The Snow Tracks
A chilling true horror story of a home invasion that followed the victim across state lines.
About this video
A chilling true horror story of a home invasion that followed the victim across state lines.
Full transcript of The Snow Tracks
The police told me to look at the snow, but they wouldn't tell me why. The flashing red lights painted the trees a sickening crimson. I had called them because of a scratching sound in my walls, assuming it was just squirrels seeking shelter from the freeze. The lead officer pointed his flashlight at my front porch, his hand visibly shaking against the icy wind. In the fresh, pristine powder, there was a single set of heavy boot prints leading directly to my basement window. The window glass was clean, unbroken, and locked tightly from the inside. "Look closer," the officer muttered, his breath blooming in a white cloud. There were no departing tracks. Whoever wore those boots had walked to the window, but they had never walked away. The police forced open the heavy wooden basement door, their guns drawn and flashlights cutting through the dark. The air down there smelled of damp earth, old iron, and something sweet, like rotting fruit. We found nothing but dust, old cardboard boxes, and a rusted boiler that hadn't run in years. The officers searched every corner, shining beams of light into the joists, but the cellar was completely empty. I tried to tell myself the wind must have blown the return tracks away before the snow settled. But the officer didn't laugh. He pointed his flashlight upward, illuminating the rough wooden ceiling. Nailed to the floorboards directly beneath my bedroom was a hand-drawn map of my upstairs layout. Next to it lay a sleeping bag, wire cutters, and several empty water bottles. They estimated someone had been living directly beneath my bed for at least three months. I packed a single bag that night and never slept in that house again. But two years later, in my new apartment, the radiator started making a rhythmic, scraping sound. I unscrewed the metal grate, only to find a small, familiar hand-drawn map taped to the inside. If the police never found him the first time... how did he know where I moved?