Now

January 2, 2019

I see a man coming through the falling snow. From a distance, through the curtain of white, he looks hardly human, like a shadow figure.

As he nears me I see that it is Doug, the gamekeeper.

He is hurrying toward the Lodge, I realize, trying to run. But the fallen, falling snow hampers him. He stumbles with each step. Something bad. I know this without being able to see his face.

As he comes closer I see that his features are frozen with shock. I know this look. I have seen it before. This is the expression of someone who has witnessed something horrific, beyond the bounds of normal human experience.

I open the door of the Lodge, let him in. He brings with him a rush of freezing air, a spill of snow.

“What’s happened?” I ask him.

There is a moment—a long pause—in which he tries to catch his breath. But his eyes tell the story before he can, a mute communication of horror.

Finally, he speaks. “I’ve found the missing guest.”

“Well, that’s great,” I say. “Where—”

He shakes his head, and I feel the question expire on my lips.

“I found a body.”