“No, you loop this around the section here,” I explain, taking Craig’s half completed trap and turning it around to show him. “You create a kind of slide lock that’ll trap the rabbit more once it starts struggling.”
“And then that other part attached to the post.”
“You’re starting to get it,” I tell him. “Just make sure that the main section is at least five inches wide at every point, otherwise the rabbit will be less likely to put its head through.”
“You really grew up on a farm, huh?”
“That was a long time ago,” I admit, as I set the trap down and take another length of wire. “I grew up in the 1950’s, in a small village in Wales. Then again, I suppose some things haven’t changed so much. Rabbits, for one thing. Wire traps for another.”
“I guess you had to be smart back then,” he replies. “It must have been difficult to keep busy without electricity.”
“We had electricity,” I point out. “I’m not that old.”
“And is that when you first started to play the guitar?”
“The guitar came a little later. It was my—”
Stopping myself just in time, I realize that there’s no need to go into all the details. Nobody wants to hear a sob story about a dead mother and an inherited instrument.
We work in silence for a moment.
“So you can still play a little?” he asks finally. “After what happened, I mean.”
“I believe so.”
“You could play something right now?”
“I believe so.”
“Do you think…” His voice trails off for a moment. “Do you think you’d run out too, if you played for a few minutes?”
“I don’t know,” I reply, feeling a little uncomfortable with this topic. “I prefer to sit the whole thing out and wait for some grand, miraculous resolution.”
“What if there isn’t one? What if the music never comes back?”
“I can’t imagine a world like that,” I tell him.
“Sometimes I want to be like Jessie,” he replies. “I want to yell and shout. She’s always been kind of a drama queen, but for once I can see where she’s coming from. I keep having to force myself to be sensible. I went home when this madness first happened and there was no sign of my parents, but there was damage in the house. I wanted to go looking for them, but I told myself that the sensible thing would be to come back here.”
“And you haven’t seen or heard from them since?”
He shakes his head.
“I’m sure they’re fine,” I add, although I feel rather foolish for offering such feeble promises.
“I’m not sure at all,” he says darkly. “People have been going crazy.”
“Oh, I know that,” I reply. “Just two nights ago, I saw…”
I hesitate, thinking back to the moment when I saw poor Sarah’s body. I haven’t told anyone what happened to her, and I’m not sure I can bring myself to utter the words. Then again, I suppose it might be good to share, even if I end up traumatizing the poor chap.
And then, just as I’m about to mention Sarah’s name and start telling her story, someone starts yelling outside. Craig and I both turn and look to the window, and it’s clear that something’s happening in the barn.
Seventeen
“It’s back!” Adam snarls, hurrying out ahead of us across the yard, carrying the shotgun. “That damn thing thinks it can come and steal our stuff in broad daylight!”
“It’s never come during the day before,” Craig says. “It’s never been that bold.”
By the time we reach the entrance to the barn, we’re already soaked. The huge wooden doors are open, and the barn’s interior feels dreadfully cold as we make our way past the shelves of farming equipment. I wipe water from my face, but already there’s more water dripping down from gaps in the barn’s high wooden roof.
Ahead, Donald is examining the coop where the chickens are kept.
“Did it get any of them?” Craig calls out.
“No, they’re all still here,” he replies, turning to us. “It’s almost as if it’s more interested in the eggs than the chickens themselves.”
“I’m gonna get it this time,” Adam says, raising the gun and slowly turning to look around the barn. “I’m sick of some dumb monster trying to steal our stuff!”
“Steady!” Craig hisses, as Adam aims his gun in our direction.
“Don’t worry,” he replies, “I know what I’m doing.”
He turns and aims toward the open door, just as Sharon and Dean run through to join us.
“Give me the gun,” Donald says firmly.
“You always miss!” Adam snaps.
“It’s probably not even here anymore,” Craig suggests. “It always retreats to the forest when it’s challenged. Whatever it is, it’s either scared of us or it’s weak. It’s never come near the actual farmhouse. Then again, it’s never come out in the day before. It must be getting really desperate.”
I step over to the chicken coop and see cracked eggs on the ground.
“Or hungry,” I whisper, and for a moment I think back to the orange sand that I tasted in my dream, and to the sense of extreme hunger that I felt.
“Can you please put that gun down, Adam?” Sharon says nearby. “You’re making me nervous. You’re going to end up shooting someone by accident!”
“The only thing I’m going to shoot is that creature,” he says firmly, with the gun still raised. “Dad’s had enough shots, and he’s never managed to take the damn thing down. It’s my turn now, and you know I’ve got a better aim. My hands don’t shake like his.”
For a few seconds, nobody speaks. Adam continues to slowly turn, aiming the gun at the far corners of the barn, while the rest of us wait. All I can hear is the sound of rain crashing down outside, and the occasional splatter of drops that manage to slip between the slats in the roof. It’s as if we’re all waiting for the creature to suddenly rush at us from its hiding place, although I’m starting to think that perhaps the creature isn’t actually here at all. And in my mind’s eye, I’ve already begun to assume that the creature in the barn is the same as the creature from my dream.
Suddenly there’s a crashing sound, and we all turn and look back toward the barn’s farthest end.
“It broke out again!” Adam yells. He starts running in the direction of the sound, before changing his mind and instead racing out into the yard with the gun still raised.
Dean and I follow, with Craig right behind us, and we stop next to Adam just as he turns and fires.
To my astonishment, I see a dark figure running toward the forest. Even from this distance, I can tell that it’s exactly the same figure from my dream.
Adam fires again, and this time he hits his target. The creature lets out a howl of pain as it falls to the ground, and a chunk of its body – including its left arm – is blasted clean away.
“I got it!” Adam gasps, before starting to hurriedly re-load the shotgun.
“What is that thing?” Dean whispers, as the creature stumbles to its feet and starts limping away toward the forest. “It doesn’t look human.”
Suddenly another shot rings out, and the creature drops again. It was already a couple of hundred meters away, almost as far as the forest, and now it’s slowly getting back onto its feet, albeit clearly wounded.
“Come on,” Adam mutters, still aiming the shotgun. “Stay down.”
He fires again, and again his shot hits its target. The creature lets out a louder scream than before and slumps down onto the muddy field. And then, as Adam starts re-loading again, the creature stands and starts stumbling toward the treeline.