I expected to see the raccoon’s mangled corpse. My body had stiffened, preparing to see limbs torn from its torso, chunks of meat gnawed off bones, patches of fur ripped away from skin and muscle. Proof that I’d given in to my urges, that I’d snuck out here in the middle of the night to eat a dead animal. I’d half convinced myself that I could feel something warm and tacky beneath my fingernails, that I could still taste the gamey flavor of its meat on my tongue. But the raccoon was gone. I was standing in the pool alone, surrounded by my own footprints.
