Ruff's Den
No One Knows What Happened Last Summer
No One Knows What Happened Last Summer
By: Ferrel Kasson
Speeding along the mountain pass came an ancient, ice blue Corolla. The raccoon behind the wheel was making the common small talk with his passenger, a female albino coyote, who was obviously extraordinarily shy and was holding to herself as much as possible. Pulling hard around a sudden hairpin curve, the old coupe was practically on two wheels. Suddenly jerking to the left, the car skidded and spun, then, out of the darkness appeared a silhouette, standing directly in the vehicle’s path. On impact, the body rolled limply over the Toyota’s rear end.
As the ride came to it’s end, the ‘coon bolted towards the lifeless lump in the road. Before him was a plump, silver-gray puma carcass sprawled belly up on the tarmac with little more than shreds of clothing and fur still clinging to his flesh. Remembering the coyote in his passenger seat, he scrambled for her door, in hope that she was not injured. On arrival, the door swung violently open, jolting the raccoon backwards as it struck him square in the chest. Loosing his balance as he tripped over the steel guardrail bordering the highway, he vanished, sailing off the ridge and dropping to the beach eighty yards below. Awoken by the thud of the ‘coon’s body landing just outside of his den, a young otter emerged to investigate.
Back on the road, the coyote had figured out what had happened, and after analyzing the situation, she figured that her best bet was to phone the local sheriff’s department and explain the situation to the highway patrol. As she made her way back to the, now crumpled, trunk of the car to retrieve her cell phone, a gunshot rung out, piercing the evening’s silence. Nestling itself in her spine, the projectile stole the life from the coyote’s body. Her final view: a tipsy red fox with a Colt .38 and a bottle of cheap vodka. Standing over the deceased puma, the otter heard the shot and shifted his attention to the night sky above him. All he could see in the air overhead was a dark mass of fur plunging down straight for him. Without time enough to realize his need to change positions, the otter was no more, demolished by the plummeting coyote.
Leaning against the battered Corolla, the fox took another swig of his beverage as he noticed a number of small stones rolling past his paws. Displaced by the blast from the firearm, a hefty boulder toppled down on the canine’s tail. With a yip, he was stuck, unable to move thanks to the weight of the rock flattening his formerly fluffed tail. Before long, the pain from his backside no longer tortured him due to the conclusion of his living days. A gargantuan sheet of slate had been loosened in the miniature landslide and slid down the nearly vertical slope, mincing the fox into little more than road-kill, thus marking the end of a twisted little story.