The Farmer

“Ah, fuck! Come… on…” Letting out a rush of oxygen and quickly gasping for more The Farmer dropped the body and put his hands on hips as he stretched his aching back and tried to catch his breath. In. Out. In and out. His heart beat was slowing and his vision wasn’t as hazy.

The night was lighter than he would have liked. Funny how the moon and the clouds work together in that way; brightening a normally inky sky and all of his surroundings. It was almost as if someone had turned spotlight on to his farm in the hollow.

The eyes of his now dead, once sadistic neighbor, stared up at him blankly, but chilling him to the bone. The Farmer gave a shudder. In an argument over the death and mutilation of The Farmer’s sheep, The Farmer had shot Jim, the neighbor, and now had the task of disposing of his body. The Farmer had planned to drag him out to the edge of his property and weigh him down in the water. Jim wasn’t well liked in town and many of the towns people had an issue with Jim. Jim had hunted others’ livestock, killed their pets, and most speculated he had murdered the young son of Widow Mary. The Farmer suspected no one would go looking for or asking any questions regarding Jim’s disappearance. The Farmer just wanted the man to quit brutalizing his sheep! HIs flock was down to almost half its original size and The Farmer had had enough. It wasn’t his intention to kill Jim, but here they were in a predicament where one lie on the grass dead.

Shaking his head he bent to pick the man up under the arms to drag him the final few yards to the lake. The water was quiet and still. It looked like glass with the light of the moon reflecting back off of its surface. This would all be over in matter of moments,

“And the town would be better off for it!” The Farmer muttered enthusiastically under the sound of his breath.

Brow furrowed, The Farmer watched as the last of his flock hurriedly made their way toward the lake. The man he that he had accused and knew deep in his heart had been letting his sheep out and mutilating their bodies, was dead at his feet; what on God’s green Earth was going on? Wiping his sweating forehead with his hand and rubbing his furrowed brow The Farmer knew he was in for a long night. He had Jim to deal with, then his flock and then to figure out how these sheep were getting out of their night pen.

“Not to mention getting right with the Lord,” The Farmer sighed. “One thing at a time lad, that’s all you can do,” The Farmer thought to himself as once again he began dragging Jim’s body towards the lake. He felt the water on his muck boot and in an instant The Farmer felt a little more free, the deed was almost done.

“What is that?” With a gasp and muddled held in scream The Farmer dropped the lifeless body Jim with small splash. There it was… skin shining in the moonlight dismantling one the sheep.

“What the fuck is that?” Internally, The Farmer was screaming to himself, but the on the outside he couldn’t move. Fear had overtaken him and the panic had him frozen to the spot.

The Thing was big and hunched over a sheep as it seemed to be drinking the blood that pooled on the animal. The Thing’s long bony fingers wrapped around the sheep’s leg as it began to gnaw with its pointed teeth that were made for ripping flesh. The Thing glinted a slimy gray in the nights brightness and The Farmer began to retch.

This overwhelming feeling of needing vomit snapped The Farmer from his fearful daze. He bolted, ran in his oversized muck boots as fast as they would let him go. He knew The Thing had seen him as took off and he did not want to look back to see if it was following. The Farmer slammed through his front door and bolted the lock. He tried to catch his breath, but long sobs escaped instead. Tears fell from his eyes from the terror and dread. Jim hadn’t been the one destroying his flock it was that Thing. The Farmer had murdered an innocent man, at least for the crimes he had been slain for. The Farmer rubbed his hand over his face and peered out the window. What was it? He had never heard of such a monster. Where did it come from? And why his sheep? How had he not seen this Thing before?

The Farmer couldn’t see the lake from his window. He backed away and stared into the hearth in the living room. The fire he had started at the beginning of the night was still crackling away. The fires warmth lost on The Farmer, he was chilled to the bone. He sat in his rocking chair and stared aimlessly into the flames.

———————

The sun peeked through the curtains and began slipping through The Farmers eyelids as dawn crept over the hill. The Farmer woke with a start. He had slipped into a fretful sleep in his chair mulling over details of last night. Scrambling to his feet he ran out the front door to check the damage.

The dew was slick on the emerald grass and there was a low, but light fog covering the morning Earth. The Farmer slipped twice running in his oversized boots towards the water, expecting to see the slaughter of the rest of his herd. Finally reaching the edge of the lake to see the scene before him The Farmer wept in relief. Only the one sheep had been butchered that night, but the corpse of Jim was worse for the wear. The Thing had eaten most of the flesh from the man’s carcass. It had devoured what looked like all of Jim’s organs, the chest cavity broken open, the heart gone. The flesh from his legs was almost all removed in what looked like frenzied ripping. The Farmer felt the bile rise up in his throat and there was no holding back this time. Bent over The Farmer released the contents of his stomach on the wet morning grass. Wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve The Farmer stood and looked towards his sheep. It had left the rest of them and gone after Jim, why? And where did it go?

Trembling, The Farmer began slowly herding the sheep back towards the barn. They had been out all night and they were huddled together about 20 feet from their fallen brethren. Lethargic, they all trudged back towards the barn and safety. Sluggish tears ran down The Farmers face. Murderer pounding in his brain. And at what cost? The answer to his problems was not lying near the edge of the water with its bowels ripped open; no it was elsewhere and it would be back. His flock, his life, all of them would be consumed by the wretched Thing that had been plaguing his farm for the last month. It had eaten Jim, what was to stop it from coming to look for him?