Coyotes of Silver Moon.
That will be the title of the first short story I sell. Coyotes of Silver Moon. I will sell it to Way Out West, a “weird western” anthology. I won’t get much for it. I’ll get my name in the book and a copy of the book, and that’s about it.
Now, about these coyotes.
NOTE: I had the “Word count” feature in Word sometimes, you know.
Silver Moon is a small town east of the Black Hills of South Dakota in the 1870s, during the gold rush and during the time the Apaches were the Saudi Arabians of the American frontier. I’m going to throw everything I know about the American west into this story and see what sticks: the Apache war, Little Big-Horn, the gold rush, the railroad crossing the US, the war between farmers and ranchers, rabies, bats, wolves, whores… everything I can think of. And I’ll tie it all up into 6,000 words or less when I’m done, and it will be the tightest piece of writing you have ever freaking seen.
Silver Moon was established in the early or mid 1800s. It was located between Silver Moon Buttes and Pino Springs in Haakon County South Dakota. Originally it was Bad River Crossing Stage Stop. During the late 1870s it was a small but thriving community sporting a two story hotel, a saloon and a bank. The population may have been around 200 hardy souls at one time. The first post office for the area was established March 31, 1890.
During the summer of 1886 the Northwestern Railroad Company completed a section of track from Omaha Nebr. to Deadwood S.D. putting the stage line out of business. However the old stage route was used by cowboys, prospectors, and drifters for many more years.
By 1903 the town of Wall S.D. located 23 miles southwest of Silver Moon, had become the new trade center of the area, Silver Moon was still holding it’s own in 1906 with a General Store, a hall, a saloon, a post office, a barber shop, a lumber yard and at one time two different newspapers. The newspapers eked out a living mostly from the Government postings and listings of land grants and notices.
This will be the story of the Fulton Family of Silver Moon. They’re a farming family, living simply off the land, but John Fulton is dealing with the ranchers on the one side and the railroad on the other. He and his wife Alexandria have nine children alive, with five more that either died in childbirth or childhood. Aurora is a married with three of her own kids to the Nowlin Hyde, son of the man who owns the ranch trying to muscle in on John’s farm, Jackson Hyde. John’s son Orland returned home from the Civil War with the rank of captain and one less arm than he left with. Chester is the son who does the majority of the work around the farm in John’s stead, and even though he is far to shy to take a wife, he is devoted to his family and stands as though he were Atlas, burdened with the whole world on his shoulders. Beulah is lonely, genuinely unpleasant schoolteacher in town. Ellis is turning wild. He wants to kill Indians, mine for gold and drink, not necessarily in that order. He’s lost his way in the world, and blames the world for it. A lot of anger for a 16-year-old. Roswell is the disturbingly quiet young man who spends all day communing with the pigs. He may be developmentally challenged, or he may be seeing more than he’s letting on. Hurley, at 10, is the king of all the world, but most especially his little sisters, Hazel and Ida.
Well, that’s the family. Now, how do we work werewolves and transforming coyotes into the mix? That’s the real question, isn’t it? Let’s say that there’s something mutilating the cattle on the Hyde ranch. Nowlin’s catching hell from his dad because he can’t find the wolves that are doing this… and then one night, he ends up mutilated, too. Torn to shreds.
At first people think it’s Indians what done it. The apache have been never exactly been cordial to the white man around those parts, and many people are just looking for a reason to get them off their land entirely. Maybe there’s a group of men who go out looking for a warband, and they make a raid on a local tribe, causing a big ruckus and getting the army and local Indian agents involved in a big mess. All the while, the attacks are getting more violent. There are attacks reported in town, and after sundown, nobody feels safe.
Then, Nowlin’s grave is found vandalized. Empty. Someone’s stolen his body. And this, of course, sends the town into a full-blown panic. Who would do such a thing? People actually start leaving town and heading to Fort Bennett to the east, or Dakota City to the west, anywhere that isn’t Silver Moon.
But it’s Roswell who discovers the first clue to the mystery of what’s happening, when he starts baying at the moon like a coyote the day after one of his pigs is slaughtered. He’s been staying out all night protecting his pigs, and during the night they are destroyed right underneath his nose. And after he stops baying, he starts talking more. A lot more. And avoiding sunlight whenever possible.
And there are a couple other animals who survive the attacks. Anything from dogs to sheep to cattle, and even another human or too, who whether mangled or mutilated or not, somehow manage to hang on, but they’re changed. Angrier, more aggressive. More violent. Dogs especially are getting nasty during the daylight hours. The people of Silver Moon begin to feel trapped in their homes. They’re afraid to go out at night, and dogs have begun attacking people during the day. At first, people think there’s an epidemic of rabies going around, and they wouldn’t be far off, until one night as John and Chester are patrolling the farm at dusk and turn away one of the evening attacks. It turns out it’s coyotes running rampant in packs in the midnight hours on evenings with a full moon. Chester is able to wound one of the critters. When they see that it’s not quite dead, Chester decides not to waste a bullet on it when it will obviously be dead by morning. If other scavengers don’t get to it first, he’ll dispose of the carcass in the morning. But when he goes to retrieve the carcass the following morning, it’s not a coyote he sees.
It’s Roswell.
And that’s my 1,000 words for today.
Posted by wesleysmith 
Posted by wesleysmith 
Posted by wesleysmith 
