Little Footprints

The woods were known for strange occurrences, but that hardly mattered.

I was working for a gas station, closing shift, and my route home took me right past the edge of Orwin Wood.

The woods had gotten their name from the Orwin Children's home, which had burned down in the late fifties.

The old shell could still be seen in summer, but tonight, it was buried in the snow.

If it hadn't been for the snow, I would have walked home without incident.

My trailer was less than a mile from the station, and as bent against the wind to light a cigarette, I saw them.

A pair of children's footprints, each toe visible in the fresh powder.

I turned my head, looking for the kid bold enough to walk barefoot in the snow, but there was no one.

I was alone in the snow.

I glanced back, wanting to see if I'd been mistaken, and that's when I saw the second set.

Two perfect pairs of tiny feet, sitting placidly in the powder.

My feet were smarter than my head that day, and as I ran I could almost hear the bare souls following me.

My breath was steaming as I made the porch, and when I turned to slam the door, the shiver up my spine had nothing to do with the cold.

There were dozens of footprints in the snow, each leading to my front door.

After that night, I found a new route home.