Saturday, February 13, 2010
Stacey
Part 1 Part 2
The silhouette of the farmer stood dark and imposing in the doorway to the little house he shared with his wife and daughter. The bright sun hung low in the sky behind him, casting rays around the man in a manner that could only be described as something magnificent. If it wasn't for the slump in his shoulders and his uneasy stance, it would have been something holy.
His wife heard the sound of his heavy boots trudge up the porch while she was putting away the last few dishes into the washer. "You go find Stacey, Paul? Movie's starting in fifteen." She proceeded to wipe down the counter. "I went ahead and put away those blankets that were clogging up the couch, too. They were gettin' awful."
Silence hung in the air. Jan turned to see her husband standing slack in the doorway, a vacant expression upon his face. Blood and mud were present on the knees of his jeans. "Paul," she said, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end, "Where's Stacey?" She looked on in mounting horror as her husband slowly brought his eyes to hers.
"She's dead."
It was ten minutes closer to sunset when Jan beheld the body of her only child. She was lying face down in the mud, her mangled body laying amongst the splinters of a fence. Looking down at the ruins of the child, Jan could see that Stacey's left arm had almost been severed from her body, and a large gash had spilled the contents of her belly onto the ground.
Jan was numb. She tore her eyes away from the sight and looked about scene instead. This was the pen used to keep the hogs. One long section of the fence had its posts torn straight out of the ground, and the pieces laid scattered across the area. The swine were nowhere to be seen. The first and only explanation that Jan could consider was that the pigs were spooked and charged the fence, catching her daughter by surprise. It was the only way this could have happened.
Paul stepped up to his wife and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. Neither of them had the energy to cry. Neither of them wanted to accept that this was the outcome of a very bizarre week.
The previous Sunday Paul opened the door to the hogs' pen to discover that one of his sows had taken ill. It wasn't any normal kind of sick, however. At least nothing like he had seen before. She was standing with her legs splayed, facing into a corner. The pig's head lolled from one side to the other, jaw open and saliva rolling freely onto the substrate. Her penmates were huddled on the other side of the pen, at the farthest point away from the stricken sow. They all scattered out into the daylight when Paul opened the door.
The pig was immediately quarantined. Two days would pass with no other obvious signs of change. During this time she remained completely unresponsive to any stimuli presented by the farmer, and refused all nourishment. "She's a zombie," Paul would say to his wife late that second day, "and I don't know what to do with her."
The vet came on the morning of the third. By the end of the exam, he was just as puzzled as anyone else. Unable to offer an explanation, he took a blood sample and promised to get back to the owners just as soon as results were in. It was the most he could do. Satisfied, Paul and his family went about their day as usual. It was that evening when the farmer found his sow dead. It looked as if she had keeled over on the spot, with light foam around her lips and her eyes bloodshot and starting. Remorseful, Paul disposed of the body.
Fourth and fifth days. The remaining swine became increasingly aggressive with one another. More than once Paul had to throw rocks into the pen in order to breakup a scuffle. The farmer warned his family to stay away from the pigs as he attempted to erect a rig that would keep the swine separate from one another. The vet was called again, and was expected to arrive Saturday morning. Just had to keep the pigs from killing one another until then.
Sixth day. Just before sunset. Paul's daughter found dead by the pig pen. Hogs nowhere to be found.
The silhouette of the farmer stood dark and imposing in the doorway to the little house he shared with his wife and daughter. The bright sun hung low in the sky behind him, casting rays around the man in a manner that could only be described as something magnificent. If it wasn't for the slump in his shoulders and his uneasy stance, it would have been something holy.
His wife heard the sound of his heavy boots trudge up the porch while she was putting away the last few dishes into the washer. "You go find Stacey, Paul? Movie's starting in fifteen." She proceeded to wipe down the counter. "I went ahead and put away those blankets that were clogging up the couch, too. They were gettin' awful."
Silence hung in the air. Jan turned to see her husband standing slack in the doorway, a vacant expression upon his face. Blood and mud were present on the knees of his jeans. "Paul," she said, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end, "Where's Stacey?" She looked on in mounting horror as her husband slowly brought his eyes to hers.
"She's dead."
It was ten minutes closer to sunset when Jan beheld the body of her only child. She was lying face down in the mud, her mangled body laying amongst the splinters of a fence. Looking down at the ruins of the child, Jan could see that Stacey's left arm had almost been severed from her body, and a large gash had spilled the contents of her belly onto the ground.
Jan was numb. She tore her eyes away from the sight and looked about scene instead. This was the pen used to keep the hogs. One long section of the fence had its posts torn straight out of the ground, and the pieces laid scattered across the area. The swine were nowhere to be seen. The first and only explanation that Jan could consider was that the pigs were spooked and charged the fence, catching her daughter by surprise. It was the only way this could have happened.
Paul stepped up to his wife and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. Neither of them had the energy to cry. Neither of them wanted to accept that this was the outcome of a very bizarre week.
The previous Sunday Paul opened the door to the hogs' pen to discover that one of his sows had taken ill. It wasn't any normal kind of sick, however. At least nothing like he had seen before. She was standing with her legs splayed, facing into a corner. The pig's head lolled from one side to the other, jaw open and saliva rolling freely onto the substrate. Her penmates were huddled on the other side of the pen, at the farthest point away from the stricken sow. They all scattered out into the daylight when Paul opened the door.
The pig was immediately quarantined. Two days would pass with no other obvious signs of change. During this time she remained completely unresponsive to any stimuli presented by the farmer, and refused all nourishment. "She's a zombie," Paul would say to his wife late that second day, "and I don't know what to do with her."
The vet came on the morning of the third. By the end of the exam, he was just as puzzled as anyone else. Unable to offer an explanation, he took a blood sample and promised to get back to the owners just as soon as results were in. It was the most he could do. Satisfied, Paul and his family went about their day as usual. It was that evening when the farmer found his sow dead. It looked as if she had keeled over on the spot, with light foam around her lips and her eyes bloodshot and starting. Remorseful, Paul disposed of the body.
Fourth and fifth days. The remaining swine became increasingly aggressive with one another. More than once Paul had to throw rocks into the pen in order to breakup a scuffle. The farmer warned his family to stay away from the pigs as he attempted to erect a rig that would keep the swine separate from one another. The vet was called again, and was expected to arrive Saturday morning. Just had to keep the pigs from killing one another until then.
Sixth day. Just before sunset. Paul's daughter found dead by the pig pen. Hogs nowhere to be found.
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2 comments:
DUN DUN DUUUUUUUN.
-Alex
*que dramatic swine*
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