Still of the Night
Waiting for the night to come
Hidden Tracks takes its titles from songs I heard when I was the right age to let them all the way in. Then it drags them somewhere darker than the lyrics were ever willing to go. You don’t need to know the songs to get the stories. But if you do, they’re going to sit differently after this.
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Gwen found the muddy footprints outside her bedroom window just after six, too large to be a dog.
She stood in the wet grass in an old Blink-182 shirt and boxers, phone in one hand, coffee breath still sour in her mouth, and looked down at the flower bed like it might explain itself if she gave it enough time. The prints came from the side fence, crossed through the dead marigolds, and stopped three feet from the glass.
Not dog. Not coyote.
