Out of Season by Kari Jones Page B

traps and the motor parts and oars and paddles and life jackets. After a while I start thinking that something feels different. I can’t put my finger on what it is, but something is out of place. I feel like I’ve half noticed something, but it’s taking a while to get into my brain. I look around. Everything looks the same, doesn’t it? What’s different?
    I walk back to the entrance of the shed and look outside. Nope. Everything looks right there—the rubber tire that we use as a bumper on the dock, the bucket and hose we keep for rinsing salt water off our gear. There’s a barrel of strawberries Mom planted to make the place prettier. I turn back to the shed and look around inside. Everything is in the shed that should be. Isn’t it? Maybe it’s just my imagination.
    I put this thought out of my mind and finish cleaning. When I’m done, I step onto the wooden planks leading from the shed to the dock. And I figure out what is missing.
    A chill creeps up my back. I swear, when I walked into this shed half an hour ago, there were muddy footprints on the dock. They aren’t there now.

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