The backyard stretched out like a pale sheet, soft mounds and darkened corners scattered beneath the trees. Raymond narrowed his eyes, trying to spot movement. At first, there was nothing. Just the rush of wind, the creak of branches, and the relentless quiet of winter.
Then he saw it. Near the far fence, half-buried in a drift, something twitched. He took a few slow steps forward. The shape was indistinct, but it was definitely there. An irregular bulge in the snow, barely visible but undeniably out of place.
A part of it shifted again, too slow to be wind, too deliberate to be natural. Raymond’s gut tightened. He kept his distance, circling slowly, trying to get a clearer view. The closer he came, the more his unease deepened. Whatever it was, it was big.
Bigger than a raccoon or fox, certainly—not just some unlucky animal that had wandered into the wrong yard. Its back rose and fell in shallow, labored breaths. A faint, muffled sound reached his ears—a kind of low grunting.