The Backyard Yeti

My boots crunch on the snow. Maya, my little sister, trots next to me. She’s pretty annoying for a seven-year-old. “Eira, will we see the yeti?” she asks as I open the gate to our backyard.

“Of course not!” I scoff. The yeti doesn’t live in our backyard. It lives in the Himalayas—if it even exists.”

“I think it exists!” she decides excitedly. “Let’s make a Yeti Fan Club! Will you join?”

“We were going to make snow angels, remember?” I remind her.

She nods excitedly. “Oh yeah!”

I lie down in the snow and spread out my arms and legs and begin sliding them back and forth. Maya copies me. Then, carefully, I stand up. Maya does, too, and bounces with excitement when she sees my snow angel. Bounces so much, in fact, that she slides onto it, ruining it completely.

“MAYA!”

“Oops!”

She runs off to play on her snow-covered swing, and I try again. This time, it’s perfect. I decide to make a snowman to keep it company. The snow is slightly too powdery, but I deal with it fine. I work in silence until Maya taps my shoulder.

“Eira! Look what I found!”

I sigh and stamp after her, hoping it’s something interesting. She stops next to the maple tree her swing is on. I gasp. The swing is broken. Snapped in half, with large prints on it.

“Maya! Why did you do this?”

“I didn’t! But I know what did.” She points.

I follow her finger, and my jaw drops. Next to the tree are a dozen claw prints, each the size of a football. She smiles at me. “Now do you want to join the Yeti Fan Club?”