I crouched down and examined the prints. They were angled slightly toward the back trail, the same one Karen had used to steal electricity. It meant he knew where that access point was. It meant he'd probably used that path before.
The hair on my arms prickled. I scanned the woods quietly, expecting stupidly to see him again. But the forest was empty. The only sounds were the rustling of branches and the faint whistle of wind pushing through the pines.
Still, the unsettling truth lingered in my chest: he'd been close, too close—close enough to reach my porch if he wanted.
I straightened up, tightening my fists in my pockets. I didn't want this turning into a Wild West showdown. I wasn't going to arm myself or escalate things with threats, but I wasn't about to let myself be intimidated either. So, I went inside, sat at the table, and called the sheriff's office.
Detective Harris answered on the third ring. "This is Harris."
"It's Dalton. I've got new information."
I filled him in about the mysterious tire tracks, Randall's warning, the green cord, and now the trail cam footage showing someone watching my cabin during the night. I expected him to be surprised, maybe alarmed, but he responded with a long, tired sigh.
"I figured something like this might happen," he said. "Karen's the type who spirals, and if her brother's involved, that complicates things."
"I'm not asking for a patrol car to camp on my porch," I said. "But I want this documented. I want it on record that someone trespassed again last night."
"You did the right thing calling," he replied. "Send me the footage and keep the camera running."
I emailed him the video file while he stayed on the line.
"And Mr. Dalton," he added, his voice softer, "keep your doors locked. Don't ignore your instincts."
"Trust me," I said. "That's the one thing I'm not ignoring."
After hanging up, I ate a quick breakfast and tried to focus on normal tasks—fixing a loose railing, sweeping the porch, stacking some firewood—but every little noise snapped my attention back toward the treeline. Was I being watched now? Was Joey somewhere out there again? Or was the mountain just being a mountain, creaking, shifting, whispering through the wind?
By noon, I decided on another step, one that didn't escalate things, but added a layer of protection. I drove down to town and bought two more trail cameras, a motion-sensor floodlight, and a reinforced lock for the back gate.