Page 8 of Better Watch Out

But I can’t sleep hot. I’d much rather pile on blankets than put on the horror ofpantsat night.

The house is quiet as I walk past the living room, the fireplace taking up most of one wall is barely visible in the darkness. There’s very little light coming in from outside, but I figure I’ll be fine with the motion light on the back deck. That’s the thought that keeps me from turning on anything until I can tug open the patio door that sticks halfway. “God forbid you fix it Dad,” I grumble, huffing as I shove it open. “Godforbid.” Sitka rushes out of the house, plowing through the layer of snow onto the deck and vanishing into the yard beyond. If there was ever any confusion on her breed and what climate she thrives most in, that would be cleared up here.

Half the time, I wonder if she’d prefer I just leave her outside so she can cover herself in fresh powder and sleep like a puppy. “Please don’t go into the woods,” I groan, realizing a few seconds late that the motion light hadn’t come on. That’s…weird. It has before, whenever I’ve let out Sitka in the morning or evening.

“The heck…” I mumble, grimacing as I step out onto the deck to look up at it. I wave my arms at it, jumping up and down as I do, and finally the light switches on, as if finally remembering to do its damn job. “Guess you need replacing, too.” Already I can feel snow seeping into my shoes, freezing the skin of my ankles.

Having cold feet istotallywhat I was hoping for at four am. I suppose in revenge, I could always stick my feet under Sitka when we’re back in bed so she can be my personal radiator.

Walking back to the door, I stop when something unfamiliar catches my eye. A box sits on the railing of the deck, small enough to perch on the flat top of the wood. I swear it hadn’t been there the last time I took Sitka out before we went to bed.

Right?

It hadn’t been there the day I got here, either. Surely if it had, I would’ve noticed it. Any deliveries certainly wouldn’t get put back here, and it’s not like there are any neighbors around who might’ve, I don’t know, casually walked their shit up the mountain and forgot it on our deck.

At last I realize the only thing I can do is actually look at the box if I want my questions answered. I groan when the snow piles into my shoes on my trip across the deck, snatching the box off of the rail and heading back toward the door to stand under the motion light.

Quickly, I pull open the flaps of the box, able to hold it in one hand and rummage around with the other. My fingers find the edges of something flat, and it takes me a few moments to pick up the first of the thin objects and lift it out of the box.

It’s a photo, I realize. Like from a disposable camera we used as kids taking stupid pictures to have developed at the local pharmacy. But I haven’t seen pictures like these for ages, and these don’t feel that old.

The light above me goes out just as I flip the photo over, and I glare up at it before waving my hands above my head, careful not to dump the box. After a few seconds the motion light gets the hint and flips back on, bathing me in white, LED light and letting me actually see the picture.

Instantly, I wish I hadn’t looked. Even in the harsh light, my eyes can identify two bodies spread-eagled in the snow, darkblood staining the ground around them. I suck in a breath of cold air, wincing as it stings my lungs, and try not to let my hands shake.

Morbid curiosity has me picking up the rest of the pictures, and I riffle through them with jerky, urgent motions.

They’re pictures of dead bodies on the overlook.

Thesameoverlook I visited today.

“Oh,fuck,” I murmur, staring down at them. “Fuck, that’s…what thefuck?” That’s all I can seem to say right now as my brain works to figure outwhythere are pictures of dead bodies on my deck at four am.

The motion light goes out again and I gasp, dropping the photos to the snowy surface of the deck under me in surprise. But this time when I wave my arms, it doesn’t come back on. “Oh,come on,” I hiss, stepping over the box and further out into the ankle deep snow. “Sitka!” I haven’t heard her in the snow for a couple of minutes, and it only adds to my anxiety about the situation.

“Comeon!”I hiss again, jumping up and down and waving my arms. But yet again it doesn’t work. Finally I move to the top of the deck stairs, all but doing jumping jacks to catch the light’s sensor.

This time it works and the light comes on, causing me to let out a huff of relief. “Sitka!” I call again, turning to look out into the empty yard.

And then the light goes off.Again.

“Oh, come on!” I wave my arms, not turning back around. But I have to, when that doesn’t work, and I shift positions once more and do another jumping jack to catch the sensor. It works again, and I turn back to the yard, my dog’s name on my lips.

Except, the yard isn’t empty.

Two figures stand near the treeline, one of them kneeling down and rubbing Sitka’s ears enthusiastically, while the other just faces my direction, mostly still.

“SITKA!” I scream her name and my dog looks at me, tail wagging in the snow. The person petting her gets to their feet, almost reluctantly, and gives her a little shooing motion that prompts her to bunny hop through the snow and back to the deck as I trip back toward the door, too afraid to take my eyes off the two people.

But they don’t move.

Not one inch.

“Come on!” I hiss, grabbing Sitka’s scruff so she can’t run away. Momentarily, I consider grabbing the pictures, but instead I leave them, deciding I don’t want to know what they are or why they’re here as I slam the patio door shut and lock it.

Naturally, this time the motion light stays on, and when I look up from the lock, the yard and the treeline are both empty.

I’m alone again, or at least, it appears that way. But that doesn’t make me feel any better, and my hands shake on the lock as I check it once, then again, and one more time before shoving the curtain closed and backing away from it into the living room.

---