It's Kids, or a Hunter

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. I ignored it at first. Just kids looking for a place to party. Or maybe a hunter that needed shelter for the night. It’s nothing, I told myself. I abandoned my curiosity and continued walking home along the trail. A coyote jumped out in front of me, carrying a baby possum in its mouth. The possum tried to wriggle free, but the coyote crunched down on it, crushing its skull. Blood poured out of its mouth and onto the path. Buzzards circled overhead, waiting for the coyote’s leftovers. Rain began to fall. Thunder crashed in the distance.

The next day, the candle continued to burn. In the same place, at the same height. The wax hadn’t burned down. One of those fake electric candles maybe, like on a film set. What are they called? Practical lights? Or maybe they (whoever they are) just replaced the candle after it burned all the way down. It’s nothing. It’s kids. I told myself. Or a hunter, maybe. I turned to walk home. A coyote jumped out. With a possum. Crunch. Blood on the path. Buzzards circled overhead. Waiting for their turn. Rain. Thunder.

Still burning. Same place. Same height. Flickering an awful lot to be a fake candle. No. It’s kids. Or a hunter. I should go take a look. Best not to poke your head into things that aren’t your business. We know that now. Better get home. Oh. A coyote, with an itty bitty baby possum. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Dead. More blood than last time? Nope. The exact same amount of blood and gore as last time. Hmmmnnn. Buzzards again. Rain. Thunder.

Burning. How many days has it been? The coyote kills. Buzzards circle. Rain falls. Thunder cracks. And so it goes.

Burning. Still. Could it be vagrants. No. Vagrants wouldn’t keep replacing the candles everyday after they burn down. They wouldn’t be nearly so organized. It’s kids. I’m certain of it. Or a hunter. Just for the night. One night only. Hey, look at that. A coyote. Just down the way there. Just there. Can you see it? Something in its mouth. Looks like it could be just a cute little baby possum. Wiggling and wobbling. Crunch. Munch. Scrunch. Gore. The maggots will eat what the buzzards don’t finish. The rain will wash it all away and everything will be new. Thunder cracks.

Burning. Someone could have bought the property. They’re renovating. Cleaning. Yes. Flipping the property maybe. But they would have a vehicle. Where is their truck? They parked nearby and just moseyed on over. Maybe. JUST GO INSIDE YOU BABY! Go take a look. What are you afraid of? Always so fucking scared. You are terrified. Get on home. Ahhh! A coyote. Stay still and don’t look it in the eye or it will attack you. And you won’t be able to fight it off because YOU ARE WEAK. Scared and weak. Just like the poor little baby possum in its mou… crunch. Nope. Dead and gone. Guts. Gore. I loathe the rain, and I’ve always been petrified of thunder.

The cabin in the woods has been abandoned for years, but now it’s on fire. Some kids, a hunter, a film crew, some vagrants and an entire home renovation team burn alive inside. A blood-covered coyote looks on. Buzzards circle overhead, waiting for the chard. Rain pours, but it makes no difference. You can’t hear the thunder over the symphony of screams. Finally, an explanation. Some relief.