“I should probably introduce myself at some point,” she continues. “You know, be neighborly.”
Her voice grows louder and leaves crackle as she drifts closer. I need to move. I need to go back to my house before she sees me lurking in the trees like some kind of?—
Our eyes meet.
For one frozen second, we’re both perfectly still. Her mouth drops open slightly. I can see her face clearly now—younger than I thought, with wide eyes that reflect the golden light filtering through the trees.
She looks directly at me… and runs.
Instinct takes over. I jerk backward, away from her, from the cracking twigs and squawking birds, and my boot catches on an old collection tank or something. My ankle twists wrong, and I’m falling.
The ground hits hard. Pain explodes up my leg, white-hot and immediate.
I hear the snap as I feel it. Or maybe I feel it before I hear it. Either way, I know immediately that my ankle is broken.
“Fuck,” I gasp, trying to sit up. The movement sends fresh waves of agony through my leg, and I collapse against the dead leaves and dirt. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Through the ringing in my ears, I hear her voice, distant and panicked. “I’m fine, I’m fine! I just—there was a person. A really big person?—”
I want to be offended, but I’m too busy trying not to pass out.
I need help. I need?—
Through the trees, I can see her backing away, phone clutched in both hands, eyes wide. She’s going to leave. She’s going to get in that car and drive away, and I’m going to lie here in the woods with a broken ankle like the world’s most pathetic hermit.
“Wait,” I try to call out, but it comes out as more of a grunt.
She can’t hear me. She’s too far away, hurrying now, stumbling over roots and undergrowth in her impractical booties.
I try to stand and immediately regret it. My ankle is already swelling inside my shoe, the joint bent at an angle that turns my stomach. I lower myself down and start crawling.
This is humiliating. This is beyond mortifying. I’m a thirty-five-year-old man crawling through the woods after spying on the new neighbor.
“Karma,” Lia would say. “This is what you get for being a reclusive weirdo who watches people through the trees.”
I make it to the edge of the treeline, my vision swimming, sweat dripping down my back despite the cool air. The car is still there, but I can see her through the windshield now. She’s inside, staring straight ahead with her hands on the steering wheel.
The headlights snap on. She’s leaving.
I force myself forward, dragging my useless leg behind me. Pain lances up my spine with every movement. I reach out with one hand, trying to signal, trying to?—
Our eyes meet again.
This time, through the glare of the headlights, I can see her face clearly: shock, confusion, maybe fear. I realize how I must look—a huge, bearded man crawling out of the darkening woods, arm outstretched, face twisted in pain.
I try to say, “I need help,” but what comes out is a blend of groan and wheeze.
The engine cuts off.
For a long moment, neither of us moves. I’m lying half in the driveway, half in the undergrowth, my ankle screaming. She’s frozen behind the wheel, staring at me like I’m a particularly horrifying wildlife encounter.
Then, mercifully, her door opens.
3
Eva
The yeti on the ground is definitely a human man, and he is definitely hurt.
