Coyote (Created: Part 1)

1

I couldn't help but smile as I gazed at the pasture full of tall, golden-brown grass. I could see the silver fence that stretched around the property, enclosing the field in a rectangular fashion.

One single tree grew in the right side of the pasture, and I could barely make out the old boards within the tangle of branches. The boards that used to make the little clubhouse. Well, that's what we called it at least.

It wasn't really much to look at, even in its prime, but we were proud of it. There was one winter when we even found an old tire and strung it up to make a swing. They were good times. Perhaps I'm reminiscing too much.

The land in the pasture seemed to dip in places, creating a ring of lower ground around a central hill that was blanketed in thick bushes. That massive tangle of dried leaves and branches was undoubtedly home to snakes, raccoons, coyotes and God only knows what else.

Nobody ever ventured in, both because there was never any reason to and because no one dared to risk treading on a rattlesnake.

Sometimes when it would rain, the ring of lower ground in the pasture would fill with water, creating a lake that would last for weeks, or even months.

I had heard of my aunt and uncle making a raft to sail on the lake, but I myself was never brave enough. Rumors and stories of leeches living in the lake sufficiently repelled me from the water entirely. What can I say? I was a scaredy-cat.

Aside from one or two smaller trees and a couple piles of scrap metal and old car parts, the only other notable thing in the pasture was the old fort. What I now refer to as the "clubhouse" or the "watchtower."

If you think that it'd get confusing, considering the other clubhouse that I mentioned before, then don't worry. The old tree-based clubhouse doesn't really come up in this particular story at all. I suppose I just bring it up for my own sake.

Unimportant as it may be, I did help to renovate it after it had lain untouched for years; though it's now just as neglected and unloved as it had always been. Perhaps one day I'll go back and renovate it all over again, only with my little cousins to help me. It could be fun.

But anyway, the watchtower. I can't believe how sidetracked I'm becoming. Too many memories live here, I suppose. The watchtower, as I will refer to it, has fewer than the others, which should allow my description of it to be substantially shorter.

The watchtower stood in the left side of the pasture, closer to the house and to the backyard in which I stood. Even though I call it a "watchtower," don't get the wrong idea. It's nothing impressive. It only stands about fifteen feet tall; I suppose it seemed a lot taller as a small child.

It's a small clubhouse-style room elevated about seven or eight feet above ground by large wooden posts. The room was painted a plain white on the outside, and had a couple windows and even a balcony. I always imagined the watchtower as some silent guardian, protecting the back pasture from danger.

At the same time, however, it also always seemed to have a more ominous aura. Something frightened me about it, though it was subtle. I guess it was more eerie than downright frightening.

I felt it again as I stood inspecting that pasture. Of course, after what happened, it was no surprise that that fortress would give such an ominous feeling.

How long had it been? A year? Perhaps more? How long ago did I first see that coyote? No, it was longer. Several years.

I found myself staring at that watchtower for longer than I intended. It was only then that I remembered the rake that I held in my hands, and I remembered why I was in the backyard in the first place.