angle of the front yard. His eyes are sharp, darting from one shadow to the next. “But they were there. By the tree line.”
I feel a cold weight settle in my chest. The tree line is close to the house. Too close.
“You’re sure?” I ask, pulling the blanket tighter around me like it’s some kind of shield.
“Rita,” he says, finally looking at me. His eyes are dead serious. “I know what I saw.”
I stand, the blanket falling to the floor. My legs feel unsteady, but I force myself to walk toward him. My gaze shifts from his face to the window, scanning the snow-covered yard lit up by the porch light. Nothing. Just swirling snow and the faint outline of the pine trees at the edge of the property.
“Maybe it was an animal,” I say, my voice sounding too hopeful. “A deer or something.”
“Deer don’t move like that,” he replies, his jaw tight. He steps away from the window, grabbing his coat off the hook.
“What are you doing?” I hiss, following him.
“Checking it out,” he says, pulling on his coat. His voice is calm, too calm, like this is just another day for him.
“Are you serious? No, absolutely not,” I snap, grabbing his arm. “You’re not going out there, Henry!”
He turns to face me, his face inches from mine. “If someone’s out there, I’m not letting them hang around.”
My fingers tighten on his arm. “We don’t know who it is. It could be some random hiker or—”
“Random hikers don’t stand in one spot watching houses, Rita,” he cuts me off, his eyes locked on mine. “And they sure don’t do it in the middle of a storm.”
I open my mouth, then close it. He’s right. But I still don’t want him going out there. My mind is flashing with every possible horror story I’ve ever heard — strangers lurking outside, break-ins, kidnappers.
“Call the police,” I say, stepping in front of him. “If you think someone’s out there, let them handle it.”
His face softens for a second, and I think he’s going to listen to me. But then he shakes his head. “By the time they get here, whoever it is will be long gone.”
“Good!” I hiss, pushing him back toward the living room. “Let them be gone. I don’t care. I care about you not getting hurt.”
He hesitates, eyes flicking to the window again. His hands clench into fists at his sides, but he lets out a slow breath.
“Fine,” he mutters, pulling his phone from his pocket.
Relief floods through me as he dials, his thumb tapping the screen quickly. I watch as he paces the living room, the tension in his shoulders not easing up one bit.
“Yeah,” he says when someone picks up. “I need to report a possible trespasser. Small cabin on Maple Ridge, near the ski resort.” He glances at me, then toward the window. “Yeah, just saw them by the tree line, but they’re gone now.”
He keeps talking, giving them details, his eyes never leaving the window. I move to the stairs, heart still pounding in my chest. I need to check on Lily. I take the steps two at a time, breathing shallow and fast, every creak of the stairs sounding too loud in my ears.
Her door is cracked open just like I left it. I peek inside, holding my breath. She’s curled up in her bed, her stuffed fox tucked under one arm. Her little face is peaceful, her breathing soft and steady.
I press a hand to my chest, letting out a long breath. She’s safe. She’s fine.
“Rita,” Henry calls from downstairs.
I glance back at Lily once more before quietly pulling the door shut. I head down the stairs, taking them slower this time. Henry’s standing by the window again, his phone still in his hand. He turns when he hears me.
“Sheriff’s sending a patrol,” he says. “They’ll check the area.”
“Good,” I say, wrapping my arms around myself. “Good.”
He moves toward me, his eyes scanning my face. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I lie, looking away.
He steps closer, dipping his head to meet my eyes. “You’re a terrible liar.”
I huff a laugh, short and dry. “You just figuring that out?”
He doesn’t smile. “You don’t have to pretend with me, Rita.”
I swallow hard, my eyes stinging for no reason at all. “I’m just tired, Henry.”
“Yeah,” he says softly. “Me too.”
---
An Hour Later
We sit in the living room, the only sound the faint crackle of the old heater and the steady whistling of the wind outside. I keep glancing at the window even though I know I won’t see anything. It’s just snow. Just darkness.
Henry’s next to me on the couch, arms folded, eyes half-closed like he’s ready to fall asleep. He’s still tense, though. I can see it in the way his foot taps lightly against the floor, the way his eyes snap open every time the wind hits the house too hard.
The knock on the door comes so suddenly I nearly jump out of my skin.
Henry’s on his feet in an instant, his eyes sharp and alert. “Stay back,” he says, moving toward the door.
I freeze, heart hammering in my chest as I watch him peek through the side window. His shoulders relax just a little.
“It’s the sheriff,” he says, unlocking the door.
The cold air blasts in as two figures step inside, brushing snow off their jackets. One of them is Sheriff Dawson, a big guy with a gray beard and a face like carved stone. The other is a deputy I don’t recognize.
“Sorry for the wait,” Sheriff Dawson says, shaking the snow from his hat. “Roads are a mess.”
“Find anything?” Henry asks, closing the door behind them.
“Nothing fresh,” Dawson replies, wiping his boots on the mat. “Snow’s coming down too hard to track much of anything.”
My stomach sinks. “So... what does that mean?”
The sheriff looks at me, his eyes kind but serious. “Means if someone was out there, they’re long gone now.”
I glance at Henry, but he’s staring out the window again, his jaw set like he’s grinding his teeth.
“Could’ve been a drifter,” the deputy offers. “Seen a couple passing through lately. Probably just looking for shelter.”
“Maybe,” Henry says, his voice distant.
“Call us if you see anything else,” Sheriff Dawson says, his eyes locking with mine. “Don’t wait.”
I nod quickly. “I won’t.”
The men leave, their flashlights cutting through the falling snow as they head to their patrol car. Henry locks the door behind them, his eyes lingering on the deadbolt.
“You think they’re right?” I ask, my voice small. “That it was just a drifter?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just stands there, staring at the lock like he’s willing it to hold.
“No,” he says quietly, turning to look at me. “I don’t.”
The weight of his words presses down on me, heavier than anything the storm could throw our way.
“Go to bed, Rita,” he says, walking to the window and peeking out again. “I’ll stay up.”
I want to argue, but I know it’s pointless. I head toward the stairs, glancing back at him once.
He’s still at the window, eyes scanning the darkness like he’s expecting it to look back.
- Writer
