My grandfather was the current owner and sole worker of our family farm, a farm my father refused to inherit. As a child, I loved visiting my grandfather’s farm, running between the corn stalks, and playing in the barn. But, my grandfather had his rule. Do not speak to the neighbor.
No matter how strange, he knew best, and so I listened and obeyed his commands. Now, I’m worried I may find out why he set those rules. Looking over the land deeds, there was no neighboring property. Mr. Smith, the retired war veteran who didn’t allow visitors on his property? He didn’t exist.
My grandfather’s property stretched much farther than he ever told me or my father, covering the entirety of the seemingly false neighbor’s land, this disturbed me, not because of his falsehood, but because I have seen the neighbor and his home.
It was growing dark, the dinner bell starting to ring and the sun starting to set as I saw Mr. Smith retreating to his front door. A tall, lanky figure silhouetted by the setting sun. But there was something off in his stride, the way his arms hung low… much too low. I always thought it was my eyes playing tricks on me, but as I sit here listening to the corn rustle outside in the house that was given to me in his will, my mind can’t help but wonder.
Nervously, I peeked out of the living room window, watching something large, much too large for a common animal around here to be making the corn move that way. Then… BANG.
Something fuzzy and grey slammed into the glass, leaving a red splatter. A raccoon, gut cored like an avocado. I almost lost my lunch as a dark chuckle crept into my ears. This was war.
Stuffing a box of shells in my pocket, I grabbed my grandfather’s old shotgun and checked the barrels to make sure they were loaded.
“Come on you son of a bitch!” I cried from my porch as I slung the door open, shotgun stock rested under my arm as I held it in one hand. Growls chilled me to the bone as the figure rose, bony thin but easily nine feet tall. Like lightning, it leaped towards me, striking like a snake. But my hand was faster. Gore exploded as both barrels caught it in the head.
As I reloaded, the beast rose back up, jaw swinging limply, barely attached as it breathed heavily, growling from deep in its throat. Retreating backward, I broke out into a sprint for the back door, If I could get to the driveway, I could escape.
It blitzed from around the house as I got to my truck, barreling towards me in a blind rage, it collided with my grandfather’s tractor, knocking it over and sending it flipping and rolling into the field. I fell into the driver’s seat and started my truck as I floored it, running down the dirt road that winded up to the farm as I heard it beating down behind me.
As I hit the road, I heard the steps fade and I slowed down, pulling into the parking lot of a bar I frequented, curling up in the seat around my shotgun.