Ford pines awoke to screams. After a late night staking out the woods in a futile attempt to find a new anomaly, ford had been sleeping soundly. His exhaustion, however, was not enough to keep him from hearing a young female voice shout. "Hot! Hot! Hot! Hot!" The voice of a prepubescent boy followed. "What did you do!?" The voice yelled. The first voice replied in a panicked manor, "I don't know!"
By this time, Ford had bolted to the front his research outpost. As he opened the door, he saw a flash. Aside from the flash, Ford saw a typical winter scene, with the snow gently covering the evergreen woods that surrounded his house. Without any visible disturbances, he closed the door.
As he walked back to bed he mentally turned over the scene. "Snow, weird divots, mysterious woods. . . Wait! Weird divots!" Ford scrambled to grab his trusty companions, his jacket and journal, along with a cheap pen (he had a bad habit of chewing them until they broke). The enticement of his warm bed paled before the euphoria of discovery.
Ford rushed outside to the divots, realizing upon closer inspection they were footprints. There were two sets, overlapping, as if they were pursuing and being pursued. The footprints started in the middle of the clearing, continued ten feet parallel to the porch, until they vanished as suddenly as they appeared.
Ford began to write, reading aloud as he took quick notes. "Anomaly 52, Frozen Footprints. Two sets, staring and stoping in front of my house, with no apparent means of transportation. A bright light was seen shortly before encountering them. Both appear to be size . . ." Ford leaned in to examine the prints more closely. "Seven. Further examination reveals one pair has several scars on the bottom, possibly from rough terrain. The other appears to be trailing. . ."
Ford got on his knees and scooped up one of the prints in his large hands. As his bare hand melted the snow, several shining particles remained. "Glitter. Some kind of fairy maybe?" He questioned no one in particular. He stopped writing, straightened up, and began to think aloud.
"If it is fairies, I can't track anything flying, especially in this weather. The footprints just stop, so they must have switched to some kind of alternate transportation, but there should be a small ring of disturbed material if they did take off." It was at this point in his ramblings that a large cluster of snowflakes managed to slip under the collar of his jacket and melt down his back, as if the forest was trying to remind him of the season.
"Nygahh." Ford let out an undignified yelp, quickly remembering the climate, his own lack of shoes and his hopefully still warm bed.
He closed the Journal and began to walk back, but not before giving the last word to his long gone visitors.
"Welp, you got me this time winter. I can't track like this, and especially not in these clothes. But I'm gonna get to the bottom of this, and this town. It's just going to take a little more time."