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Late December, afternoon.
Elias crouches by the creek, his breath fogging in tight bursts.
A day since the coyote hunt sparked something in him as his hands twitch quicker now, his step lighter as he shifts his weight with a shotgun slung over his shoulder and a knife sheathed at his hip.
The eyes of the thirteen-year-old boy are locked on tracks that are uneven and claw-marked, leading from the creek toward the old porch ruins.
Yesterday's kill woke the land, and last night he'd seen lights flicker here and heard a groan roll through the trees.
He is sure it is Hank Grayson, the farmer mentioned in a 1947 newspaper clipping he'd skimmed at dawn.
Daniel stands near the barn with his shotgun leaning against a post and a coat dusted with snow., splitting wood with one hand.
Mara's on the porch with her rifle across her lap. She is sharpening a stake, her scar catching the light as she watches Elias work.
Wiping the frost off his gloves, Elias calls out in a clear, loud voice, "Tracks here; clawed and heading north. I'm following them. I'll trap this thing now."
Daniel pauses with his axe in mid-air and says in a rough but calm tone, "Hold on, north is the ridge. Do you see how deep those tracks go?"
Elias looks back, squinting as he brushes the snow off a print with quicker hands than yesterday. "They are not deep just light, as if it's drifting. It must be a spirit, right?"
Mara puts down the stake and says firmly, "Light tracks do not mean it is weak. They show it is moving slowly and not charging. You are rushing too fast."
Elias frowns, his shotgun shifting as he steps forward, his boots crunching fast toward the ruins. "It must be Grayson. I'll salt it and trap it quick before it moves."
He pulls the salt bag from his pack, pouring a line across the tracks, his hands swift but sloppy with grains scattering wide into the frost.
Soon the air changes and a chill fills it. A small flicker appears near the ruins, and a shadow grows tall with a low hat and claw-like hands. Elias freezes, the salt bag slipping from his grip, and his heart beats faster. "There...it's there. I will call it out."
Daniel drops the axe and grabs his shotgun. Walking over, he says in a firm voice, "Stop. Don't call it yet. You are too close, and that salt line is not solid enough. Look at it." He points at the zigzagging salt, full of gaps that are wide enough to step through.
The shadow moves nearer with a low groan. "A spirit can walk right over that. The line needs to be tight and unbroken."
Elias blushes and quickly crouches to fix his work. His hands shake as he pours more salt, while the shadow's claw sweeps through the air. "I thought it would hold; the idea was to work fast."
Mara comes down from the porch with her rifle raised. In a low, stern voice she says, "Working fast can get you killed. Steady work holds. Step back and let it settle."
Elias hesitates and then steps back, his step light—coyote-light—as the flicker dims and the shadow retreats with the fading cold air.
He grips his shotgun and takes a steady breath as he mutters, "I should have circled it first to cut it off."
Daniel nods slowly and lowers his gun. In a gruff but patient tone he asks, "Yes, circle it then salt it down. Where did you see it go?"
Elias squints as he tracks the prints north, his eyes searching past the ruins toward the trees. "They lead to the ridge. It is as if it is guarding something."
Mara steps closer, keeping her rifle ready. Softening her tone, she asks, "Good eye, now that's thinking. What do you think is up there?"
Elias pauses as his thoughts race through old newspaper clippings, Grayson's death, and the name Tanner. "Maybe there is a shed; Tanner's old spot. It could be connected."
Daniel grunts and slings his shotgun over his shoulder. In a firm voice he says, "It is likely. Spirits often stick close to bones or old grudges. You are leading the way, so plan your next move carefully. How will you trap it next time?"
Elias wipes his gloves, brushing off dried salt. His voice comes out low but with more certainty. "I'll scout the ridge first to see what it is attached to. Then I will circle it carefully and put the salt in one clean line, with no gaps."
Mara nods with a small grin and replies, "That's the way to do it. Lead smart, not fast. We will back you up."They walk back together as dusk creeps in.
Each mistake stings but makes him sharper. Hank Grayson is out there and he is learning quickly, even if it is a messy process.