Crackling twigs and whistling. The sounds that disturbed my rest. No one had walked this path in years. I moved to get a closer look.
A man or boy in his late teens or early twenties. "He's the curious sort," I said to myself. I can tell things about people and curious types unconsciously broadcast that fact far and wide. Whistling just sealed the deal.
He approached the cabin cautiously, probably wondering if it was inhabited. Then he called out the customary two or three times.
"Hello?"
"Anyone inside?"
"I've run out of supplies and I'm lost."
When I didn't reply he tried the door. It swung wide and he entered the cabin. I slipped outside but watched from a window. I silently watched him rifle through my things. I didn't have anything of much value, so he moved on.
When he started tossing Evelyn's drawers, I struggled. I tired to tell myself that he was an opportunist. A scavenger. It wasn't personal.
He stopped when he came across a picture of Evelyn and I. He held it close to the window to catch the light.
"What a beast," he said, tossing the photo of my darling to the floor.
I lost control then. I floated through the wall and came up behind him. His insides felt so warm.
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