The Goats Knew

Investigation

That night Scott awoke with a start. In the dream it was the shriek of a skidding tire as a speeding truck locked up it's brakes, sliding into him. Awake now, slick with cold sweat. he could still hear the shrieking tire echoing around in his head. But in reality the house was quiet. But not for long.

They'd known about the coyotes for years now. Ever since moving in. Sometimes you could hear them in the evening or early morning, especially when they had pups. But that night was something else entirely. It sounded like hundreds of them. The sound was terrifying. It wasn't the typical conversational sound they usually had. This was a mourning sound. It was a mother wailing over her dead baby. A father crying out over the son unjustly murdered. A child sobbing over a lost pet. A nation of slaves screaming indignation over the chains of bondage. It was all of this and more. It was a cry of retribution.

As Scott lay in his bed listening, a shiver ran down his spine. He literally shook with fear. He felt cold, empty, alone. Terrified. It seemed to go on for hours. He had pulled the covers up to his chin instinctively. He couldn't have felt more frightened if he had seen their blazing eyes at the foot of the bed. But no, they stayed in the forest that night. Somehow he managed to get back to sleep. While he slept, they howled their grief and rage at the moon. He had no way of knowing what tragedy had triggered the cacophony, but knew that, guilty or not, anything that moved in the forest tonight would pay a terrible price to quell their grief.

When Scott awoke the next morning he was greeted by a clear, bright sky. Although remembering it clearly, there was no sign of the howling that had so terrified him in the dark. The day promised to be sunny and ordinary. A direct contrast to last night. After a brief stop to take care of morning business, he headed to the kitchen to see what was offered for breakfast.

"Mornin' Mom," Scott chirped as he began scrounging through the cupboards, looking for something good.

"Good morning, Scott. Get some orange juice before you tear the whole kitchen apart, please."

"Yeah, sure," He offered as he grabbed a box of Cheerios and turned toward the fridge. There he took hold of a gallon of milk in one hand, the jug of OJ in the other and headed for the kitchen table as he kicked the fridge door closed with his heel. "Breakfast of champions!"

He deposited his finds on the table and headed across the room to grab a bowl, a glass and a spoon.

"That's Wheaties!" Mom exclaimed.

"What?" Ok, now he was confused. What was she talking about?

"Breakfast of champions, genius. That was Wheaties, not Cheerios. Get your tag lines straight. Cheerios was The Oat Cereal Ready To Eat."

"Gotcha." Scott knew better than to argue with his Mom. She was always right. "Dad sleepin' in this mornin'?"

"No. He's out back mending more of that fence." She sounded a bit worried. "He didn't like the sound of the coyotes last night. Figured he'd better finish up sooner than later. If you don't have any big plans this morning, maybe you could help him. More hands make short work and those coyotes sounded terribly upset last night."

At least he now knew he wasn't the only one listening to them. "Yeah, I'll finish this up and head right out." He actually didn't have any real plans for the morning anyway.

Breakfast went quick. Mom had started the wash so Scott rinsed his dishes and went back to his room to get ready. Fence mending wasn't really tough work, but the wild raspberries that were all over the property could play havoc with bare flesh. He pulled on a pair of heavy denim jeans. Thankfully, it was a cool morning and a sweatshirt was called for. That would protect bare arms while providing some defense against the morning's chill air. Work boots laced up and tied off, Scott headed to the back door. The barnyard was only about a 30 yard hike, so he was clipping wire and tying off fence in no time. His dad was happy to have the help. The company too.