[At midnight (just to be extra dramatic), a single heavier gust of wind cuts from one end of town to the other. That's it, just the once. Many people are asleep, and so won't notice it. Others are watching tv, or listening to music, or other less wholesome things, and don't hear that single rush. For those few that do, it almost sounds like the beat of a giant wing - just once, and then no more. It's easily missed and easily ignored.
Then the silence returns, the snow falls steadily to the ground, and there's no other sign of anything strange happening. Even with the late hour, a young man checks into the motel at the north end of town. His jacket sleeves are pulled down against the winter chill, but when handing over the cash for the room, his left one rides up enough to reveal the ankh tattooed on the inside of his wrist. He's quiet, doesn't give a name (but the clerk doesn't seem to remember to ask), and he takes up residence in one of the rooms on the second floor.]