Chapter 3 - Footprints in the Mud
Morning brought no warmth, only a persistent drizzle that turned the front yard into a sticky morass of red clay. Ethan stood on the porch, his dark green sweater zipped to the chin, holding a heavy wooden oar he had pulled from the boathouse. Clara stood behind him, adjusting Lily’s light pants and making sure the little girl stayed safely inside the screened-in porch with her stuffed white bunny clutched in her arms.
We are just checking the perimeter, Ethan said without turning around. I’m going to row across, take a look at the porch, and come right back. There is nothing over there, Clara. Just rotting wood and damp memories.
Be careful, Ethan, Clara replied, her hands gripping the wooden frame of the screen door. Something is wrong with this water. It hasn't receded an inch, even though the storm stopped hours ago.
Ethan pushed the small aluminum boat into the sluggish current of the creek. The paddle sank deep into the dark, thick water, parting it with a heavy sucking sound. As he reached the opposite bank, the scale of the abandoned house became oppressive. Paint peeled from the siding in long, scabby strips, and the front porch sagged under the weight of rotting timber. He stepped out of the boat, his heavy work boots sinking two inches into the mud.
He walked slowly toward the rotting front steps, the wood groaning beneath his weight. The front door stood slightly ajar, warped by years of moisture. He reached out, his knuckles brushing the peeling green paint, and pushed it open with a soft creak. Inside, the air smelled of stagnant water, old paper, and something metallic. He flicked on his flashlight, sweeping the beam across a hallway covered in thick layers of dust and debris.
Nothing here, he called out toward the creek, though his voice sounded thin and hollow in the damp space. Just empty rooms.
May you like
As he turned to leave, his flashlight beam caught something gleaming near the base of the rotting staircase. He walked closer, his boots crunching on broken plaster. Resting in the center of the dust was a child's red boot, caked in fresh mud. Beside it, perfectly clean and dry, sat a small white stuffed bunny.
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