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There’s something in the woods.
At least, that’s what Kira’s been told. Beacon Hills' very own cryptid, they say. Apparently, it’s a wolf—bigger than a wolf, louder, less “animal” (whatever that meant), but anyone would know that there aren’t any wolves in this part of California. She wouldn’t know. She’s never gone to see it for herself.
The people that do go investigate—usually boys around her age with a crazy lack of survival instinct and/or self-preservation—usually end up in the hospital for deep-cutting scratches or bone-crushing bites. Of course this meant that the school issued numerous statements and warnings that Kira was all too happy to follow: even with her newfound karate skills, she wasn’t too keen on encountering whatever it is that’s tearing up teenage boys that willingly go seek it out. It’s probably just a scared, wild coyote trying to survive, anyway.
The boys don’t see it that way.
Every single time one of them was asked for a statement, without fail, they’d give the exact same description. It was like a werewolf, but also like, a coyote at the same time. There was a girl there, too, and her eyes were like, crazy blue, like neon lights.
It didn’t really affect Kira, thankfully. The closest she ever got to adventurous was sneaking off into the woods with her friends during a full moon a few years ago—it wasn’t eventful, really. They just got too cold and decided to spend the night at Lydia’s instead. (Kira got grounded for a week and a verbal lashing from her parents the next morning when she failed to sneak back in.)
But recently, on a lot of mornings, Kira would wake up to a note on the outside of her windowsill. Yes, they were scary—who would think they weren’t?—but they were, in some way, a little bit sweet. (Kira thought they were from the kids next door. They always greeted Kira with excited waves and loud greetings in Korean, which always made Kira feel a little bit hollow inside.)
On some nights, she’d be able to find a little creature sleeping in their backyard—again, it scared Kira at first, since it was a full coyote, but it seemed to be harmless—slumbering peacefully under the shade of the tree in the northwestern corner.
They say never to feed coyotes, but hey, Kira felt bad for the little thing. She started leaving food and water out for it in dog bowls in the morning and would see them empty in the afternoons, then filling them back up and seeing them empty the next morning. Her parents did give her small, slightly disappointed looks every now and then, but they didn’t make any moves to stop her, so she just kept going.
Sometimes, she’d be able to watch the coyote in the evenings. It was lone, that much was sure. It would sneak in from a gap in the fences they haven’t mended in years, trot silently over to the dog bowls, empty them out, and promptly fall asleep. (Sometimes, it would look up at Kira’s bedroom, make eye contact with her, and bow its head, which Kira could only guess was a sign of gratitude or respect.)
All that to say that she didn’t connect the dots until winter break, when she found a teenage girl naked and shivering in their backyard where a coyote was just hours ago.
Wake up. Warm. Why? Snow is cold.
Where?
Not coyote. No fur. Who? Why skin? Not choice made—not conscious.
Too cold for coyote? Change human because too cold?
Should have dug hole in ground, hid in cave.
Where?
Look. Weird. Not forest. Not mountain.
No.
House? Inside house.
Have not seen inside house in a long time. Where? Who?
Whose house?
Here come. Not coyote. Not mountain lion. Skin. Hair. Eyes.
Human.
Jump.
Why shout? So loud.
Speak. Human speak. Say something. Question. Human asking question.
BECOME HUMAN. BECOME HUMAN.
NAME? WHAT IS NAME?
NAME. SAY NAME. OLD NAME, NOT REAL NAME. WHAT NAME.
Ma.
Ma.
Malia.
Name Malia.
Human ask. Why outside?
No home. In woods. Do not say why. Stay alert.
Why scared? Human—humans—scared. Why? Malia not cold. Go outside. Go outside!
Why stop Malia? Do not stop Malia. Malia go back. Malia go to woods.
Sound outside. Loud machine. Machine? What machine?
Smell. Smell… familiar.
Door (door?) open. In come.
Warm, big human. Human hug Malia.
Smell. Smell familiar, smell nice.
Smell… Dad.
Malia scared—not so scared, here Dad—Malia hug Dad.
“Malia!” Dad say.
Malia try to say, but cannot.
Malia broken.
Malia always broken.
“Dad.” She say, broken. “How?”
“[…] Looking for you […] years!” Dad say. (Malia not hear what Dad say in […]. Malia ears made for forest, not House.)
Dad hug no more. (Malia sad. Malia hold on Dad arm.) Dad talk to humans. “Thank you.” Dad say. Dad say thank you a lot. “[…] Name?”
Human speak. “Ken Yukimura.”
Human speak. “Noshiko Yukimura.”
Human speak. “Kira Yukimura.”
Malia look up when Kira say name.
Dad speak to Ken and Noshiko, give name of Dad house.
Malia hear Ken and Noshiko say Kira when Malia come outside house. Kira give Malia food, water. Malia say, “Thank you,” Stop to find words. (No need for words when coyote. Speaking hard.) “For… the. Food, water.”
Kira shake head. “Of course.” Kira say. (Hard to breathe when Kira speak. Not know why. Maybe inside of Malia cold?) “Come back any time you want,”
Malia (what word? Nod.) nod. “Thank you,” Malia say. “[…] Will.”
Dad bring Malia out house. Malia look at Kira.
Kira look at Malia. Kira wave. “Safe travels!” Kira smile.
(Kira nice. Malia like Kira.)
Malia smile. Hard. Malia smile like bite—Kira smile like warm. Kira smile like sun. Malia like sun. Malia like Kira.
Kira pack? Dad pack. Kira and Dad pack? Weird.
Kira decided to check on Malia the next day, a bag of home-baked cookies and a jug of hot chocolate in tow. In her bag she also had a little jar filled up with notes, one for each one left on her windowsill. (It might not have been Malia who wrote them, but Kira wanted to do it just in case it was.)
She rang the doorbell.
Malia opened the door in almost an instant, smiling when she saw Kira.
“H—”
—Malia didn’t let her get a word in before she wrapped Kira in a frankly bone-crushing hug. “Kira!”
Kira was, of course, caught off-guard. “Hi, Malia!” She shrieked, as goodnaturedly as she could manage while three feet up in the air—she didn’t expect Malia to be this strong.
When Malia put her down—so that she was already inside the house—she seemed to be struggling for words. Kira waited.
“I…” Malia said, slow on the next couple words. “Have to… tell you. Something.”
Kira tilted her head to the side. “Oh! What is it?”
Malia took the jug from her hands and set it on the table. “I…” Her eyebrows scrunched. “I’m. Not human. Not really. I’m coyote.”