MonstrousMay 17. Predator and Prey

Something was getting the coyotes. Normally, Jeb would be happy to find a dead coyote. Not happy, but relieved. It was given you'd lose an animal to them here and there, a harsh truth he learned young. The youngest and the oldest were the most at risk. He could still picture it, standing at his father's side in the early morning, seeing what they had done in the night. It was all part of tending the land and the Lord's creatures.

He really didn't get any joy from any dead animal, but the first coyote body had filled him with a small sense of justice. Serves you right, he thought. Honey, his mutt herding dog, was very interested, of course. Jeb had to keep her in the house while he got rid of it.

But this coyote made the fifth in as many days. It wasn't a pretty sight. The sheep all huddled together in a many-legged cloud, watching him examine it. He warily watched them as well. A spooked animal is a dangerous one, even if it's cute and fluffy.

What he really started to worry about was whatever could do that to a coyote being out there in the field. He counted the sheep and counted them again. None missing or injured. He couldn't get Honey to come out into the field anymore, which made his stomach knot even tighter. She knew something he didn't.

The only thing to do was to set up a blind and watch. After supper, he climbed up into the barn's loft and made him a little nest of prickly hay. He posted up with a rifle and watched the little strands and clumps of sheep crowd around each other as it got darker. 

Before long, he heard the coyotes singing. Like garbled radio static or a Halloween ghost, they yipped and yapped. A dark shape came over the hill. Jeb peered down the rifle at it. A light somewhere glinted off of its eyes. The coyotes in the distance began to wail and howl so loud he could hardly think. 

He didn't want to, but if it got one of the sheep in its jaws, he'd have to pull the trigger. The coyote stopped, standing and panting, eyeing up the flock, looking for the weakest. Jeb lowered the gun as he realized the sheep weren't moving. They didn't make a single sound. 

The fluffy white mass began to swirl, like clouds of birds in the fall. The coyote lowered its head, baring its fangs. The others still cried and crooned off over the hill. The sheep parted to reveal one of their rank, a lamb by the looks of it. He didn't think he had seen it when he did his headcount, but it was hard to think over the screams of the wild dogs.

Jeb lifted his rifle again. His finger moved from the guard to the trigger, ready to take his shot. 

It was dark. Jeb wasn't sure what he saw, but the lack of light, the stress of a situation, could certainly play tricks. The lamb teetered and stumbled towards the coyote. "What're you doin'?" Jeb whispered. The coyote, clearly suspicious, but mostly hungry, made a lunge for it. 

The coyotes far and away stopped. In the resulting, ear-ringing quiet, he heard the lamb bay. It squelched and cracked as something like arms climbed out of its wool. The coyote tried to stop, to turn tail and run, but it was too late. The lamb hung limply from the thing, an empty costume. The branching arms grabbed hold of the coyote. There was a snap and a crunch Jeb felt in his stomach. He hid his face and covered his ears, trying not to hear what happened next. 

When he dared look again, the lamb was returning to the rest. They all began to lick it clean of the gore that clung to its coat. He blinked and it was lost amidst its family. What remained of the coyote shone faintly in the moonlight that now peeked out from the clouds. 

The next day, the lamb he hadn't seen before wobbled up to the trough. It looked at him with cold calculation. Jeb didn't go into the sheep pasture anymore after that. He fed them and gave them water, but that was it. Honey stayed in the house most of the time.

Jeb kept finding coyotes after that. He was surprised they were foolhardy enough to try where all the others had failed. It seemed they didn't learn. Would never learn.