-1Pets
By Matthew Stephens
Copyright by Matthew Stephens 2012
Published by Smashwords
Tim Dagny was the type of person who had no problem striking up conversation's with total strangers. In fact, he thought it to be one of his best qualities. He had never been in a fight in the thirty-two years he'd been alive. Even if he were pursued with a threat, he would have a rearranged face before he decided to lift a finger. There was not a trace of an evil bone in his body. He lived his life with a happy-go-lucky attitude and all that positive outlook would only bring him to a fate that no man should have to bare.
He moved to the quiet little town of Brooking on a call of business. The company that he worked under for ten years desperately needed to fill a position. Being the optimistic person he was, he jumped on the opportunity. It meant a change in scenery, a pay raise, and a chance to be manager of the small plant that sat outside a sleepy little town.
Although he was friendly and easy going, he really had nothing going for him back home. His parents had passed away in a car accident a few years back. The people he considered to be his closest friends had gone on with their lives raising kids or getting married, and the apartment he rented was beginning to be a ridiculous price for the little space it provided. In reality, he had nothing going for him but he kept a positive attitude, believing that good things happen to good people. He learned very quickly that life isn't always fair.
After getting himself settled into a small house on the west side of town, he thought it would be a good idea to get acquainted with the people that were going to be his neighbors. The town had a population of maybe 700 tops, so he figured he could work his way into their hearts rather easily. The first place he headed was the pub. He figured if he was going to get in good with these people, he better start where they go to have a good time.
When he walked into the smoke filled bar, the patrons barely noticed him. They kept on downing their beers and talking as if he wasn't even there. He went to an empty spot at the end of the place and sat down. A slim blond walked to him and he assumed her to be the bell of Brooking. She asked what he'd like to drink with a flirtatious smile that she likely used on all the men to get them to empty their pockets. He ordered a beer and began to check out his surroundings. The place was filled with typical old bar signs and men talking about the latest bullshit at work. He tried to make conversation with the bar maid but she scampered off to serve another costumer with that seductive smile of hers.
He had finished a few more cold ones and was about to get up to leave when a man seated at a small table behind him finally gave him some attention.
"Hey buddy, what's your name?"
Tim thought the guy had a rather deep voice for such a tiny frame, but he was not one to judge a person, at least not out loud, and he was grateful that someone was giving him the time of day. He approached the table, stuck out his hand, and announced his name in a very formal tone.
"Tim, Tim Dagny."
The small man at the table with the balding head and thick glasses snickered at him, then took his hand in a friendly shake. Tim was usually a good judge of people, but there was something about this man he couldn't read. He was having trouble trying to decide whether the man was just pursuing conversation like himself, or if he was trying to get the dirt on the new guy. Either way, he was happy to have someone to talk to. He motioned to the bartender for another and took a seat across from the stranger.
He was usually not that much of a drinker. The beers were just something to hold on to while trying to make new friends, but the man had been a good talker and soon he found himself shit-faced and laughing his ass off at almost every word that escaped the weird little man's mouth. He found that he really liked the guy after all. He was ashamed of being a little too judgmental at first. The man, who he knew now as Harold, told him of his past as a surgeon. The light hearted conversation dimmed a little when he began describing the awful things he had seen in the operating room, which eventually caused him to quit, but picked right back up when he made a joke about how nice it would be to see the cute little bartender grab her ankles.
The laughter and jokes kept getting passed around until the last call was finally made. Tim couldn't believe he let himself get so carried away. He was drunker then a skunk, but he was having one hell of a time with old Harold. That's why when Harold asked if he would like to check out his farm, he gladly obliged.
Sure, it was two in the morning, but it was Friday; Well, Saturday to be exact, but he had two days to sleep off the hangover before he had to report to his new job at the plant. Before he knew it, he was sitting passenger in a nice black pick-up that was headed out of town. Harold cracked open a beer and handed it to Tim as he kept the good conversation going.
"Yeah, you got to check out my pets. I think you'll really like them."
"Pets? What kind of pets?" Tim said in a drunken slur.
"I got all kinds of them. I got cows, chickens, and pigs. I also got some rare animals you ain't never seen in your life."
"Really? Like exotic animals or what?" Tim was getting interested.
"Yeah, something like that."
They were about five miles out of town when Harold whipped the truck into a long gravel driveway. He talked about how he loved the country and that quitting his medical profession was the best decision of his life. The city was just too much hustle and bustle. Tim agreed and they clanged their bottles together in a friendly cheers.
The truck came to a stop in front of a two-story house that looked no more than five to ten years old. Behind that sat an array of barns that were big enough to be considered houses themselves. The place was a sign of a man with a lot of money and time on his hands.
"Wow! This place is amazing!" Tim said to his new friend and patted him on the shoulders. He fumbled for the door handle and let himself out. He walked around the front of the truck and followed Harold to the bigger of the three barns. He waited while his new friend unlocked the door and flipped on the lights. Tim stumbled through the doorway feeling disoriented from the mixture of bright fluorescent lights and beer.
"This is my little work shop." Harold said, but "little" was hardly the right word for it.
The ceiling reached astronomical heights and the concrete layout went for miles it seemed. Everything was neatly in place. A bench with tools and some sort of air compressors or generators sat in one corner. A few older classic cars were lined up on the opposite side. The place was wide open and clean as a whistle, not the typical scene you would imagine of a barn. Tim took a beer from Harold who snatched it from a fridge that looked like it belonged in some million dollar mansion.
"You must be quite well off, I mean, this shit is better than I could of imagined."
"It didn't start out this way , but it's getting there." Harold smirked, seeming to enjoy Tim's envy. "Hell, you haven't seen the best of it yet."
After a round of beers and admiration from Tim, Harold waved him to the back of the barn. Tucked away in a dark corner was a small door that seemed out of place compared to the rest of the barn. Everything else in the place seemed to be new but the door Harold was about to enter looked extremely rotted and squeaked on the hinges as it opened. Tim thought of questioning the fact, but he felt it would be a bit rude to criticize one rotted door in a place that was fit for a king. An awkward smell drifted out from the darkness beyond as Harold pulled open the worn out door.
"-and here's where I keep my pets." Harold announced sounding like a ringmaster as he extended his arm in front of him welcoming Tim to go in.
It could of been the booze, or the smell, or just maybe his own conscience, but all of the sudden Tim felt afraid to step foot beyond that moldy door. The smell was intense, like a mixture of shit and spoiled milk, but before expressing this thought to Harold, he remembered his uncle's farm smelled somewhat familiar when he was a boy. He assumed that when you raise animals, those type of foul odors were to be expected. So without further adieu, he found himself standing inside the dark, awful smelling room with Harold holding the door open behind him.
"You'll have to excuse the smell. Pets can be so damn messy, and a guy has only so much time in a day to clean up after them." Harold snickered and before Tim could realize what was happening, Harold slammed the door with a loud thud, followed by a sound of dead bolts being locked.
Tim stood in the pitch black and thought that maybe it was just a practical joke that the guy liked to play on his new friends. It didn't seem all that funny, but then again, he didn't really know the guy all that well.
"Ha, ha funny! You can let me out now" There was no response. Tim would usually keep his cool for quite a while before he lost his wits, but the odor was very pungent and threatening to make him vomit. He marched over to where he thought the door was and starting pounding rapidly.
"Alright. the games over. If you don't let me out, your going to have a lot more than just shit to clean up." There was still no response. He looked around wildly hoping his eyes would adjust soon. The darkness was making him feel a bit claustrophobic. He was very close to puking his guts out when a noise from behind stifled it for the moment. He turned around but there was no use. He couldn't see his own hand an inch from his face. Whatever was making the sound seemed to be coming his way. His first thought was that it was probably a cow. There was a muffled moaning sound that didn't sound like any cattle he had ever heard, but what else could it be? Plus, there was also the noise of hooves, so it had to be a cow. Although he was sure his fear was for nothing, he couldn't help but lose control.
"God damn it Harold! Let me out!" He screamed while plunging his shoulder repeatedly into what he hoped was the door.
Harold was still giving him the silent treatment and the thing was now at his heals. Something lightly grazed his calf. It felt like a steel wire brush. He yanked his leg up and moved to his left. An awkward moaning sound escaped this creature at his feet. He told himself that he was being overly paranoid and decided, fuck it, I’m going to reach down and find out what the fuck kind of animal this is. He bent down and swung his arm in front of him in an attempt to get a hold on whatever was near, but then the lights came on.
At first, Tim was sure he was going to faint. Then, he thought he might have already passed out and was just dreaming this horrid nightmare that stood before him. The thing rammed his leg, and unfortunately, he knew then that this was no joke. It was half-human, half-cow, and all sorts of fucked up. One side of its body had a stitched-on limp cattle leg that swung and dangled in front of the deformed man. His other arm was normal. His mouth was sewn shut, and not rather nicely either, bits of string or twine, or whatever the maniac who did this to him used, protruded from his face like tiny whiskers. One of his eyes had been gouged out leaving a congealed empty black socket. He hobbled closer and tried to reach out to Tim. Although this thing was a gruesome sight and frightening to look at, it seemed harmless. It couldn’t bite or grab, and for a moment, Tim felt pity for the poor thing that used to be an ordinary human being until someone got a hold of him.
The mangled mess staggering before him was most likely pleading for help, rather than posing a threat, but Tim couldn’t stand its touch and ran. He fumbled through large clumps of hay and shit that lay scattered on the ground. Dim light bulbs illuminated the cobweb filled rafters where thousands of tiny spiders had made their home. He tried to scan the entire area at once which caused him to trip and fall into a somersault.
He sat up and his heart stopped. Lined up along the wall was a pile of failed mutations. There was a decaying body with a sewn on pig snout that obviously caused him to suffocate or die from starvation. A woman, noticeable only by her bare breasts, lay in a mangled heap with various animal parts stitched in where her arms and legs used to be. A half-horse, half-man creation was propped up on saw horses as if someone was trying to replicate the mythological creature centaur. Tim had seen enough and finally lost his dinner.
He got back to his feet and headed further into the ghastly tomb. He was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and the cries of, “Help us, please, help us,” coming from each side of him went unnoticed. He was running full speed looking for any way out when he ran himself into a support beam and his world went black.
***
Its been said that when you die, you see a bright light that your supposed to go toward if you want to get to Heaven. When Tim woke, he was blinded by this bright light, but there was no hope for the holy land in his near future. He turned his head from side to side but everything was a blur. He tried to sit up, but could feel restraints bound to his chest. He raised his arm to rub his eyes and it was excruciatingly painful to move. Once he got his hand to his face, he realized it wasn’t a hand at all. Stitched on his wrist was a dog paw, and if that wasn’t freaky enough, he could actually move it. It worked. It seemed that old Harold was getting better at his little surgical procedures. Tim lay his head back onto to a pillow and screamed.
“Noooooooooooooo.”