Night Howls

Hi, time for one of those stories. We have two classic formulas to get out of the way. You all know them? "T'was a dark and stormy night," and "Once upon a time long ago,in a land far away." After those are dealt with, we can go on to freeform.

Once upon a time long ago, in a far-away land---well, it was a month or so ago, and sounded like it came from the next county---coyotes were barking down by the river. Bright nights, like this one, are when they have their fun. If you've never heard coyotes at night, try to correct that lapse. It's a lonely, slightly threatening sound I suppose, to the uninitiated. But after hearing it for years, it sort of soothes and promises.

Clouds added variety to the moonlight, and I was sitting on the stairs to my deck, just enjoying the sharpness of the cold air. The yelping provided background for my wandering thoughts. My neighbors were quietly watching TV, or reading to their kids. I guess. At least they weren't yelping at each other loudly enough for me to hear. I felt slightly wistful. Nights like this make me wish I had somewhere I had to be going, like those lucky coyotes.

Soon I would. I'd get up, return to the house, and turn in for the night. Hardly the busy, frisky night the coyotes had planned. I heard a small owl a couple of doors down asking his eternal question, so I quietly, politely told him my name. A breeze started up, skittering a few leaves down the sidewalk beside the house.

Peaceful, quiet, reflective---and then a klaxon. Soon sirens screamed from both directions of the highway. They didn't all converge at once, like in the movies. They sort of trickled in. But each one conveyed more of the rush of a firehose, than the leaking of a faucet. Next a copter flew over, barely in sight, his lights easily trumping the moonlight. Obviously, they were all headed just west of me, and I didn't think there was a law enforcement convention scheduled. Have I mentioned the prison, just outside of town? Have now. Red and blue lights flickered through town at intervals. That beam from the copter appeared and disappeared, and was joined eventually by a second one, their thumping dopplering in and out in counterpoint to the sirens.

Discretion being the better part of valor, and me being much more discreet than valorous, I retreated to my livingroom and waited through the clamor to see if the newshour held any answers. There weren't many that evening, but the next day was full of information on the riot, the fires set, the night of vigilance following an evening of destruction.

The coming and going, the chopping of the air, lasted for a long time. But it was quieter each hour, and the sirens and light shows withdrew behind a hill to the west, or were shut down. The coyotes, much subdued, their plans ruined, took their business in the opposite direction, I'd guess---outclassed and they knew it.

All my desire to have somewhere to go, to soak up the night, vanished. I listened to the strange night noises for a while, and, like the coyotes gave up. I could have shivered in my bed, hiding under the covers all night, I suppose. After all, there were no details available then. Desperate, escaped prisoners might have kicked down my door But that didn't occur to me until the next day. And then, only when a television reporter asked the area resident in front of her if they'd been frightened. It occurred to me as a ridiculous thought: Really. If you escaped, would you hole up in the town next to the prison, or disappear over the prairie, like the coyotes?

Tomorrow. I'll be here.