Have you ever seen their footprints, Tana?"

She dropped the forkful of food on her plate and stared at her grandfather with saucers. He was a mean and vulgar old man most of the time, but his one redeeming quality, at least in the eyes of Tana, were his stories.

"Whose footprints?"

Her grandmother stabbed a finger at her husband.

"Don't even start with that stuff, she'll be up all night again."

These visits into the countryside became a macabre adventure for nobody but her, he always had something that would add a whole new dimension to everything she already found so frightening about this place. It could be a subtle comment about the attic, or more obvious, like pulling out a shrunken head after dinner. If it got really out of hand her grandmother would become so upset by it she would slap him until he stopped talking or forced him to take whatever the offending object might be outside. No matter what it was, it never failed to keep her awake at night.

"The soldiers'."

"What soldiers? I've never seen no soldiers."

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat and forgot about her food altogether. She was mad at herself for letting him trap her like this, but it was too late now.

"At the crossroads, up the lane."