William Vickers

Past the Hour of No Return: Rise of the Coyote People William Vickers

The night sky was bright from a crisp autumn moon, though gray puffy clouds raced across it like a stampede of wild horses. The grass we were smoking while resting on the hood of the old hearse had put our minds in a slow-motion haze, with sleep closing in. But a shrill howl coming from the woods behind Hemlock Manor set us upright. Then there was another howl, and another, and still another, cutting through the night air with unwavering authority. "What is that?" Rhonda asked. "Coyotes," I said, "a lot of them. It's as if they are calling out to each other." "Or calling out to us," Rhonda murmured. Then suddenly, dark shadows started appearing out of the woods, heading our way. There were two at first, then three, then four. "Brogan, I'm scared!" Rhonda said grabbing my arm. I tried to answer her, to reassure her, but my mind was in slow-motion mode. . .and they were still coming. . . these shadows of night.