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Russ ends up taking pity on me and applies his employee discount. Even with the additional ten percent off, the purchase puts a major dent in my savings. And now that the camera’s removed from its box, and thereby unreturnable even to a friend like Russ, buyer’s remorse has kicked in big-time.
“Where are you going to put it?” Henry asks as we stand in the backyard.
I study the camera in my hands. Roughly the same shape and size as a paperback book, it seems too small to do all the things it claims to be capable of. But there’s one advantage to its compactness: It can be attached to almost anything.
“I’m not sure,” I say, scanning the yard for an appropriate place. I settle on the magnolia, mostly because it seems to offer the most expansive view of the rest of the backyard.
With Henry’s help, I strap the trail cam to the tree, pointing it toward the forest that borders the yard. We place it at chest height, which is what the instructions recommend. It makes sense, though. Too low would catch only the bottom half of someone entering theyard. Too high might allow them to slip, undetected, under the camera’s eye, eluding it altogether.
I turn on the camera and download its corresponding app to my phone. Then I tell Henry to leap in front of the camera, pause a moment, then jump out of view. When he does, the camera lets out a click so light no one would be aware of it unless they knew what to listen for. It’s followed a second later by another sound—the phone in my hand letting out a sharpping!
I check the app, which has sent me a photo of Henry in front of the camera, slightly blurry as he prepares to spring out of frame.
Well, it works, although the blur could be a problem. If whoever’s coming into the yard never stops moving, there’s a chance the blur might render them unrecognizable. After consulting with the instructions, I switch the camera’s settings from regular to sport, which should produce a crisper image. Then I ask Henry to pass in front of it again.
“Mr. Marsh, why do you need a camera in your backyard anyway?” Henry asks as he jumps into frame, pauses, leaps away again.
My phone sounds a second time.
Ping!
“I think someone’s been coming here at night,” I say as I check the app again. This time, the image of Henry is crystal clear. “And I want to find out if it’s true or not.”
“Why do you think they’re doing it?”
That’s a very good question. One I hope the trail cam will help me answer. “No idea,” I say honestly.
“And you don’t know who it is?”
“Nope,” I say, feeling foolish about how, two nights ago, I’d thought it might be Billy, returning after thirty years. But then I remember how Vance Wallace also claimed to have seen him outside at around the same time, and my sense of foolishness fades.
“Have you seen anyone in your backyard?” I ask Henry.
He shakes his head. “Not really. Just some squirrels and birds. Oh, and a hawk. I don’t like the hawk because it tries to eat the birds and squirrels.”
“But never any people?” I say.
“No,” Henry says. “Grandpa has, though.”
I lower my phone, intrigued. “Who has he seen? Did he say?”
This time, Henry responds with a slow, uncertain nod. Knowing what I’m about to ask next, he says, “But he made me promise not to tell anyone. Especially my mom.”
“What can’t you tell me?”
Henry and I both freeze at the sudden appearance of Ashley coming around the side of the house and into the backyard. She gives us a curious look, her head tilted, a hand on her hip.
“What Henry’s reading,” I say, trying to cover for the kid and doing a shit job of it. Surely Ashley knows what kind of books Henry likes. He had one with him when she dropped him off this morning. But in the moment, it’s the only thing I can think of.
“Those?” Ashley says incredulously. “They’re harmless. Besides, I remember you liking those at his age.”
She’s wrong. It was Billy who was obsessed with the Goosebumps books. He was always trying to get me to read them, but I declined, saying I wasn’t interested. In truth, I was too scared. The covers alone gave me the creeps.
“Can I get another from the library now?” Henry says.
“Yes, youmayget another,” Ashley says as she tousles her son’s hair. “Did you and Ethan have fun?”
Henry studies me a moment, as if tallying the pros and cons of our morning together. Apparently, it’s a draw because he says, “It was adequate.”