The Renfield Syndrome by Clifford Beck - HTML preview

Chapter 50

Waking early the next morning, Caspian threw off the cover of his sleeping bag, and untying the top of the tent door, he peered out into the foggy morning air. The pond seemed to, on cue, give off a blanket of fog at just the right time, rolling up on the grass in front of his tent. But this morning would bring an unexpected surprise as Caspian saw an unfamiliar shape on the ground in front of his tent. As the ground warmed, the fog began to dissipate, revealing the odd shape. Sometime during the night, the coyote cautiously made its way down to Caspian’s camp, and curling up next to the rear wheel of his car, fell asleep. Watching from only a few feet away, Caspian surmised that it had picked up his scent, and feeling comfortable enough to venture forward, it made its bed there. He carefully pulled open the next tie and, in doing so, caused the coyote to stir and open its eyes, looking directly at Caspian. It suddenly raised its head upon seeing his face, but Caspian remained calm and coaxed the animal close to him. It was at first hesitant to approach, but sniffing the air determined that no harm would befall it, and in fact this odd human appeared to be something of a kindred spirit.

Rising from its slumber, it sat up, looking at Caspian with hunger in its eyes.

“Are you hungry?” he asked. The coyote made its reply with a faint whine.

“Alright,” Caspian continued. “Let me see what I’ve got.”

The coyote sat up as he retreated back into his tent; he returned with a package of hot dogs. It wasn’t exactly breakfast fare, but it was enough for both of them. As Caspian prepared the fire, he tossed one of the hot dogs to the coyote, who caught it in its mouth. “Good boy,” Caspian said.

In actuality, Caspian didn’t know how aggressive the animal was, but he was willing to take the chance on establishing a bond. Putting a hand out, he coaxed it to venture in further. The animal leaned forward, and sniffing at Caspian’s hand, decided there was no immediate threat. Moving in, it sniffed the air wildly for any sudden changes that might indicate danger. With none about, it crept up to Caspian for a second helping, receiving another hotdog from his hand. Trust had now been established, and both came to the understanding they had become kinsmen, sharing a wildness that no one would understand. After gulping down the precooked meat, the coyote stepped forward, and lying down next to Caspian’s leg, laid its head on his foot. There was only one problem. Caspian had to move at some point and would soon have to leave within the next day or two. How could he move without taking the chance of triggering the coyote into a reaction of violence? The last thing he needed was a bite from a coyote or the illness that sometimes comes with it.

Gently reaching down, Caspian placed his fingertips near the animal’s nose, allowing it to get a better idea of how safe it was in his presence. It reacted by nuzzling its face into his foot. Its reaction was much like a domesticated house dog—loyal, protective, and affectionate. The question became, how would he get up to leave without startling the animal? He wanted to spend as little time there as possible. Just then the voice in his head spoke up.

“What are you doing with this fucking mutt?”

At nearly the same instant, the coyote sprang from the ground and began snarling. Could it be that it sensed when the voice spoke? Physically, there was nothing to hear, but changes in body chemistry have often produced different reactions in domestic animals. The coyote suddenly knew something wasn’t right and, backing up, snarled again, turned away, and ran off into the woods.

“Why the fuck did you do that?” Caspian asked.

He expected an immediate answer, and after a few moments, one made itself known.

“Because I fucking felt like it.” The voice said.

The voice had always been uncooperative and demanding, but Caspian had finally come to the conclusion that the voice was basically an asshole. He also discovered that it always seemed to know what he was thinking.

“We’re leaving tomorrow, right?” it asked.

Caspian wasn’t eager to leave and saw his visit as a means of relaxation. He also saw it as a way of flying under the radar, trying to avoid being noticed. “I thought I’d stay here for a couple of days. I kind of need the break,” he said.

The voice went quiet, an unexpected reaction from something that insisted on getting its own way. Sitting in front of the cold fire bed, he decided he would stay for two more days and then move on. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he retrieved a folded-up map, and unfolding it, determined where he would go next.

“I think we’re going to Chicago,” he said.

He kept his side of the conversation down to a minimum so as not to be seen as suspicious. At this, the voice responded with a tone of excitement. “Fuck,” it said. “All those people. All that meat.”

The voice insisted they go at once. But Caspian was tired and in need of a break. So, in spite of the protests in his mind, he would wait two more days before starting out for Chicago. The Coyote never returned.