“Escape reality for a while!”

That was the selling point of the realtor for the cabin. It was, admittedly, a steal. A beautiful cabin up in the mountains, secluded from the rest of the world. Sitting by a fire while the snow softly fell outside would be relaxing, as the realtor had pointed out. And it was. The snow covered the earth like a blanket, silencing all the noises that usually came with a city. Alone in a cabin was peaceful.

The mornings were just as soft as the nights. The floor creaked quietly under the weight, and the heater was working well. It was almost surprisingly quiet. The crackle of the fire drowned out the noises outside, though there weren’t many.

Which may have been why it was so surprising to find the footprints.

They were hardly able to be read as footprints, of course. They circled the house. Over and over, until the snow in a ring around the house was beaten low. There were no deviations. No footprints leading from the forest or anywhere else; they just circled the house. Whoever it was must have done it through the snowstorm of the night before, as no new snow covered the tracks.