Eli found the tracks at dawn, pressed deep into the snow beside his cabin. They began at the treeline and ended at the back door. There were no prints leading away. He checked the latch twice, then warmed his hands around a mug and told himself the tracks were old.
That evening, something knocked from the woods. Three slow taps, evenly spaced. Eli had spent most of his adult life alone in that valley. He knew the sounds of branches, ice, foxes. He knew the wind could make a cabin complain. He did not know why the knocking stopped when he held his breath.
In the morning, the prints had returned. This time they circled the cabin and stopped beneath his bedroom window. Eli called his neighbor, Ruth, who lived several miles down the logging road. Her radio crackled, then went quiet. Just before it did, he heard her say his name in a voice that sounded exactly like his own.
Eli drove to her place before dusk. The road looked familiar, but each bend brought him back to the same leaning pine. When he finally reached Ruth’s cabin, its porch was empty and its chimney cold. Fresh tracks crossed the snow to her door. They came from the trees and ended on the welcome mat.
At home, he wedged a chair under the back door handle. A little after midnight, Ruth called from outside. She said she’d been trying to reach him. Her voice was thin with cold. Eli went to the window but saw no one, only the treeline and the dark shape of the porch rail.
Then came three knocks at the front door. A pause. Three more. The sound moved to the kitchen window, where Ruth used to tap when she visited. Eli gripped the chair until his hands hurt. He heard his name again, spoken softly from the other side of the glass.
The knocking stopped just before dawn. Eli didn’t sleep. When the room brightened, he saw the prints outside his door: one set coming from the woods, another leading back toward the treeline. In the snow between them, a fresh trail circled the cabin. It ended beneath his bedroom window.
The radio clicked on by itself. Static hissed, then a familiar voice said, “Eli? I’m at the back door.” He kept still. From the porch came three patient taps. After a moment, the radio answered itself in Eli’s voice: “Come in.”
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