It was spring. The sun was shining and the birds were chirping. I was spending time with my older brother, Damon, in the backyard near the woods. Mom was somewhere in the house and Dad was on duty as a policeman. Damon and I usually played in the woods; nothing bad had ever happened to us there. We often climbed into the treehouse Dad had built for us when we were younger and just spent time up there. I'd always look out for animals and unusual things in the woods. One time I found a shoe sitting there. It was bright red, the laces slightly worn, with a bit of dried mud encrusted around the sole. I was so excited that I went over, picked it up, and took it into the treehouse. I treated that shoe as though it were a prize. Damon, on the other hand, would just sit with his sketchbook and pencil and draw for a long time. Most of his sketches were of birds and the occasional fox. He was good. Every now and again we'd get into little debates, generally about nothing. Even though our thoughts were sometimes very different, we were the best of friends. I could trust him with anything. Afterward, he spent the rest of the time sketching to relieve some stress that had been on his mind. Mom wanted to ask questions about it, but she kept quiet; she could see he was very tired after hours of searching and having nothing to show for it. Dad was always determined to do anything he could in missing-person cases. Later that night, Damon and I went upstairs to our room and got ready for bed. I climbed into my bunk and tried to sleep. I slept for a couple of hours, only to be woken by a loud sound. I sat up and looked at the clock: it was 1:34 a.m. I tried to focus on what I was hearing; to me it sounded like something dragging, with twigs snapping, as if someone were walking back in the woods. I tried to reassure myself that it was just a wolf dragging a fawn, but something was off—wolves don't make sounds that loud. After a few minutes the dragging faded into the distance, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get back to sleep. Morning rolled around, and I still hadn't slept because of what I'd heard. It was a good thing it was a four-day weekend. When Damon woke up, I asked if he'd heard the noise. He looked at me and said, "I guess not." He shrugged and got ready for the day. As soon as we were dressed, we went downstairs and found Dad getting ready to head out. He grabbed his keys and his jacket from the wall hooks. Before he left the house, he hugged both Damon and me and kissed Mom. When we got out there, he headed right up into the tree house. I decided to stay down for a minute. He popped his head out the window and said, "Alright, just don't get hurt," then began sketching. I walked around more cautiously because of the sounds; it was still dark. I went toward a small clearing not far from the tree house. There was a fallen tree that had been there long before we moved into this house; it was covered in moss and a couple of vines. Damon could usually sit on the log and get close to the birds, sometimes even close enough to touch them. I was looking a little deeper, past the clearing, when I saw something odd. I jumped down a short ledge and went over to get a better look. It was a scrap of cloth, light blue with dark red on part of it. I wanted to keep it secret, but I knew I should probably tell Dad about it.