The Barn

“Henry, run on out and bring in another load of wood. It's getting quite cold in here. Do you mind?"

Henry stood up from his easy chair and grabbed his jacket. “I might as well take care of that calf while I'm out there. Be back in a minute sweetie.”

Henry filled the feed bucket and opened the barn door. Flipping on the barn light, the room seemed deathly quiet.

“Lula Belle, where are you girl?”

He walked to the stall where the prize calf boarded and looked down. The hay was red with blood. Parts of the small beast where scattered and stuck to the walls. Blood seemed to drip from everything. Without thinking, he ran to the house and slammed the back door behind him.

“Martha, go and get me some shotgun shells. Something killed Lula Belle. There are parts of her all over the barn. It's a God-awful mess! Get me the gun!”

Martha pulled the box of shells from the drawer and handed it to him. “Whatever it is Henry, Kill it. We have a new calf due any day now. Be careful, it might still be out there.”

The familiar rack of the shotgun echoed throughout the house. “You stay inside. If it's a coyote or a bear, I don't want you underfoot. Watch out the window and if I have any trouble I'll signal.”

Henry pulled his stocking cap down over his ears and moved onto the porch. He felt it before he saw it, a sharp stabbing pain in his leg. He fell backwards towards the door, his heart racing. He aimed the barrel of the gun at his leg, at the pain. It was a sickle, laying there carelessly on the edge of the worktable. He hit the sickle with the barrel and it flung off into the darkness. You could hear the echo of the steel as it bounced off the truck. The porch light flickered.

“Honey, you want me to change the bulb now or when you come back in?” Martha questioned from behind the locked door.

“Damn woman! I nearly cut my leg off out here and you're worried about a damn light bulb! Now shut up and keep an eye out in case I need you to call the sheriff!”

He could tell Martha mumbled a curse word but ignored her. Slowly he tried to catch his breath and moved back towards the barn. The lights in the barn flickered.

“Damn cheap ass light bulbs!” He whispered as he moved closer to the stall of death. Then he saw it. The bales of hay began to undulate. Up and down, right and left, as if it was alive.

“Who ever you are, you sick case of a human being, come out now with your hands high in the air! I know how to use this shotgun.”

The goat screamed from another stall adding to the commotion. The pile of hay stopped and began to wriggle. Henry pushed at the hay pile with the barrel of his shotgun.

Suddenly whatever was inside pulled the gun into the hay. Henry jumped back startled by the force. The butt of the gun wiggled back and forth, like a candle on a cake. A weird giggling noise seemed to come from inside the mass, as it rose high and low and then it stopped.

Henry reached down to retrieve the weapon when suddenly a long gray-clawed hand grabbed his shirt. Struggling to free himself, he fell back against the pile of tools stacked against the wall. A rake flipped forward and caught him on the side of the head. Sliding in the wet animal waste, he could see the arm in the hay as it pulled him closer and closer.

Grabbing the rake, he began to hit the hand. The giggling stopped and a strange grumbling noise began to emanate from the pile of hay.

Quickly he got to his feet and moved back toward the barn door. The lights flickered again.

“Honey, Here's a hot cup of coffee darling. What is taking you so long? Why Henry, look at the mess you've made!”

Henry's eyes opened wide at the sight of his wife, of forty years, standing there in her long gown and hair curlers. He raised the rake over his head like a baseball bat.

“Get back in the house and call the sheriff! Go on!”

The hay bale grew in size at the sound of Martha's voice. Henry whacked it hard with the rake, as Martha continued to complain.

Then, as the creature moved closer toward Henry, it stopped. Martha's eyes grew wide, as she finally caught a glimpse of the gray mass cowering beneath the pile of used hay.

“Why Henry, You've gone and scared the poor beast. Look what you've done. Oh, that's okay. Come here. That's it, come to momma.”

Henry began to whack it with the rake when Martha caught his arm.

“I said stop it Henry! Leave it alone!”

Henry lowered the rake and tried to see where the shotgun had ended up. Martha knelt slowly to the hay pile and touched the gray slimy arm with her hand.

Henry moved to the left of the scene and reached cautiously toward the shotgun lying there. His fingers touched the cold steel of the barrel.

It happened so quickly he hardly had time to react. The gray mass rose from the hay and began to suck Martha into its huge gaping mouth. Her pink rabbit slippers waving and her voice muffled by the denseness of the creature's body.

Henry raised the shotgun, took aim and pulled the trigger.

The shotgun bucked and the impact of the buckshot caused the mass to explode in all directions. Martha slammed into the far wall, her gown covered in blood. She shook her head, her eyes wide and terrified.

A million pieces were now alive. They all began to move separately in her direction.

“Henry, do something! It's going to eat me again! Henry!”

Henry reached over to the tool pile, grabbed the fertilizer sprayer, and gave it a few quick pumps. The mass began to absorbed more hay, becoming larger and larger. He began to spray everything, Martha included.

The hay began to smolder and burn, right there, on the barn floor. Martha was on her feet and quickly out the door.

Henry walked out into the yard where she stood. “I think I got it all dear.”

Martha looked down at her bloody gown. “But who's ever going to believe us, what should we do?”

“No one, this never happened darling; this is all a bad dream. Let's get in the house. What would we say?”

The smoldering hay pile dissolved into a huge green mass of fluid. A small piece of hay wriggled in a far corner near a mousetrap. With a click and an eek, the unsuspecting mouse had met its maker.

The wind caught the small bunch of hay and blew it carelessly to the mousetrap. It started to move and the mouse's body began to disappear.

The goat kicked at the stall door and finally it opened. Feeling and sniffing around it smelled the hay, and without a thought, it snatched, chewed, and swallowed the wriggling pile.

The End

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