I stepped out of the car and pulled my jacket tighter, the damp air smelling like pine and river water. Gravel crunched under my boots as I headed toward my trailer, the sound too loud in the stillness.
Everything looked the same. Gerald sat on Aggie’s step in the dark, watching me walk up the gravel path with the calm, unblinking attention of an animal who had appointed himself to this post and took the responsibility seriously. Under normal circumstances, I found his staring unsettling. Tonight, oddly, I didn’t.
That was when I noticed my trailer was dark. I slowed, frowning. I always left the porch light on when I knew I’d be coming home after dark. Always. The campground paths weren’t exactly forgiving, and I’d learned that lesson the hard way more than once. Maybe I forgot. Or maybe the lightbulb burned out when I was gone.
Unease crept up my spine.
I climbed the steps carefully, keys threaded between my fingers without thinking. The welcome mat sat straighter than usual, perfectly squared with the door instead of slightly crooked. One of the folding chairs on the porch had been nudged closer to the wall, angled in instead of out.
Small things. Nothing I could point to and say was wrong. Things that could have been caused by the wind, or Gerald, or maybe a raccoon.
I inhaled a sharp breath, trying to tamp down the rising fear.
I should call Matt. I knew I should. He’d pick up on the first ring, voice already sharp with worry before I even finished the first sentence. He’d be in his truck in under five minutes, coming to my rescue like he used to when we were kids, and I sworeI heard something outside my window. He’d sweep the place, check every lock twice, probably leave his patrol car parked out front until sunrise just to “be sure.”
And I’d hate every second of it. Not because he didn’t love me—he did, fiercely. But because every time he stepped in like that, I felt the version of myself I was trying to build shrink a little smaller. Like, no matter how hard I worked to stand on my own, one bad night could still reduce me to the little sister who needed big brother to fix it.
I wanted to be the one who handled this. Whatever “this” was.
I unlocked the door and stepped inside, flipping on the light immediately. The trailer blinked to life—table, chairs, couch, everything exactly where it belonged. No signs of disturbance. No missing things. No open drawers.
I let out a shaky laugh and stood there a moment longer, listening to the river beyond the trees and the faint sounds of my neighbors settling in for the night.
I told myself I was tired. That I was just jumpy, clearly, logic was not my friend at the moment.
The quiet pressed in, thick and watchful, and suddenly the idea of being alone in that small space felt unbearable. I reached back, switched the light off again, and backed out onto the porch, pulling the door shut behind me without locking it.
I hadn’t even made it down the steps when?—
“Becca, sweetheart!”
I screamed.
A full, humiliating yelp tore out of me as I spun around, heart slamming so hard I felt dizzy. My keys flew out of my hand, clattering onto the gravel as I staggered back a step.
Aggie stood in her doorway, wrapped in a cardigan and gripping a flashlight like a weapon, her eyes wide with alarm.
“Oh my lord,” she gasped. “Honey, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you.”
I pressed a hand to my chest, breath coming fast and shallow. “Aggie,” I wheezed. “You can’t just appear like that. I thought?—”
I stopped, because I didn’t know what I’d thought. Only that my hands were shaking and my pulse was still racing as if I’d actually been in danger.
Aggie was at my side in an instant, her free hand steady on my arm. “Easy. Easy. You’re okay. It’s just me.” She looked past me at my dark trailer, then back at my face, her expression sharpening. “What’s wrong?”
“I—I don’t know,” I said honestly. “Something just felt off.”
She didn’t laugh. Didn’t dismiss it.
Instead, she nodded once, decisive. “Then you’re not going back in there.”
She steered me gently but firmly toward her Airstream, flashlight beam sweeping the ground as if daring anything to argue.
“Come on,” she said. “We’ll have some tea, and you can tell me everything. What you’re not going to do is stand out here shaking in the dark by yourself. Come on.”
As she ushered me inside, warmth and lamplight spilled out to meet us. The moment the door shut behind us, the chill fell away, replaced by the hum of a space heater and the familiar scent of peppermint tea and yarn. Every surface was lived-in—knitting baskets tucked under the small dinette, half-finished scarves draped over chair backs, framed photos lining the narrow walls. Gerald was already inside, arranged on the bench seat with territorial precision, one paw tucked under his chest. He looked at me when I came in, then looked away, not unfriendly, just unimpressed, which from Gerald was practically a warm welcome.
Aggie set the flashlight down with a decisive thump, then turned on the kettle. “Sit,” she said, already rummaging through her cupboard. “You’re pale as a sheet.”
