TW/Animal Abuse
I stared at the massacre of our sheep, my pulse racing with the urge to flee. But I remained rooted to the spot on my knees, my mind swirling and jumping. Dad in ICU, all the sheep dead, and my dogs gone. I never felt so alone and afraid. In my mind came the image of my dad, not like I had last seen him, but as he has always been, strong, rational, loving and understanding. He was my rock, even now. I always hoped, always strove to be more like him. I took out my phone and called Martin.
“Audrey,” Martin said, “what’s up, you okay?”
“No,” I said hollowly. “I…I would like to take you up on your offer if I needed anything. I know it’s late, but could you come over?”
“Sure, I’ll borrow my dad’s truck.”
“Thanks,” I said, and we hung up.
Slowly I got to my feet, my body feeling heavy from the dread that pressed down on me like a heavy, dark shroud. I thought about how much I should tell Martin. We had been friends our whole lives, being the same age and both living on farms on the far edge of town. His family farm was smaller than ours and did not have a dark secret that went back over one hundred years. The secret was passed on, from generation to generation, of the Klein family. The trust placed in us by the Natives that used to live here must always be hidden from the rest of the world. But never had anything like these calamities happened before. As I stood there ruminating, a thought hit me like lightning, and I felt panic seize me.
Breaking into a run, I went to the barn and through open the door. The first thing I noticed was the silence. I dashed the short distance to the pen where the lamb was kept, and my worst fear was realized. It was empty. I stared at it, my jaw falling open as I felt all my breath leave me. How? Why? I tried to make sense of it. The lamb was not slaughtered like our flock. That could only mean it was taken. Why would someone steal a bloated, sickly-looking lamb…unless. My fingernails dug into the frame of the pen, and I closed my mouth, gulping. Someone knows what the lamb was for, and the autumn equinox was five days away. I dug my hands into my hair, as my mind raced. I needed my dad, I could not handle this alone, but I had too.
I heard the faint sound of Martin’s dad’s truck pulling into our driveway and left the barn to meet him. On my way I glanced into the depths of the dark forest at the edge of the field next to our house. It oozed a waiting malevolence, and only my family stood between the people of our town and the horror that waited there to escape into the world. And right now, the only family member left to keep it at bay was me. A shiver of fear travelled up my spine as I looked away and walked to where Martin had parked next to the house. He got out of the truck as I approached him, and then took me into a brief hug which I accepted gratefully.
“Where are Bella and Barney?” Martin asked, knowing that they would always be by my side.
I could feel my lower lip start to tremble. “I called and called…they did not come. They were acting strange last night; I am afraid something happened to them.”
“Does sound weird,” Martin said. “I have a flashlight in the truck, let’s try and find them.”
“Okay,” I said. “I have one in the kitchen, I’ll get it.”
I led the way towards the forbidding gloom that was the forest. My intuition told me that like the previous night, my dogs had run off there. Where the field met the forest, we were confronted with dense undergrowth below the towering canopy of basswood, elm, hickory and maple. It was silent, and once we were in, we could not see beyond the trees, as if the forest had become a boundary, keeping us in. My elbows pulled tightly to my side, and I swallowed, not sure which way to go.
“Bella, Barney!” Martin called beside me. I looked up, just barely able to make out his silhouette.
Taking a deep breath, I started to call as well. Martin took my free hand, and I held it gratefully while we carefully moved forward and repeated our calls to my dogs. We swept our flashlights around us as we went, deeper and deeper.
“Stop,” said Martin, gripping my hand tighter. “Do you hear that?”
Listening, I heard it. I turned towards the sound. Movement in the forest, the crunching of leaves, snap of branches. But something was not right. My skin prickled with unease. I felt Martin tense up next to me, about to shout.
“Don’t!” I hissed. “Does that sound like dogs to you?”
Martin closed his mouth and turned to me, “Then what is it, it’s getting closer.”
A ululating shriek pierced the air, sending fear deep into my gut. The sounds were coming faster and nearer.
“Run!” Martin said, as he waved away branches and ran as best as he could and pulled me behind him.
It was hard for me to keep from stumbling over vegetation and tree roots, small branches lashing my face. Suddenly we broke into a clearing, and our flashlights swept up to see a figure in a mask coming at us full tilt from behind. He made the ululating cry again and raised a large knife above his head. We turned to run again, but something tripped up Martin and he went down, bringing me down on top of him as the figure got closer. Martin rolled over me, shielding me with his body as I screamed. I lay there gripped by panic, heart beating painfully in fear for what felt like an eternity, when I heard it.
Loud barks and growls pierced the air, and there was an agonized yell. Martin rolled off me in time for me to see the masked figure stagger, a dog with its teeth clamped to his wrist, the knife falling. The other dog lunged for his face as he was dragged backwards onto the ground.