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“Hey Dad, I’m leavin’!” Ash Williams said, pulling on his coat, “Scotty and I are gonna go see a movie!”
Ashley’s father didn’t reply. He usually didn’t, for that matter. But the quiet deadspace that the ghost of an answer made, was soon filled by whimpers of protest from his sister as she scrambled down the stairs.
“Ashley!”
She was sort of a ratty little girl. She had hair that was only sometimes brushed, and absolutely none of her clothes matched. She dressed like a quilt. Consistently. She had a bad habit of bringing nature into the house too, whether it be tadpoles in one of Mom’s chipped old wine glasses, or flowers woven into her church cardigans and her mouse-nest hair. She once caught a opossum with her bare hands and begged their Dad to let them keep it. He said no.
Ashley thought she would have quit all of her shenanigans after her eighth birthday, when a big bullfrog had decided to take a dip in the lemonade. But that wasn’t the case. She scooped the bullfrog out with her hands and carried him in the breastpocket of her dress for the rest of the day. She was the most annoying person Ash had ever met. And he had the privilege of being her big brother.
Her name was Cheryl.
“Ashley, please, can I come too?” She asked, as she struggled to put on her pink sneakers. “I’ve still got birthday money, you don’t need to pay for my ticket-,”
“No,” Ash said, interrupting her.
“But, please-?,”
“I said no, Cheryl,”
“Why?”
“‘Cause,”
“I’m gonna ask Dad,” Cheryl said, with a confident smile.
Ash felt his face twist in anger, “Don’t you dare!”
He tried to grab the sleeve of her shirt, but she flitted away like a bug. Ash wished she was a bug. If she was, he’d be able to squish her with a book and nothing would be left of Cheryl except a bug-colored schmear crowning the hardwood floor.
“I don’t give a shit! Get out of here, goddamnit!” A voice roared. Dad.
Cheryl turned the corner again, her fox-face grin wiped clean off.
“Ashley, please?” She asked again, trying to keep her small voice steady.
“Get your jacket,” Ash said, shaking his head.
The walk to the movie theater was a long one. It was a cold one too. Cheryl walked right beside Ash, struggling to keep pace. She didn’t say much. Good. As pissed as Ash was that he had to babysit his sister, he knew he couldn’t leave her. It had always been that way. She had a habit of tagging along, and as much as it made him furious, at the end of the day, he cared about her. He just didn’t like caring.
It saved about half an hour of walking time if the pair cut through the woods behind the neighborhood instead of following the roads. That’s what Ash normally did, but if he was going to go see Scotty, he couldn’t risk his sister pocketing a small animal or plant that he’d have to explain away. They’d just have to be careful.
Scotty was, in the fewest words, awesome. He was almost two years older than Ash, but they were in the same class at school. Scotty’d been held back after he managed to fail all of his exams for the past year, and when he and Ash met, they became fast friends. They liked all the same things after all. Scotty liked racecars? Ash liked racecars. Ash liked comic books? Scotty liked comic books. Racecars. Comic books. Action movies. Exploring the woods. Girls. They were like two sides of the same coin, but Ash couldn’t help but to look up to Scotty a bit. He wanted to impress his friend, like how most young friendships are forged and kindled. And Cheryl was probably the least impressive person he could possibly be seen with. Except maybe Dad.
They traversed through the pathway the neighbor kids made through the woods. Someone had told him that they’d taken a chainsaw and hacked through it themselves. He’d told them that they were lying. The path was rocky and uneven, and branches whipped right at your face if you weren't paying attention, but it still beat wading through the endless thicket and brambles that were plan B. And it beat walking around the woods and being late for the movie. Scotty would never let him hear the end of it.
Cheryl kept getting her coat hood snagged on the trees, and he’d have to help pull her out. It was wasting precious minutes that he couldn’t throw away. It was like she’d stop every ten paces or so, and call for him to help.
Stupid bitch.
That wasn’t why she stopped walking this time.
There was something in the middle of the worn-dirt path.
Something small.
It was growling and sputtering, and it sounded like it was choking on its own snot. Its fur was patchy. Where it even had fur. Its skin was greying and its eyes were sunken in and whitish. It was hunched over, like it was sniffing the ground. Its black nose was cracked.
Ash had seen coyotes before. They yapped outside the windows as he slept, and he’d grown used to the cacophony of chattering screams. The pattering of their little paws on the soggy grass. He’d shot a coyote once too. That was the last time his father had taken him hunting. It was right before Mom left. And there was a coyote in front of him again. Thin and snarling. He could see its ribs.
“Ashley,” Cheryl said softly, “What’s wrong with her?”
“It’s sick Cheryl,” he answered, moving himself between the beast and his sister.
“Can we help it?”
“No,”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah,”
The coyote’s bristled hairs on the crest of its back stood on end like a cartoon cat. It was almost completely hairless, minus the mantle and islands of tustled fur. It watched them intently with those white eyes. Ashley wondered if it could actually see them. He’d heard that when you’re blind, your eyes go white. But the same person who’d told him that also told him that they’d seen a spaceship with their own two eyes. He called bullshit.
“Is it gonna die, Ashley?” Cheryl’s eyes welled with tears.
“I don’t know, I’m not a veterinarian. Probably,” Ash said flatly, keeping his gaze trained on the animal, slowly stepping backwards.
“Do… Do coyotes go to heaven Ashley?”
Ash was quiet for a second. The only sound that carried was the ragged breathing of the monster.
“No,” he said finally, “Not that one.”
“…Why?”
“It’s evil,”
The creature sulked closer to the pair, shambling like the undead.
“Ashley, it needs help,” Cheryl said, he could see the soft remnants of already fallen tears that painted her baby-blue jacket with streaks of navy emotion. “We could bring her home and help her.”
Cheryl stepped past Ash’s hand, and held her own out to the beast. It snarled again, and snapped its slobbery maw. The scene seemed to play out like a dream to the watching Ashley. Cheryl knelt down to grab the monster by the scruff, and it lunged at her. He lunged at it. He tackled the growling devil from his sister and he watched as the creature coughed and spat and the light faded out of its eyes.
He’d killed it.
With his hands.
Like a monster.
“Ashley?” Cheryl sniffled, grabbing to hold his hand. He didn’t object. “Ashley, you’re bleeding.”
He was. Blood was steadily staining his green coat sleeve a dirty brownish red. The coyote had bitten him. If this were one of his movies, he’d be positive he’d change into a were-coyote. But this wasn’t a movie. This was real. This was real and he’d ended the life of another being. Another soul.
Ashley J. Williams made a silent promise at that moment, as his kid sister held his bleeding hand. He’d keep his sister safe no matter what. And he’d never kill anything again.
Ashley J. Williams had no idea that in ten years, he’d break that promise twofold. He had no idea that his hand would bleed a lot more when he did. He had no idea that someone snuck away on the path home from school every day to lay a wildflower with the coyote’s dry bones.
He had no idea that he was right that day.
Maybe it was evil.