Sam’s hand went to his hip—old habit, even though he’d left the service weapon in the truck. He’d promised his wife he wouldn’t bring it. It’s just your father, she’d said. What’s he going to do, hurt you?
“He would have what? Hit you? Screamed at you?” The thing was close now. Sam could smell it—not rot, not decay, but something worse. The smell of a basement after a flood. The smell of things that should have stayed buried. “He was your father, Sam. And you left him out there. You let the woods take him.” He-s Out There
Sam took a step toward the door. Then another. Sam’s hand went to his hip—old habit, even