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Story: The Elf Beside Himself

“Okay, honey, but—”

I shut her up with a kiss to the cheek. “Bye, Mom. I’ll call if something’s up, okay?”

Taavi already had his coat, and I grabbed the brand-new replacement Dad had given me for Christmas that looked exactly like my old one, pulling it on as we went out to Mom’s car. A glance back told me my mother was standing in the doorway, her hands nervously holding on to a kitchen towel.

“Love you, Mom!” I called back.

Always tell people you love them.

Always.

* * *

I drove,not because I was in particularly good shape to drive, but because Taavi was terrified of driving in snow, and it had snowed a couple inches last night. Nothing to a Wisconsinite like myself, but for someone born and raised in Yuma, two inches was a blizzard. I went too fast—and I knew it—but it was Shawano, so it’s not like there was heavy traffic, especially once we got on the highway out to Elliot’s house.

I cornered a little too fast into the driveway and fishtailed, but I righted it and then slammed on the brakes, sending the car into a little bit of a skid.

Because there were tire tracks that weren’t Elliot’s—his truck was there, but it was parked and no treads led up to it. And yet there were tracks leading to the other side of his driveway.

“Shit. Shit shit shit fuck.”

“Val?”

“Someone else was here.”

“So?”

I stopped and turned to look at him. “Someone else was here and now Elliot’s not answering his phone.”

“It could be Henry,” he pointed out.

I ran up to the front door. It was shut, looked normal. I took a deep breath, pulled out my keys, and undid the lock.

Elliot’s boots were on the mat. So were his running shoes, some loafers, hiking shoes, and a pair of black suede buckskins. The shoes he’d worn to Gregory’s funeral.

And then I saw a wet shoe-print on the carpet in the hallway. Where there shouldnothave been a shoe-print.

“El?” I called, fear making my voice higher than normal.

Nothing.

The house felt empty.

And thenreally fucking cold.

I gasped.

“Val, what is it?”

Panic terror panic cold panic.

“Stop!” I gasped out, doubled over.

“Val, stopwhat?”

“Not you,” I managed. “Gregory.”

Taavi went very still. “What the fuck do you mean,Gregory?”