Page 6 of Better Watch Out

But there’s so little detail, it’s frustrating.

There’s never been a murder here. Not that I know of, anyway. And the only information I was able to find about the hikers was that they were from around Buffalo, like me. But Buffalo is a big city, and I’m an introvert. Just because we may have inhabited the same city for a little while certainly doesn’t mean they were anyone I ever met.

“We should go home.” I sigh, half-wishing I had the mental and physical fortitude to continue on this trail and make it to the forest I haven’t seen in forever. But that’s way too much work, and I’m much more invested in curling up on the sofa with the fire going and doom-scrolling on my phone for infinity.

Not to mention, the snow is picking up again. I can still see the trail, but not quite as well as earlier, which makes my steps a little more hurried as I leave the lean-to and head back toward the actual trail, where my footsteps litter the ground.

But it’s not just my footsteps that I find when I look down. The fresh snow had been completely unmarred when I came up here, and I know for a fact I hadn’t backtracked or meandered.

So why in the world are there two other sets of footprints on the trail, some of them overlapping mine? Biting my lip, I stare down at them, confused and wondering if somehow I missed the footprints from an earlier hiker. But I hadn’t seen anyone else in the parking lot, and I certainly hadn’t come across anyone else on my way up here.

“So weird,” I murmur, adjusting my neck gaiter as I stare down at the prints. One set follows mine pretty closely, walking straight like they had a destination in mind. The other meanders around the trail, looking like whoever it was had kicked up snow in a few places, or?—

Sitka’s sudden woof makes me glance up at her, and I’m surprised to see her tail wagging fiercely as she faces the overlook we just came from. With her ears pricked and posture alert, it’s clear something back there has gotten her interest, though she certainly hadn’t picked up on anything when we were up there ourselves.

“Please don’t be a rabid elk or an immigrant polar bear,” I grumble, stomping my boots in the snow as I turn around. I’m expecting to see a deer, or maybe a dog. I’ve never seen anything that exotic around here, even when I was younger. Maybe a raccoon or a squirrel, but those aren’t exactly specific to the mountains.

But when I look back at the lean-to, I don’t see a moose, elk, or squirrel.

I see people.

Two people dressed much like I am, with scarves over their noses, stand close to the lean-to, both of them facing me without moving. One of them leans against the solid wall of it, face obscured under his hood. The other seems restless, kicking snow around as he glances my way from behind black sunglasses. They’re far enough away that I can’t even tell if they’re male or female, but the way they’re juststandingthere, obviously watching me feels…strange.

It feelswrong.

“No!” I hiss, when Sitka starts toward them. “Come on, girl.” But I don’t run; that seems like an admission of fear and like it could lead to something more.

Something dangerous.

Instead, I set off at a fast, deliberate walk back down the trail, putting one foot in front of the other as my heart pounds out a warning rhythm in my chest. Thankfully, Sitka stays with me, though she glances back every ten steps or so, like she’d rather go investigate the two people who appeared out of nowhere.

Finally, when I can’t help myself anymore and I feel like my skin is crawling off of my skeleton, I stop as well to suck in a breath. I steel myself, hands clenched in my pockets and turn, hoping to see if the two people are following me or still at the overlook.

But I see nothing at all. I can’t, especially through the snow that’s quickly becoming another blizzard. When I glance down, I find it’s already obscuring the earlier footprints, leaving just my new ones on the trail.

Like I’m the only one here after all.

CHAPTER FOUR

Idon’t want to go up to the boys’ room. Frankly, it’s the one place in this house I prefer never to be, and I avoid it like I’ll catch something deadly in there. And well, if I piss off either of my stepbrothers, especially Fletcher, then the idea of suffering for it isn’t that far-fetched.

But even though I bitched and complained when Dad and Cheryl called, they were adamant that I need to tell my brothers to go into town and pick up some stupid light set they ordered. Naturally, I can’t do it myself. Not when Dad thinks I’ll die from driving with any snow on the road at all.

And, okay, maybe my accident last week where he had to have a towing company pull me out of the snowy ditch didn’t inspire much faith in my abilities.

With a groan, I get to my feet, rubbing my arms through the oversized hoodie I’m wearing. Even though the house is heated and the fireplace has been going most of the day, I still get cold here. Especially at night. As if anyone can hear me, I walk heavily out of my room, heels thumping on the hardwood floor in a satisfying way. Not that either of my stepbrothers will give a damn how I feel about this.

Or anything else, really.

But I take my time, heading to the kitchen to glare into the fridge like I’m even hungry after eating two grilled cheeses earlier. I’m not, but I still wrangle out a bottle of chocolate milk just to give myself something to hold on to. I’ll probably forget all about it once I get back in my room, and it’ll join the many lost souls of drinks that go to die on my nightstand, only to be thrown out in the morning.

Oh, well.

“Fletcher!” My voice carries up the stairs as I stand on the landing below, tapping one foot on the floor. Out of the two of them, he’s less likely to say something shitty or have a temper flare that will drag me into an argument or scare me back into my room. And it’s not like either of them are deaf, though sometimes I wonder about Boone.

Their room isn’t that far, and certainly not soundproof, yet nothing happens when I call his name. “Fletcher!” I call again, not daring to use the nickname of ‘Fletch’ that Boone prefers. I never know how Fletcher feels about me, and I prefer to err on the side of caution whenever I can. Unless I’m looking for a fight or an argument or…

Well, I refuse to admit what else I might be looking for when I piss him off.

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