Yet the moment I saw it, my body went rigid.
I had been there before.
Not in a dream.
Not in a photograph.
I knew the shape of the porch railing. I knew the crooked step. I knew that if I walked around the western side, I would find a carved wooden rabbit beneath the kitchen window.
Before Daniel could stop me, I ran.
My shoes slipped on the wet grass. I rounded the corner and dropped to my knees beside the wall.
The rabbit was there.
Its ears had been worn smooth by time, but beneath them were three uneven letters carved into the wood.
L. E. C.
“What does that mean?” Daniel asked behind me.
I touched the letters.
“I don’t know.”
But I did.
Somewhere beyond conscious memory, I saw three children crouching beside the cabin. One child held a pocketknife. Another kept watch. A little girl laughed as the letters appeared.
