| In the spring of 2011 Small Towers finally had enough money to make a down payment on a house in southeastern Colorado that came with five acres and three chicken coups that held up to sixty chickens each. He worked at a local ranch five days a week but his family had agreed that if they bought the little chicken farm that Kara, who was thirteen, and her younger brother John, age nine, would do the chores every morning concerning the chickens they were going to raise. Small had raised chickens as a boy back in Kansas so he had some experience. The first month and a half the time was devoted strictly to getting the house in shape for them to live in. Kara quit her job working customer service for an online clothing store to devote the kind of time that was necessary. Small worked on the chicken coups on the weekends and some during the week, but often he was too tired to do anything but eat supper, catch a little television and then get to sleep. John was assigned to doing some small carpentry work on the inside of the coups. Then about two weeks before they were ready to bring in the first batch of chicks, Small had a load of straw delivered. John was tasked with spreading the straw around the three coups. Mainly Small wanted the straw put into the areas where the hens would be laying their eggs. Everything was as normal as could be until one afternoon when finished with his homework, John went out to the third coup and began spreading the straw around in there. He immediately felt like something was watching him. There were a couple of times when he thought he saw a figure standing in the shadows. Just standing there watching him. Then it was gone and he questioned whether he was watching too much horror movies because he was genuinely scared. Thankfully the coups had two doors John didn’t have to pass the spot where he thought he saw a figure standing. Instead he hurried out of there taking the door opposite where he had seen the figure. The next day he returned to his task. He opened up the door to the building and was shocked to see the straw he had spread around so carefully the day before was now strung everywhere but not in enough quantity to provide a soft place for the hens to lay. He had to sweep up the straw and re-distribute it into the shelves which lined the walls of the building where the chickens would eventually lay their eggs. How had that happened? There was no big wind that night before. Plus even if there had been he shut the doors on the buildings before quitting that night. Something was very odd. The next day towards the late afternoon he saw the figure again. This time he was pretty sure it was there but when he jockeyed for a different position to view the figure, it was again gone. When he got back inside the house he didn’t say anything because he was the youngest in the family. There was sure to be some teasing by his sister. That was bad but what was worse is his mom would then offer that patronizing consolation about how she believed him when he said he saw a shadow figure standing there one minute and gone the next. The old man would have a good laugh. Then he would wait until they were working on something together, probably something for him, so he was obligated to hang, and then they’d have the talk about how there’s nothing to fear in the dark because its the same stuff as when its light. And that wouldn’t be the worst of that. No, then he would mention how disappointed he was that his son, his only son, was either lazy and making up stories to get out of the work, or was simply afraid of basically his own shadow. John didn’t find any of those possibilities attractive. He hated letting the old man down and especially in such circumstances where he didn’t deserve the hassle he got. He didn’t know what, if anything, was going on with that last chicken coup but he knew when something made him feel scared. Maybe he didn’t actually see anything. The chicken houses had no electricity so the only light was what filtered in through the open doors at each end of them. Inside the buildings it was a long hallway, basically. Along the sides of the buildings was where the laying quarters were located. The buildings were designed so that you could go down the outside of them and open hatches that allowed access to the places where the hens would be laying. The hens accessed these areas from inside the buildings. Down the middle of the long hallway were dowel rods hanging from the ceiling in three rows which stretched nearly the length of the buildings. They were where the chickens roosted when the sun set. The coups were thick with shadows. They were not only dark but also dusty and generally filthy from the previous flock of layers that had lived there. When it comes to chickens the last information Small had read concerning their living quarters it was better to let the chickens live in an area where the chicken poop is allowed to build up. In fact it was suggested that once the waste reached a thickness of around ten inches then the chickens would live healthier than if you went in and cleaned their living quarters on a regular basis. Yes it sounds counter-productive but that was what was recommended. Perhaps it had changed as that was some twenty-plus years ago. It worked for them back then however so until he stumbled upon some info which claimed different, and had some sort of logic that made sense to back it up; he was staying with the plan to just let them poop away and let it build up. As such there was no reason to clean the coups out because they already had a head start on that ten inches. Rather than spend time cleaning what was going to get dirty almost as soon as they brought in the chickens, Small would rather have seen effort towards getting the buildings ‘critter proof’ so they didn’t lose a bunch of young layers to raccoons or a number of other predators. Any openings had to be patched and the doors which allowed entrance to the buildings all needed to be re-fitted so there was no room for something to slip past. All chores which his son was capable of doing. John spent all his time on the first two coups. That was actually preferred because they wouldn’t get all the chicks at one time. The plan was to stagger them by a couple of weeks so when the time came there wouldn’t be a need to replace all the layers at the same time. Translation for replaced means that the chickens would stop laying eventually and when that time came they would be slaughtered for either soup stock or used to feed somebody’s dogs. Nothing is wasted on a farm. Another reason for not slaughtering all the hens at one time was you could use the veterans to teach the replacements on how things worked. So a few favorites would be allowed to hang around at least a while longer. John kept at it every day after he finished his homework and by the time the first batch of sixty hens arrived the first two coups were predator-tight, painted with a fresh coat of brown and the first building had a nursery set up with water provisions and food, plus a lamp to provide a little heat at night. Chicks are about as cute as anything you want to call an animal. Since there are so many of them at one time you tend to not view them as individuals until or unless they prove to have a personality that is worthy of a name. They don’t have to be cheerful, or happy, they just need to stand out. After having them for only a few days there were already a couple that had earned names though only one was flattering. Since that is true I won’t list the last names, instead I suppose if the inference is earned then you will guess what the last name is anyway but this way it keeps anybody from getting sued. There was Rosie Oddie, who was quite the eater and to be frank, kinda a bitch. She was always trying to push one of the other chicks out of the way so she could take the place. Usually this happened at the feeder. Then there was Nancy Polanci, who seemed to always be trying to say something but nobody paid her any attention. Sherry, who came up with most the names, said she suspected its because the policies Nancy was trying to sell are bat-shit crazy. The rest of the chicks, unlike human beings … were smart enough to just ignore the rambling old nag. Also out in front leading the pack was AOC. She had a lot of energy but much like her human namesake, spent it on chasing stuff that was completely unobtainable. Ma Barker got her name because she was always trying to escape. Keith Richards and Mick Jagger got their names because of the way they were always moving their heads in and out to some beat apparently only they could hear. The only other name to be handed out up to that point was Mrs Diablo. She was an unbelievable bully which the family wouldn’t have shed any tears if they went out one day and the rest of the gang had pecked her to death. The second batch of chicks arrived beginning of the summer. Again there were certain hens which exhibited a lot of personality and thus they earned names such as Fast Fannie, Faster Fannie, for obvious reason. Gossip Girl, because she always seemed to be chatting, Peppermint Patty, because she ate a piece of peppermint, all named by Kara and John. Finally there was Sherry Too, who earned her name because much like mom, always seemed to be a little late to whatever party was happening. Named by Small, of course. The fourth of July the last batch of chickens arrived. John had to force himself to work on the third building but he really had no choice but to jump in and finish the thing. To his surprise he didn’t encounter anything unusual while getting the building ready other than having that feeling that something or someone was watching him the entire time he worked on that building. Still he said nothing to the rest of the family because the teasing would now not only come from his sister and probably his parents but school would be starting soon and the last thing he wanted was to start classes branded as ‘chicken boy’ for the multiple reasons of being known as the kid who cleaned chicken coups and was afraid of a giant invisible chicken. ‘Chicken Boy’ wasn’t doing anything to help that nickname find a foothold. Besides nothing else had happened except that feeling he got when inside the coup. It was entirely possible he was just freaking himself out. The air inside those buildings was … murky, for lack of a better description. Combine that thick air with very little light, a lot of shadows, and those damn dowel rods hanging everywhere and it was understandable, at least to him, that he might have gotten a little freaked out. When the day came to move the second batch of chickens they were moved into the third building. Faster Fannie was the first to get in, followed by fifty-nine of her closest friends. It was a busy day and they saved it for the weekend so that everybody was available in case they were needed. It was all unnecessary though because John had done his job. Mid September they got their first egg. They started coming in regularly by the end of that month. By mid-October the second batch of chickens had started laying. Everything was good. The eggs were selling enough to justify Sherry’s quitting her job back when they decided to start it all. The thirtieth of October, the night before Halloween, something happened that began a torrid of events between Halloween and Christmas. It was nearing dusk. The sun was just barely still visible with its top twenty percent still projecting an ever dimming orange. A dog with little bark and no bite. Fast Fannie was being hard to get along and would not enter the chicken coup. When John was forced to go after the stubborn hen he didn’t bother to bolt the coup door and before he could do anything about it, Faster Fannie had re-emerged along with about five cohorts. It happened every once in a while though usually when the seasons changed the chickens got much better about going in to roost. It was not the case on that day. During the summer months John and Kara had learned they could turn over some of the wood that was laying about the yard, and find an earth worm or two. They used it to coax the hens inside the coup. So John fished around and found a nice juicy worm and he dangled it near the ground while backing up into the coup. The chickens followed and he went far enough back into the coup so that all six hens had room to enter. Inside the coup it was nearly pitch dark. With all the hens jockeying for position on the dowel rods, it was causing them to swing in no particular order. As such the chickens were starting to bump into each other and that would cause another one to have to flutter its wings in order to stay on the moving dowel rod. There was squawking and just a general chaos contained inside the building. Suddenly amidst all the chaos and confusion and jockeying for position or to stay in position on the swinging dowel rods: John saw something at the other end of the building that shouldn’t have been there. The next second it was gone and he was left wondering if he had seen anything at all. If what he thought he saw had happened the chickens would have been going crazy but instead it was just the opposite. They were settling down to roost and John let it go, what he thought he had seen. Only he couldn’t let it go. It was Peppermint Patty that was in the thing’s mouth, her blood that had sprayed everywhere. He sat in his bed going over it in his mind again and again. He was being completely irrational. He had been right when he talked himself down the first time. If there had been something in the back of the coup that was biting the heads off the chickens they would have been going wild. Still even knowing that, he just kept seeing that flash of a second when the other hens that were blocking his view, had either settled for the roost or had moved out of the way to another spot on another dowel rod, or that had simply put their wings down and stopped flapping, sending feathers and dust and chicken … stuff, all through the already murky air. When all those things hit the sweet spot that allowed him to see all the way to the back of the building, he saw something that simply did not make sense on so many levels. First and foremost was that the thing was half bottom mouth and the other half of its head was the top part of the mouth. It reminded him of some kind of gruesome twilight zone bread pacman character that was capable of opening its mouth which was also half its head the same way pacman used to open up its circle shaped body/head and eat the other participants. Only this real-life version of a pacman had razor-sharp teeth that interlocked when it closed the mouth making a clean and complete decapitation of poor Peppermint Patty. He couldn’t take it any longer. He had to know. After getting dressed and shoes and socks back on his feet John went to the kitchen pantry and fished out the biggest knife he could find and then he brought out a flashlight. Checking to see the batteries were good he was stopped before getting out the front door by Small. “Where you going?” Small asked. “Chicken coup.” John answered. “Pretty brave for a kid that ain’t lived long enough to have kissed a girl yet. That important?” Small asked. “No, but if I want to sleep, yeah.” “Want some company? I been meanin’ to get out and check on that third building anyway. That IS the one you’re headed for, isn’t it?” How did the old man know? Even though John was entering that age when parents know almost nothing, he was still … on occasion, … being surprised by the old man’s ability to spot when something isn’t right. But this was something he needed to face himself. After all, it was nothing. He was just freaking himself out. This was all about to be proven by him, to himself. No, no need for dad to tag along and see me come to the only sane conclusion. He was lying to himself. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself that the chickens were fine. Peppermint Patty was not laying in the building dead with her head bitten off, blood spewed all over the walls, ceiling and other hens. That thing with the inter-locking razor teeth and the long slender claws that were holding Peppermint Patty’s body in one set of claws, while the other set stuffed his pet’s head into its razor mouth and gulped it down like a pelican would flip a fish down its wide gullet. “Yeah pops but its no big thing. I just realized I can’t find my wallet and I think its out there. Won’t be able to get a worry-free night’s sleep though until I know for sure.” John slipped around his dad still holding the flashlight but he had slid the knife into the waist of his jeans so that the handle was up against the small of his back and the waist of his jeans. This was not an ideal position to be in if you suddenly lost your balance. The very tip of the knife was poking into his skin forcing him to lean forward just a bit. Thankfully the old man had turned his attention to grabbing some snacks out of the fridge which allowed John to get past and out the front door. Once outside he quickly reached around his back to rescue the knife before it did more than just lightly poke his skin. He could see Kara’s light was still on. Unusual for her. She was big on the whole get a full night’s rest and stay to a schedule approach. He saw her shadow outline at the window and then the curtains moved and she was looking directly at him. He waived. What else was he suppose to do? Believe it or not this was not a normal endeavor you would find John doing this time of night on almost any other occasion. Kara waived back and mimed an “I love you” at her brother. He had to hand it to her. She made it awfully hard to not like her. The night was a brisk one just hovering above the freezing point. If there had been a lot of wind it would have been uncomfortable but as it was the evening was actually pleasant. There was an almost full moon flooding the crisp October night with illumination that only was efficient in areas void of shadows. This was not the type of light that bled into surrounding areas. it illuminated what it landed on and that was about it. John arrived at the door leading into the building number three. Earlier when he had seen what he didn’t see, he had been located at the other end of the building. Entering at this end he would be right on top of the crime scene. If there was one to be seen. He listened at the door but there was no noise. He tried to remember if the insects were still around or if they had gone south for the winter and couldn’t. They had some cold nights previous but he didn’t know if it had froze hard enough to discourage the insect world for another season. Finally John said to himself, no guts no glory, and with that he pulled the door open and stepped into the coup while shining his light ahead. What he saw made him vomit. It wasn’t just the site of all the dead birds but it was the thickness of the odor of fresh spilled blood mixed with the incredible amount of chicken feathers that were floating aimlessly through the stagnant air inside the coup. He stumbled backwards out the door into the mercifully crisp air of the October night and felt his eyes well-up with salty liquid that spilled past the containment of the sockets and down his cheeks causing the front top part of his shirt to become wet and gather tiny pieces of chicken feather that still roamed the airway. The taste of that freshly spilled blood settled in the back of his throat bringing on another round of what turned out to be dry heaves because he had nothing left in his stomach to purge. His mind reeled with the images of the blood and death that was just on the other side of the door. Then Kara was running toward him from the house. She must have seen him stumble backwards out of the building. He couldn’t let her see what was on the other side of the door. John tried to look relaxed while racing to get her cut=off before she could see inside the coup and only accomplished to fooling himself if he thought she was going to let this go. “I want to see what is inside the coup!” Kara demanded. “No sis. you don’t. You know I love you. I only want the best for you. Kara, trust me. You don’t want to look in that building. Not now. Not tomorrow morning. Wait until it has been cleaned up before you go in or you will have nightmares the rest of your life.” “What about the chickens? Are they …. are they all .. dead?” She began crying even more than she had been. John put his arm around her and begin walking her back inside. “Lets just go back inside because there is nothing anybody can do tonight that is going to change anything. Rather than make uninformed assumptions lets just get some sleep and when we wake up we can face whatever the day is going to bring. But there is no gain for anybody to pursue anything further tonight.” Sherry came out of the house asking what was the matter? Her children met her not far from the back door she had come out, and together the three of them walked back inside. Sherry gathered the mood and did nothing to add to the awkwardness of the moment. She just kept silent and held her daughter’s head while John used the opportunity to slide back outside. There was something he had to do. John knew he wasn’t going to get any sleep if he didn’t find out the answer to the question that had been on his mind since he found the dead birds. Now that there was nobody to get in the way he went to the building that had the newest batch of hens in it. and prepared for the worst. He opened up the door to find everything was as it should be. He shut the door and moved over to the second building. The one housing Mick Jagger and Keith Richards. Ma Barker was also in there and a host of others who had gained names over the past several months. There was Cleopatra and Tammy Faye Baker, because they got into some wheel grease or something black, and had it all over their faces. Of course as time passed and the grease wore off it might merit new names. There was Britney Griner, because she was a little taller than the others. Horny, because of the ridge on her head. Can’t elope because she liked cantelope. Dolly Parton. Need it be pointed out why? Phyllis Diller and Ruth Buzzy. The kids didn’t know who that was but they knew they were not attractive. All names assigned by Small from people he knew from his younger days. Sherry spotted one hen that wasn’t hard to name. Zuck, named because even though a hen, they thought the chicken looked a lot like a POS they knew of that was often called that. She had a friend that also was remindful of a human they all knew, so in honor of the beady eyes and generally ugly face, they called the other one Gotes. Zuck and Gotes. They were the only chickens given names that were also on the list to be turned into soup or dogfood. Small said it couldn’t happen to more deserving people. John would have argued that thought. His father would have agreed though if he was aware of the newest kind of ultra-rich, low-life douche bag to come recently into the spotlight. That being the scumbag scientists that are creating AI, far worse than any pedophile ever could be, these arrogant scum of humanity are willing to risk the existence of everything you or any of us have ever known or loved, just so they can say they did it. What is even scuzzier than that, is they hide behind the lie that they are doing it for the betterment of mankind. Then there are the scum that created the colyder. All they knew for sure was that if you split an atom you get a huge explosion, yet knowing that the geniuses thought it would be a good idea to collide particles at light speed because they wanted to see what happened. John wondered how he could be of the same species of such arrogant, complete wastes of oxygen. Thinking about how cavalier the people that are suppose to be super-smart, suppose to be looking out for mankind, have been towards the existence of life on the planet, he threw the door open and could see all the chickens were fine. Apparently the only chickens killed that night were the ones in buildling three. Small came walking up having already peered into building three. “The other two buildings?” He asked. “All good.” John replied. “Well, … I guess we’ll figure this out tomorrow.” Small said. Then he added, “Weird isn’t it? This should happen on Halloween. Just weird.” John nodded in agreement. “There’s something I should tell you. I guess I should have told you before but I didn’t want anybody to think I was scared or trying to get out of the chores.” Small leaned against the building number two, took his hat off long enough to scratch his head and waited to hear the rest of what John had to say. “When I was working on building number three, some strange stuff happened. It happened more than once. I know how this is going to sound, but now after what has happened it seems like it might be important. When I was working on the laying areas, more than once I thought I saw something standing in the shadows. A figure that I first thought was a man but the last time I saw it I was able to see its face, right before it bit Peppermint Patty’s head clean off.” John’s eyes got watery. “I should have told you then but I thought I was seeing things.” He wiped at an eye and finished by saying, “Dad, its the scariest thing I have ever seen, real or in the movies. Its head opens up to almost a one hundred and eighty degrees. Then it snaps shut with those razor-sharp interlocking teeth severing anything caught in them.” Small was caught very off-guard. He truly didn’t know first whether to believe his son, and second, if he was telling the truth then Small was dealing with something beyond his pay level. “I’ll be honest kiddo, I have no idea what to do about all this. I’m going to sleep on the matter but other than the fact that everything seems a little easier to handle after a night’s sleep, I haven’t a clue what to do? Tomorrow, or maybe the next day, we’ll tackle cleaning the building. To make things easier on us we should probably start tomorrow. I am guessing mind you, but hopefully if we get in there and wash everything out with a power washer that we can avoid the stink and flies that are going to come with such an incident. If it stays cold then we won’t have to deal with the insects. Its going to be a nasty job. No getting around it. Now I would suggest we go get some sleep.” The next morning was every bit as gruesome as one might have expected. To make matters worse as they removed the bodies they discovered that each one had the head bitten off and not one head was found in the coup. The place was practically swimming in blood which mixed with the feathers and the parts that dried were a nightmare to get clean. Most the floor was still wet with undried blood to which they used a squeegee to clean the floor. Smalls called a hog farm not too far away and they agreed to take the chicken carcasses. john went with him to deliver the bodies. They talked together for the first time that day without one of the women within earshot. “You sleep okay last night?” “Yeah. I guess I don’t scare easy.” John replied. “You got a lot of your great grandma in you. She could have done brain surgery on the back of a running horse while giving a sermon to a horde of blood-thirsty Indians, er, I mean Native Americans.” John smiled and replied, “I don’t know how to do brain surgery but I could give the sermon a shot.” The old man smiled back and said, “I never said your great grandmother knew brain surgery either, I just said she could perform it. I never claimed the patient would have lived.” He paused a second as if thinking and then added, “And the sermon she’d have been giving to somebody so if there were some blood thirsty Indians, I mean Native Americans around to hear it so we didn’t have to; then there’s your silver lining in that little rain cloud.” “What we gonna do about razor teeth man? I would hope that it was a one-time thing but I saw him in there on more than just that occasion. Well I can’t say for sure it was razor teeth but there was something or someone in there with me. I wasn’t sure then but I am now. And I would suspect that it was the same thing as I saw in there last night.” “I still don’t know buddy. I’m thinking it may not be an issue if we don’t use the third building. When we do decide to re-populate number three we will decide what to do about it. I’m thinking that the third building is haunted. I know that sounds crazy, and I usually am not someone who goes in for that stuff. But based on what you are telling me that is almost the only possible situation. Either that or its some sort of weird alien that flew across the vastness of space so it could end up in your chicken coup biting the heads off of sixty layers that apparently were a threat to inter-galactic space creatures.” John smiled. Any time there was mention of something being inter galactic it was an instant reminder of the time he was reading the description of the movie “Barbarella”. Apparently the person writing the review was not impressed with Ms Fonda’s career choices because the description went something like this: Ted Turner’s little inter-galactic commie slut. He didn’t know what the beef was but he did know that those words were seldom used in print back in the day. Smalls thought he was smiling at something he had said which brought a smile to his face. They drove along in silence for a while. “If worse comes to worse we can demolish the third building and rebuild. I had plans on that anyway eventually. Once we got to where a couple hundred chickens weren’t enough. We’ll try the building that is there now one more time. We’ll string electricity over to both the other two buildings and put up some lighting in strategic places. Until further notice nobody goes into the third building without someone there as backup. And might as well bring the shotgun with you when you go out. Just make sure that whoever is with you doesn’t get in front of you.” John shook his head in agreement. They dumped off the carcasses at the pig farm and headed home. Jerry Castledown owned the pig farm. He had some interesting information, or perhaps the better word was gossip, about the old chicken farm. He said this wasn’t the first time he had been contacted about just such a matter. The previous owners that tried their luck at the farm also lost a bunch of chickens and he guessed it was in the same fashion because those chickens also did not have heads. Small asked if the first time the amount of chickens were the same and he said he thought so. That put Small’s mind at ease over the remaining layers in the other two buildings. Small had one more question for the pig farmer before they left. He had said this wasn’t the first time, Exactly how many times had he been contacted about similar circumstances. The man didn’t have to think about it. His answer was quick and precise. This was the seventh time in five years and by two other owners beside them. It seems the first through third times was over a period of about two years. The owners had bad luck with the third building and tried a second time after finding the first batch all in same manner. Missing their heads and the place was rank with spilled chicken blood. When they tried the second time it was the same result. The third time they just wanted to dump off the bodies and they were not even going back to the farm. They said they would have just left the place the way it was but they needed to sell it to get some sort of stake so they could start over somewhere else. They didn’t say what had happened but he did know they were taking some extreme steps to ensure that their third attempt was not going to end up like the first two. “Whatever happened to them it must have been profound because they looked like hell when they stopped here. They hadn’t slept and were really jumpy despite being so tired they could hardly stay awake. I paid them for that last load because I wanted their promise they would stop at the first motel or hotel they came to and get some sleep. And I worried I did wrong to let them drive out of here but I guess they made it. We didn’t here about any wrecks after they left.” Jerry slapped Small on the back and let them go with these words in their ears, “You be careful over there. I don’t pretend to know what is going on but obviously its bloody, therefore violent. Its been going on for some time now and any time something is violent towards one thing it has potential to be that way towards other things.” Jerry looked at John and then continued. “Don’t hesitate to holler if you need some help. I got a rifle, and I know how to use it. Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition.” That brought a smile to Small’s face. This wasn’t exactly an uplifting experience coming over and meeting the pig farmer but he did feel like maybe he had made his first friend in the area and that was definitely a good thing. What wasn’t so uplifting was what he had to say about the old chicken farm. The man didn’t know it but Small knew he was speaking specifically about building number three. Otherwise the previous loads of chicken carcasses would have been of different size. Was the chicken farm always haunted? For lack of a better word, he’d use haunted for now. That didn’t seem to make sense. Unless maybe it was built on a grave or graves. The other possibility was that someone was killed in the building. Maybe they were haunting it. After his conversation with Jerry the pig farmer, Small was very hesitant to get more chickens to place in the building. Maybe the smart money cut its losses right now and either walked away from the whole damn thing or he could demolish the current building and build another building on the opposite side of the first two buildings. What a pain in the ass! The cost was going to be considerable. All because of some damn … ghost that if he had time He’d stay and fight it himself. It would feel good to get to take out all his frustrations with life .. wrap them up all in one ball of a crap-assed ghost that he could shoot the crap out of and send it back to hell where it came from and belonged. The more he thought about it the madder he got. He practically forgot that John was in the truck with him. Like dealing with the regular shit life threw at you in heaps wasn’t enough. Sometimes it was more than a man should have to bare. Take for instance the long list of people that have came out with an answer to fossil fuels. Every one of them has been killed and their inventions mysteriously disappear from existence. There are stories about the ufo traffic that is seen in the skies by thousands of people every year, that can go from standing still to light speed across the sky in seconds, are us. It is our own technology that is kept from the people due to what amounts to greed for power. If there is truly a hell, it is reserved for these kind of human beings. Small stopped just short of pounding on the dash and screaming out the window for the heads of all POS fossil fuel profiteers to be placed on stakes around the city. He glanced over at John who was looking at him like he was crazy. “Sorry. I get started thinking about all the injustice in this world and its overwhelming. Sadly I see it is getting far worse than ever. Nobody thinks for themselves. Most the younger generation couldn’t make it across the block if their gps stopped working. They are completely reliant on the system for everything. At least you know how to fish and hunt. You could take care of yourself if needed but almost none of the rest can. And its all because the rich are so greedy they are willing to do the lowest things imaginable in order to keep their precious status in the world. Ahhh I’ll shut up. Isn’t accomplishing anything. We’re almost home now anyway.” Another mile and they were pulling back into their home. Small sat in the seat of the pickup looking at building number three wondering why it always seemed to be him that found the cow pie to step in while everybody else raced round the pasture never getting their shoes dirty. John had got out of the truck and went inside. Small started the truck up and drove out of the driveway and headed for the Catholic church that was up the road a ways. He wasn’t Catholic. He wasn’t sure how this would all work, but he needed something the Catholic church could provide. Holy water. He explained to the priest he needed some holy water. Blessed by a priest and in full concentration. The priest sent him out of the church holding two gallons of blessed water. Then he drove on into town and stopped at the hardware store where he purchased two high powered squirt guns. Then he headed home. A short time later Smalls had the family brought together to announce, “I don’t know what is behind our dead chickens. First we are going to protect ourselves using the shotgun. Nobody is ever to go out there to any of the three buildings without someone else. The buddy system is now envoked and if you are caught breaking the rule then you will severely pay. On top of that just in case this turns out to be some kind of x-files situation I went and got holy water and filled these squirt guns with it. They will be placed at the doorways on each end of building three. If the shotgun doesn’t work then try the squirt gun. You sure won’t have anything to lose at that point.” Small laughed and continued, “No, I’m kidding. I don’t think it is going to be any further trouble but we’re just taking every precaution.” “I don’t think you have to worry about any of us going out there alone Small.” His wife said while taking his hand and wrapping his arm around her shoulder. “You’re going to be lucky to get any of us to go out there at all and you can bet if we do, we will have back up.” John and Kara nodded in full agreement. The third building finally had electricity installed. Now there were lights exposing every corner of the building. Shadows that once were a constant no longer existed. Everything cleaned up and in place, the hatches that could be opened from the outside to get the eggs, now were all in order. Fortune seemed to favor the family for a period of time and there was no trouble from the chicken houses. Christmas time. The weather outside was chilly but the newly strung electric wires provided enough juice to allow electric heaters to run so they auto-warmed the coups whenever they fell below a certain temperature. The family was all doing well. Everyone in the family except Small was hustling to either figure out a way to come up with gifts that could be handmade or they were picking up extra money working part-time at various retail stores. They had largely forgotten about the trouble in building three. Until Christmas eve when Kara happened to notice the lights in building three were coming on and then going off. She looked through the December frosted panes of glass and noticed something else. The door to the second building was open and the chickens were walking in single line fashion from building two to building three. The light in building two was not visible but she could see into building three whenever the lights would blink on for a few seconds and there was a figure clearly visible towering over the chickens as they wobbled their way into the building. Then she saw the lights blink on again for long enough to see one of the chickens in its hands. Why wasn’t the chicken fighting? Why were the rest of them just acting like nothing bad was going on? She ran out of her room hollering for everyone to come. “Mom! Dad! John!” All three came rushing into the room. Kara looked very frightened and wild-eyed. She didn’t have to say anything. Small knew what the problem was, or at least where it was coming from. He grabbed the shotgun from where they had stood it in the corner of the room. “Everybody stays here. Inside. So I don’t have to worry about shooting one of you. Everybody stays inside and John will be at the doorway with the rifle. Small stopped before stepping outside to look his son in the eye. “You do not come out after me no matter what happens. You wait for the police to arrive. Are we clear on that?” He was filling his pockets with shotgun shells while waiting for his son to reply. “Yeah I’m clear.” John said. “Good. Son you don’t know how much that puts me at ease to know you’re going to be here for the women folk no matter what happens. Well, I love ya. Here I go.” Small quietly opened the back door and slipped outside. The odd parade of chickens was still happening. The light in building three was still flashing on and off at no specific pattern. He stepped over and past the little parade of layers. Most likely lined up to meet their death. Small got just outside the open door of building number three and leaned around and peered inside. Just as he did the light flashed back on for a quick second and that was when Small stepped into the doorway and fired his first shot at the creature. When that light came back on and illuminated the circumstances Small saw Keith Richards had his head going into the thing’s mouth where razor-sharp teeth waited to feel the warm blood as it squirted from the pressure of the bite. so he immediately reacted by firing the first shot towards the creature and unfortunately Keith Richards lost her life when the shot took her out as well as penetrating the creature’s personal space. it went flying backwards from the force of the shot. Small wasted no time pumping the shotgun and shooting again. In the house they were looking on and saw first one flash of light as the barrel of the shotgun let loose its full force crashing the silence of the night like a drum symbol banged inside a library. Then they heard a brief period of silence followed immediately by the blast of another shotgun shell being fired off. Building three lit up again and then there was more silence. Sherry threw open the back door started to head towards the sound of the shooting but was stopped by John. He had a firm hold of her arm and made it clear he wasn’t letting go. Meantime the chickens seemed to waken from whatever trance they had fallen victim. Suddenly the night was ablaze with chickens flying into the air, chicken feathers were everywhere. Then Sherry saw Small stumble backwards out the building. He pumped another shell into the chamber of the shotgun and stood looking into the building. He stayed there for probably three minutes before backing on up and returning to the house. “Did you get it?” All three asked him when he came back into the house. “I don’t know. I saw it. I’m pretty sure I hit it at least the first time I shot. Sorry to say that Keith Richards was caught in the blast of the first shot.” Small pushed past the family and opened a cabinet and pulled out a bottle of Vodka. He twisted off the cap and took a swig and then set the bottle down. “Tomorrow morning we will go out and see what happened. There’s nothing further can be done tonight. Everybody get some sleep. Make sure the house is locked.” Sherry asked, “Can’t we call the sheriff?” Small replied, “And tell them what? No, lets just get some sleep and tomorrow we will see what is what.” He ushered them off to their beds but when it came time for him to join Sherry he was still looking out the back door window at the buildings. “Are you coming to bed?” Sherry asked. “Not tonight babe. There was something out there. I think I hit it but I don’t know if it is still lurking around out there in the darkness? Its not worth taking the chance it might try to come into the house. If it does, I will be ready.” “We’ll be ready. If you think I can sleep knowing you’re out here with nobody to back you up, you’re crazier than this situation.” She walked over and snuggled next to him. They found a seat on the couch. Small kept his hand on the shotgun. He put the other one around his wife and together they stared out into the December darkness wondering what they were going to see tomorrow in the light of day. Morning arrived finding Small doing his best to hold his eyes open. Sherry had slipped into a deep sleep about five minutes after they sat down on the couch together. While she slept, he stared out the window at the buildings. Now that morning had arrived there were chickens everywhere. At least some of them were still alive. Small forced himself to get up and walk out and open the doors to building number one. The chickens were at the door waiting to come out. They were truly ready the minute the sunlight replaced the dark. He moved over to building two and went to the other end and opened up that door. That only left building number three. He was at the far end of the buildings, from the house. That meant if he jogged over to building number three from where he was at, it would be the last place he saw that thing leave the building. Small glanced around building number three’s door and into the building. There were some dead chickens in there. Small could see that Mick Jagger didn’t make it either. Fast and Faster Fannie were still okay though. They popped around the corner of the other end of the building about the same time as Small came around his end. Fast and Faster Fannie strolled in with bobbing heads and looked the situation over. They cackled as their heads darted this way and that. Small wondered if it registered in their tiny minds that something awful had happened the night before? There was no sign of whatever it was he shot at the night before. There were however footprints made in the chicken blood that was spattered across the floor and on the walls to some extent. This would be a quick clean-up thanks to the extensive clean up they did before retiring building three from current use. Almost all the named chickens were gone now. The only other two beside the Fannies were Sherry Too and Gossip Girl. In all they hadn’t lost that many chickens this last attack. There were still too many that went feral at least until the coming night to roost, when it was assumed the ones which were still alive and not accounted for; would return to roost in one of the buildings. Small needed to find out if he had scared the chicken killing demon away from bothering him and his family? He had made up his mind to demolish the building if there was any further trouble but first he had to see. There was the chance the thing had left for good in which case it was going to save him about all the profit they had made to this point because he figured that was about what it would cost to build another coup. If they did it was going on the opposite side of the other two buildings. He wasn’t taking any chances. Hell! He’d decided they weren’t even going to call it building number three. It would become building four. Three retired forever. Maybe that wouldn’t be necessary however. Small waited until it was time for the chickens to come in to roost and he closed up buildings one and two a little early, forcing about ten of the chickens to go into building number three. They cooperated and by the time it was dark the buildings were locked up tight and the Towers family was all safely inside their home. Small turned off the lights inside the buildngs from his viewpoint inside the house. The weather had been pretty tame that Christmas morning and it wasn’t suppose to get below freezing Christmas night so Small didn’t bother leaving the heat on inside the buildings. He might have left the juice to building number three on so that if the creature did come back it might alert them to the fact by tweaking the light on and off but Small was through fooling around. If there were dead chickens in his coup tomorrow then by tomorrow night the coup would be standing no more. He tried once already to kill the thing and felt lucky to have survived. After all, he didn’t know anything about it except that it probably wasn’t something normal from this world and that it might be capable of extreme violence in ways that he knew nothing about. He thought there was even some sort of Asian saying about only a fool for a leader rushes into battle against an opponent that little or nothing is known. He wouldn’t allow himself to think about what he was going to do next if this creature kept attacking even after he had demolished building number three. The family had taken on this project with an understanding that they would have a fair chance at making a success of the chicken farm. The money was tight to begin with; so any sort of financial setback could be enough to force them out. They had managed so far despite the setbacks. Having to buy more chicks, not too mention the loss of income from the ones which should have been alive and laying that was missing, was burning their candle at both ends. Nobody stays afloat for very long when that happens. So Small needed this bullshit to stop, and to do it sooner than later. Otherwise all was lost and it didn’t matter what happened after that. He supposed that since the circumstances being what they were, that the bank might let them stay there and rent until the bank found some reason to stop, like when they sold the land again. It might be a while though cause word travels and there isn’t a ranch in the state of Colorado that is interested in gaining land that is cursed by some kind of creature. Well there was no use in speculating about which direction the future would take them. The time would very soon be upon them which would decide whether there would be business as usual or if he had to tear down the building and prepare to go through the trials and tribulations that were certain to come if the trail took that direction. The sun set on another Christmas passing. The family celebrated the holiday exchanging gifts bought with profits from the egg business or money brought in from side jobs and part-time work. They had a nice dinner of ham and plenty of sides. No foul was served. This was one Christmas that nobody wanted to be reminded of birds of any kind any sooner than was necessary. That time came soon enough. The night wasn’t too bad, temperatures not dipping into the freezing category. Perhaps by about morning things would briefly freeze but for the most part it was a pretty tame night for late December. Or at least it started out tame. Small was exhausted but he seemed driven to find out whether he had taken care of the problem or if he still had a long ways to go. Bedtime came and went and Sherry could not entice her husband to come to bed. No, he said, he had to see this done. Almost a zombie after not getting any sleep the night before, he slumped into the couch and waited. He had already made up his mind to demolish building three if there was any trouble again but there was another part of him that wanted something more. He wanted revenge. Granted there was not enough bad blood to merit going out of his way to exact revenge on the creature that had killed most of his chickens, but at the same time if there was going to be trouble it would likely be this night, since he already had the chickens in the building three. And if trouble did spring up he figured that once the building was demolished that the trouble would go away. So by that logic if he wanted a shot at killing the damn thing then this was his window. What was it Sam Elliot told Patrick Swayze in the movie Roadhouse? “Plenty of time to sleep when you’re dead.” If he could manage to stay awake that is? Small got up and made some instant coffee and choked some of it down. Sherry had refused to make him a pot and had even went to the trouble to hide the Folgers but she forgot about the instant coffee packets they had brought home from a stay at the Springfiield Inn a few years back. He must have fished past them a hundred times over the years when seeking malt vinegar for his fish or some other weird condiment brought home from places like that chicken filet joint that didn’t open on Sundays because of their religion. Instant coffee always sucks but it achieves the desired results. Christmas night was no different but the fact that he didn’t get any sleep the night before only allowed the instant coffee to be effective for a short period. It probably didn’t help that Small fixed himself a midnight snack which was a rerun of the dinner they enjoyed earlier in the day. By the time he revisited the pumpkin pie he was already half asleep. In his dream the demon was back and it was eating all the rest of the chickens in two giant bites. The hinged mouth with the razor-sharp interlocking teeth had grown to fifty times the size it had been when he shot it. It was still attached to a body that was the same size as when he saw it for real which made the dream even more surreal. It came upon the chicken houses balancing that giant head on the normal size body and was getting into a position where it could eat building number two in one big bite. For reasons unexplained in the dream Small was armed with his squirt gun full of Holy Water. Just as the big hinged mouth fell open and the giant head was turned sideways to allow it to eat building number two in one bite, Small jumped out of the shadows and squirted the thing right in its mouth and as the Holy Water made contact it melted away the creature’s razor-sharp teeth and jaw like hot water poured on sugar. The creature turned its now partial face back to the upright position and the lower jaw fell away as Small continued to spray the Holy Water into the creatures face and he didn’t stop until all that was left was the top of the head and the eyes. The eyes continued to watch him attached to a lower face that was just partially there. Small woke up feeling cheated because he didn’t get to see it die. In fact it looked healthier than ever peering in at him from outside their frosted back window. It had one of his unnamed chickens dangling over its unhinged mouth and let it drop the second the creature was sure that Small was awake and watching. It took a few seconds for Small to realize he wasn’t in a dream any longer. A few more before he realized that he could do something about this situation not just sit and watch the action like in the dream. Add two more seconds to grab the shotgun and make sure it was loaded. Nine seconds after seeing the creature for real, Small jumped up and raced for his back door. He swung it open and was jerked outside so hard he became a human sled. His body raced across the top of the hard frozen ground losing skin to the ice as he went. The cold was barely felt however as Small was filled with adrenaline, hate and determination. He had the shotgun still in one hand, he used the other to spin himself around on the ground so that he was facing the big head with the razor teeth. It was grinning at him. He was certain of it. The thing didn’t have the capacity of facial movement to accomplish a grin but Small knew all the same. The blasted thing was enjoying this. The first shot blast sent the grinning giant head backwards faster than doors are shut on Jehovah’s Witnesses on Superbowl Sunday. The second shot backed the thing up further but by the time Small was ready to let go a third shot, ol’ razor-teeth had disappeared under the cover of the smoke and steam the first two shots had created. The gunsmoke swirled around like an evil gray snake capable of flight-hovering while the steam from Small’s breath promised there was life still in the vicinity and the gray snake had not yet won the day. Small fumbled in his pockets for more ammunition while going along checking each different chicken house. when he started to check the last remaining doorway a hand darted from the shadows and grasped him hard enough to drag him through the doorway while catching the shotgun in a position so it was knocked from his hands by the door jamb. Watching this all unfold in what seemed like slow-motion, the first thing to come to Small’s mind wasn’t that he was up the creek without a paddle, but rather that he must have looked like one of those dogs with a stick too long to fit through the width of the doorway. That dog would try and try but it was never going to get that branch through the doorway. He didn’t have time for a second thought. The thing had hold of him and next he was racing across that cold ground again. Small crashed into the back side of the house where he stumbled and staggered to get his feet under him before the creature hit him again. While in the midst of standing up Small leaned against the house for something sturdy when out of the corner his eye he spotted his shotgun. He risked a glance around because he had again lost track of where the creature had gone. Everything was happening in slow motion. He could hear the chickens going crazy, could see feathers lofting through the air like lazy voyeurs strolling through a museum dedicated to chaos, animal panic and the unnatural. He saw chickens that had jump-flown across his plane of sight go flapping out of view. He felt his body shift weight as it prepared to dive for the shotgun just feet away. As his legs used all their power to jet him the short distance necessary to reach the shotgun, as he reached for it and saw it growing closer, just within reach, something sharp grasp one of his legs and violently yanked him back the other way. Small reached for the shotgun while letting go a shriek of pain and he could feel the warmth of blood drenching his pant leg while the shotgun began to pull away just inches from his outstretched fingers. It had him. It had its super-sharp razor teeth sunk into one of his legs and he thought it might sever the limb. The world began to swim in and out. As Small began to fade out he thought in the far distance he heard his son saying something. The words grew dim and then came back growing stronger and stronger. They were in fact a chant. It was not his imagination … he was hearing his son. Now he began to make out the words…. “Die! Die! Die! End your miserable existence! Die demon! Die!” said the voice. The voice began to sound familiar. It was his son! It was his son crying over and over again … “Die! Die! Die!” Small rolled his body a little further so he could see what his son was doing while he continued that chant. That was when he saw his son holding that squirt gun that he had filled with Holy water. The boy was standing over a smoldering, lump of what had once been the creature. Now it looked like a box of crayons left out on the hot sidewalk in the hot August sun. He risked a look at his leg. It was a bloody mess but he would survive. Maybe even not have too bad of a limp when things finally settled. The back yard was littered with dead, and living, chickens. Their feathers were thick in the night air and by the time he was brought into the emergency room, it almost looked like he had been tarred and feathered. The only difference being it was blood that made the feathers stick to him. Jump ahead one year later and the chicken farm out at Small’s place is thriving. There is a sign on one of the chicken houses that says, No trespassing. This means you but it especially means … it! The End . |  |