Just then the front door opened, and a tall man in an expensive winter coat stepped onto the porch. It was Dennis.
He spread into a broad smile that never reached his eyes. “There you are, Mr. Anderson. I was beginning to think you’d decided to skip our meeting.”
“Come on in before you freeze. We’ve got hot tea.”
His voice was warm enough. His eyes were not. Thunder went rigid beside me, every muscle under that thick coat turning to steel.
The wolf made no sound. He was waiting for my cue.
I looked at Mike. He gave me a small nod, then very deliberately thumbed back the hammers on his shotgun. The click carried across the yard.
“Let’s go,” I said to Thunder. “Time to clear this up.”
We walked toward the porch through the blowing snow. The wolf moved just ahead of me, a living shield. Behind us, on the road, the gray SUV that had followed us pulled in and stopped.
Its headlights went dark. No one got out. It simply blocked the only easy way back out.
My old house stood on the edge of town like the last bad tooth in an old jaw. Snow had piled against the walls, making it look half-buried. The dark windows stared out like empty sockets.
Once, this place had been full of life. My wife baked pies here on Sundays. Kids from next door used to laugh in the yard. Now it smelled of cold wood and neglect.
I stopped at the gate for a second. Thunder froze beside me, only the tip of his tail twitching like a needle on an instrument panel.
“What do you see in there?” I asked him quietly.
Dennis kept smiling from the doorway, still inviting us in, still acting like this was a friendly visit.
My legs felt rooted to the ice. Every practical instinct I had was telling me to turn around and leave. But I’d learned long ago that when a mine roof starts to crack, there isn’t always anywhere to run. Sometimes all you can do is stand your ground and move forward.
Mike came up behind me with the shotgun hidden under his coat. I could see how tightly he was gripping it.
Thunder moved low at my left side, belly close to the snow, eyes locked on the dark opening of the front door.
We climbed the icy porch steps. The old boards creaked under our boots. Dennis stepped back into the hallway to let us pass.
“Come on in,” he said. “Sorry about the dust. It is still your house, after all…”
