I don’t know what to do. I tried to call the police but the dispatcher thought I was crazy. Jesus, even I think I sound crazy.
I came to Joshua Tree a couple of days ago. It was sort of a treat. A chance to spend some time alone somewhere beautiful, and chill out. I wanted to switch off. Maybe hike in the park.
So I booked this cool little one bed place out in the middle of nowhere that I found online. The pictures were amazing; acres of rock and sand with a dirt road to nowhere. I thought I’d hit the jackpot when I pulled up. Just me and my thoughts and the resident tarantula that wandered onto the patio.
When the night came and I heard the coyotes howl I was excited. I even found some tracks near the house in the morning and took photos. As an English townie, the most interesting bit of wildlife I’d been around before was a fox.
I’d never visited somewhere like Joshua Tree. It felt otherworldly. Like there were vibrations coming up through my feet and raising the hair on the back of my neck. I was alone, I knew. But it was as if I’d stepped under the eye of the desert. An instinctual sense that I was watched, and I was judged.
In the day I wandered the trails in silence and marvelled at roadrunners and rock formations. Then every evening the coyotes sang as I decided, once again, that I would leave a nightlight burning.
Tonight felt like any other. I’d made a large coffee to go with a fast food burger I picked up on the drive back from a trail. A family of jack rabbits live near the BBQ pit that’s maybe twenty feet from the house, so I decided to sit and enjoy an early dinner in their company.
I’d just licked the last crumbs off my fingers when the rabbits went very still… then dashed into their warren.
I looked around.
It was the eyes I noticed first. The coyote was very still, crouched amongst the brush less than fifteen feet away, and almost invisible. It stared straight at me.
The first feeling I had was excitement. The animal was larger than I expected, nearly twice as big as a fox, but not exactly threatening. I stood slowly, not wanting to startle it. Then I realised, it wasn’t one coyote, but a pack. Maybe fifteen or more. They sauntered from the bushes, unafraid and unwelcoming.
My spine prickled.
I became aware all at once that I was very alone and far enough from the house that I wouldn’t beat them in a race. One coyote had been a thrill, but fifteen was a worry. Then the pack separated; five circling to the left of the BBQ pit and three or four more heading straight at me.
‘You shouldn’t run from a predator,’ I thought to myself.
Taking up the coffee mug as the only weapon to hand. I backed towards the house slow and steady; I couldn’t afford to trip. For every step I took, they stalked closer. Just wary enough not to close the distance but one, a scarred and lean animal, must have been less than six feet away when my foot finally touched the patio pavers. The thin thread of bravery I’d clung to broke and I dashed into the house, hands shaking so hard I could barely lock it behind me.
‘We don’t allow pets anymore,’ the owner had written in the confirmation email, ‘the coyotes have been a bit braver recently.’
At the time I’d thought nothing of it, I wasn’t bringing an animal after all, but now as I watched the pack circle the house I wondered how long the eyes I’d felt in the darkness belonged to them. There’s no boundary here, I realised, between the wild and me. And as the last hints of sunlight over the mountains faded to purple and black, the coyotes lifted their heads and howled.
I retreated to the bedroom, pulling the curtains tight. With my family and friends an ocean away I reached out to the only person I knew how to contact; the rental owner. I could message them through the booking app, and perhaps, if I was lucky, they’d be nearby.
‘There are coyotes here, they’re all around the house. What should I do?’ I typed. I felt so stupid almost the moment it sent.
What should I do?
What should I do?!
Calm down. Take a breath. They’re basically dogs, and now I’m inside, I told myself. I gulped down air until I didn’t feel like my heart was climbing my throat. Just a stupid overreaction to a situation that wasn’t even a big deal. So what if there are coyotes in the desert? Where the hell else would they be?
But I couldn’t fight the seed of fear planted in my belly. There was no way, I thought, that I would sleep here tonight. My best bet would be to pack an overnight bag, jump in my rental and grab a room at a motel back in town.
So I grabbed a few things and stuffed them in a backpack. I would run out to the car and jump straight in. It wasn’t far from the front door. Just a few steps. Easy.
I ducked past dark windows, feeling like an idiot, and stopped at the door. My hand paused over the handle… just one check of the spy hole. That was a normal thing to do.
I leaned in, taking a second to adjust to the darkness beyond. The moonlight was just bright enough to make out the car. All clear. I sighed. Hell the coyotes were probably—
Something moved… just at the edge of the brush, almost out of sight of the peephole.
For a second I thought it was a man, before I realised the legs and head were all wrong. A coyote, but stood on its back legs as it walked up to the door in a strange, broken stagger.
I felt the hair on the back of my neck rise and stumbled away. The phone in my pocket chimed. I fumbled for it and saw a reply from the owner.
‘Check the windows.’
Check the windows? Why would I—but through the kitchen I saw it. Saw those same eyes staring inside. Distorted paws picking at the unlocked screen… and God help me, I ran.
Now I’m here, locked in a tiny, windowless bathroom. My back against the door, my fingers cramped from holding the lock shut. I don’t know when it’ll be dawn, but I hear them breathing in the darkness. The click of claws on tiled floors. The police won’t come. I can’t get out, and I don’t know what to do.