Coyote (Created: Part 1)

7

Back when I was between the ages of eight and nine, I would sometimes ask about Ian and why he disappeared. I asked my parents, my aunts, and my uncles, but none of them knew who Ian was.

It didn't help that I didn't know his last name, nor did I know the names of his parents. The only thing I knew was that he was a young boy who used to live nearby.

When I asked Grandma and Grandpa about it, however, their reaction was different. They told me not to worry, but otherwise avoided the topic like the plague.

It wasn't hard to deduce that they were hiding something, I just didn't know what. No matter how many times I pestered them, however, they never told me a thing.

I had one and only one clue, and that came from Hannad and Daniel. Sadly, I only recognize it as a clue in retrospect. The week after we discovered the coyote body in the pasture, Hannah and Daniel hadn't been allowed outside. Their parents seemed more protective than usual.

After a couple weeks of that, they were once again allowed to play outside, but even then, their mother kept a watchful eye on the both of them for months. They were never told why.

Before long, I had given up. I stopped asking about it, and succumbed to the reality that I was never going to see my friend again. I think that my mind blocked out my memory of him as a sort of defense mechanism.

The fear, confusion, and loneliness that I felt from losing a friend and not knowing why was hard, but my mind learned to shut it out. It learned to shut him out. It wasn't until I saw his body stitched together with the coyote head that my memory came surging back.

During the time that I forgot all about him, nobody brought him up. It was like all other family members universally agreed that the boy never existed, and that they would talk to me as though he never existed.

Whether it was intentional or not, I think it was the right thing to do. At my age, I wouldn't have been able to handle the truth. I can barely handle it now, at sixteen.

The morning after the incident in the watchtower, Grandma and Grandpa had a lot of questions about the noises they'd heard during the night. In fact, I was faced with the both of them the instant I managed to pull Kenzie back into the house. I had a lot of explaining to do.

I told them about an intruder that had broken in, and how Kenzie chased him off like the good girl she was, and My story was well-received, to my relief.

I omitted the parts that took place in the watchtower, as well as the parts about the coyote head. Nobody would have believed it, and I knew that it wouldn't come at me again. I had Kenzie by my side, after all.

And speaking of her, she had a few wounds from her scuffle, but nothing major. She would be perfectly fine.

As for the bite marks on my shoulder, I had managed to cover those up with my jacket. Miraculously, I was able to avoid attention for them entirely. They would have posed more questions that I wasn't overly keen on answering. At least, not if I wanted to sound sane.

I discreetly treated the injuries myself. Though I was worried about an infection, after thoroughly washing and treating the wound, nothing came of it. Nothing but a scar on my shoulder.

Once everything cooled down, I got going on my final day of work. Burglar or not, I had a job to do, and was not about to take a day off. I'll spare you the details of the work.

It was dull, as most work tends to be, as well as physically taxing. Once I was done, I reported to Grandpa and he praised my hard work.

My heart began to race as I contemplated asking a question. He probably never expected it. He probably hoped he'd never have to answer it. But after working up my courage, I decided to ask it anyway, hoping the question wouldn't cause too much agitation.