The wind howled like something feral. Raymond stood at the edge of his yard, staring at the strange, heaving mound half-buried in the snow. It hadn’t been there yesterday. It twitched. Then a sound rose up from it—not a whimper, not a growl. Something in between.
He took a cautious step closer, boots sinking deep into the drift. The shape shifted again. Ice cracked beneath his weight. Then—another sound. This one sharper. Wounded. Wrong. It echoed across the yard like it didn’t belong to any creature he could name.
Raymond stopped cold. He was eighty-two and utterly alone. The storm was picking up. Snow stung his face, blurred the trees. But he couldn’t turn away. Something was down there—under the snow. Something alive. Maybe dying. And no one else was coming.