Allan Rogers moved with deliberate care about his small bedroom, plumping the pillows on his neatly made bed. Outside, night was falling quickly, and the forecast announced a powerful snowstorm. He felt relieved by the idea of retreating early, safe beneath cozy blankets. Warmth beckoned.
He turned to the window, noticing a vague shape rustling near the dormant rose bushes. Initially, he assumed it was a squirrel foraging for scraps, yet something about its stillness unsettled him. With a faint shrug, he decided it was likely nothing, then returned inside. Quietly.
Just as Allan prepared to sink into bed, the doorbell’s sharp ring startled him. Anxious at this late visitor, he shuffled to answer it. There stood his neighbor’s young daughter, cheeks flushed by the cold, eyes brimming with concern as she inhaled shallowly and trembled.