Chapter 4
After we finished eating, it still wasn’t late for a Saturday night and Em hadn’t messaged me yet to let me know that her night was done. With how aggressive some of those guys were at the party, I wouldn’t be able to go to sleep until I knew she was safe in her room. Maybe we watched too many campus assault videos in orientation, but I was going to be awake, and Wyatt said he would stay up with me.
We decided to drop off my car at home and then drive out to ‘the manor’, which is what we called the abandoned house just down the road. Ripon was supposed to be one of the most haunted places in the state, but Wyatt and I never bought into any of that. Ripon and Pickett were both settled a very long time ago and had ties to the Underground Railroad as one of the last stops before runaway slaves made the final push to Canada. I suppose anyplace that dates back prior to the civil war was bound to have ghost stories. The fact that there isn’t much to do in a small town probably just helped keep the history of every gruesome death alive.
The manor was a deserted old farm house that had a small graveyard next to it. All the gravestones were so old that it was impossible to make out much of any names. The ground in the graveyard was sunken in where the dirt had settled over the graves and it added to the general atmosphere of abandonment around the place. The story was that a husband and wife built the place but they both went mad shortly after moving in. They were found dead and barricaded in an upstairs bedroom, but there were supposedly all kinds of claw marks on the outside of the door. People said that it would have been impossible for either of them to make those marks before the barricades went up and they couldn’t figure out a cause of death for the couple either. Those were the starting points for most of the stories and the reason why everyone thought the place was haunted.
We both thought that they probably just blocked the door and took poison that tests couldn’t detect. An animal probably clawed up the door a few days later because of the smell. Our explanation was kinda gross, but it didn’t require anything supernatural.
Most of the house was rotted away now, but there was a porch on the front that was sturdy enough to sit on. On the opposite side of the house from the grave yard there was a small meandering creek that you could hear from the porch as it poured over the rocks. The trees were thick all around the house and it was a quiet place – at least when there weren’t any other locals around looking to find a ghost.
The truth of the matter is that Wyatt and I always liked it when a group would come there looking for a thrill. We didn’t believe in the ghosts, so it was easy enough to have fun scaring others that did. We’d hide behind the front door so we could open it at just the right time to send the group running back to the road. Sometimes we’d rub sticks along the wall to sound like a clawing noise or just make rustling noises in the surrounding woods.
We never told anyone about our game, and sometimes we’d even hear stories from classmates that we had scared. It had been a long time since we had ridden our bikes here and waited for people to scare, but the place still had plenty of memories for us.
Now when we came here, we would mostly just sit on the porch and talk - that was what we were doing tonight. I still couldn’t bring myself to tell Wyatt about Dorian, but I told him everything else about the party and my day with Emily. When he asked me about why I had hung up on him, I just said that I was feeling sick to my stomach and he dropped the subject.
We were there for hours before the cold got to be too much for me. Even with Wyatt holding me tight up against him, a Wisconsin fall is just too much to deal with in a dress. As Wyatt dropped me off at home, I got Em’s txt letting me know she was alright. I thanked Wyatt again for the attempted rescue and said goodbye.
Little did he know that my most vivid memory of the night would be my brief encounter with Dorian, but I wasn’t going to tell him that – I want to save that for myself. I went to sleep that night dreaming of what would have happened with Dorian had I managed to keep up with him when he ran from Professor Kondy’s light.
✽ ✽ ✽
Sunday morning, I stretched out the process of waking up. I could feel the pull to open my eyes, but I forced myself to stay lying down and I put the pillow over my head to block out the light. I wasn’t ready yet to give up my dreams of Dorian.
The thing that finally tipped me over the edge from sleep to wakefulness was the smell of bacon and waffles coming from the kitchen. I could hear the faint sounds of my parents talking while they made breakfast, which meant that they must be done for now with the work in the fields. My mom always did most of the cooking except for breakfast – that was the meal that they would make together whenever they could. Of course, that always meant that they made too much.
As I come around the corner, I see my dad standing in front of the stove with his arm around my mother’s waist as she pours batter into the waffle maker. They’re always touching and kissing each other when they think I’m not looking. I wish they weren’t so physical – yuck, who wants to see their parents acting like that, but I guess at least they’re happy.
The table is already set, and the food is half laid out. As I walk over to my chair, I intentionally clear my throat so that my parents hear. When they know I’m there they at least try to keep off of each other a little bit.
Thinking about all the times I’ve scolded them for their over amorous behavior and how contrite they appear each time makes me smile. Most people wouldn’t try scolding my father.
He was an imposing figure to people that didn’t know him. He had the broad shoulders and large hands that came from a lifetime of farm work. I always liked that other people saw him as intimidating because it was such a contrast to how I saw him and how he acted with me and my mother. When I was a kid, he would let me paint his nails for fun and he would sit down for tea parties with me and my stuffed animals. He was comfortable enough with himself that even if a neighbor or friend came over while we were playing, he wouldn’t stop or act embarrassed. He was a big enough guy that nobody ever gave him much trouble about it.
During breakfast my folks asked me all about my classes and my first week of college. Neither of them had gone to college and they were both so obviously proud. Every time I could see how happy they were that I was going to college I also felt a little better about spending the first four years of my adult life still living at home – a part of the price I had to pay to be able to get a degree.
My parents weren’t controlling or overbearing, so I could have it a lot worse. That still didn’t mean that this was my first choice, but I at least tried to not let them see it. I know that if they had the money they would have loved to help financially, they just couldn’t. I suppose I also couldn’t have pets move to a dorm with me – at least not my cow Mary. This is probably the only living arrangement where I can still spend time with her whenever I want.
On that thought I decide that spending time with Mary should be the thing that I do today. I had told the temp agency I was working for that I didn’t have any availability during my first week of school to give me some time to get settled. Starting tomorrow they could send me to any odd job and between work and school, I might not get another Sunday like this where I could be certain that I had nothing to do.
I grabbed the customary marshmallows from the cabinet as my folks finished clearing the dishes from breakfast. Understanding where I was going, my mother said, “The bull is out in the yard now, so watch for him.”
The bull at my folk’s farm always spent part of his year in the barn separate from the herd and the other part out to pasture with the cows. Bulls aren’t like how TV portrays them, and they aren’t always running around charging people. That still doesn’t mean that you should get too close or try to surprise them. I’d been around cattle my whole life, so I knew what to do. My mother’s warning was just a reminder that I would need to be more aware now that the bull was in the pasture.
I put the marshmallows for Mary in one pocket of my sweatshirt and a
muffin in the other pocket for me to snack on later. With a wave as I walk out the door I say “Thanks, and bye!”
Walking through the yard and up the small hill to get to the pasture I can see the effect a few cold nights of early fall has had. The color of the grass has shifted slightly, and it now has a golden cast indicating that it won’t be growing any more this season. The balance has shifted too with the wildflowers because they’re now more outnumbered by brown seed heads – a sure sign that summer has ended.
My cow Mary is grazing by the pond with the rest of the herd, so I put my hands up to the corners of my mouth and call “Mary – Ca Boss – Ca Boss – Ca Bass”. Before I’m done, she’s already trotting my way. I duck down and roll quickly under the electric fence careful to not crush my muffin and then bounce back up on the inside of the pasture.
Mary greets me with a series of loud sniffs from my face down my arm and then to my pocket. I’m not fast enough getting the marshmallows to her because she sticks her long sandpaper tongue into my pocket. I push her nose aside and shout “hey!” at her but she isn’t dissuaded. I hold her nose away with one hand and take the now wet muffin out of my pocket with the other and give it to her.
Out of spite I grab a marshmallow from my other pocket and pop it in my mouth. If she’s going to eat my snack, I’ll eat hers! On seeing the marshmallow, Mary starts to hum. I can’t stay mad at her, so I grab the rest of the marshmallows out of my pocket and offer them to her. They’re swallowed up almost instantly and now she finally seems satisfied that there isn’t anything else for her to eat.
Usually I would climb up on Mary’s back and go for a ride while she meandered and grazed in the yard, but after a week without much physical activity I’m happy to walk beside her. Every once in a while, I stand on my tip toes to peak over her back and make sure that the bull is still far away on the other side of the pasture.
The last time I look over Mary to see where the bull and the rest of the herd are, I see them all laying down on the hillside by the pond. On any warm day like this, cows tend to be pretty stationary through the hottest hours. If I wasn’t with her, Mary would probably be lying with the rest of her herd. We cross over the hill where we can no longer see any other cows or the farm and walk down to a shady spot. There is an old gravel quarry connected through a valley to the pond on the other side by a sometimes-dry creek bed. The quarry isn’t very large, and the sides aren’t very steep in most places. With all the trees that have grown up inside it, the place was very private and would provide nice shade on an early fall day like this when the sun was bright.
After Mary found a comfortable spot, I sit up against her with my back pressed into the natural curve just behind her shoulder and I lean my head back, so my face is pointed up toward the sky. I could lie like this for a long time – relaxing and slowly letting my eyes close.
I feel the ground trembling before I hear the sound of running hooves growing closer and I open my eyes. The whole herd has moved around us, and the bull is charging with his head down. His hooves are moving so fast that it sounds like a great gush of water approaching. I jump up just a second before Mary.
I’ve never been charged like this, but my parents have been preparing me for it my whole life and their mantras are running through my head. ‘Don’t run – they would always be able to catch you. Stand still until the last second and then move sideways– they’re fast, but they can’t make a sharp turn if they’re running at full speed. Don’t let yourself get cornered.”
I’ve got a plan in my head and I’m ready to jump to the side and head for the nearest tree before I realize that the bull isn’t charging at me – his target is slightly to the side.
My eyes follow the bull as he rushes past me toward his target. “Shit!” It’s Dorian. He’s standing with his back toward a wall of rock about 50 feet away from me. I don’t know what I can do to help, but I instinctively run toward him shouting at the bull at the same time. “Hey! Hey!” My legs are pumping as fast as I can make them go but it isn’t fast enough. The bull slows before reaching Dorian and is now moving side to side in perfect counterpoint to each of Dorian’s movements. With horror I realize that Dorian is moving backwards and into a spot where the rock face is pushed back – No! He’s cornered!
I’m terrified, and I don’t want to see what will happen next. It feels like a bad dream, but the roles are all reversed. Instead of the giant horrifying monster chasing after me, I’m running after him but I’m still just not fast enough.
Dorian doesn’t even seem to realize the danger he’s in and his face doesn’t show a bit of fear. He’s looking straight at me with a look of curiosity. How could he not know the danger that he’s in!
I’ve only made it half way to Dorian, and it’s too late. The bull angles his head down farther and takes two quick steps to make contact with Dorian’s stomach before lifting him slightly in the air and crashing him into the stone.
I’d never seen a person be attacked by a bull, but my dad saw it once when he was a kid and he told me the story often so I would know enough to stay away. He was at a neighbor’s house and one of the hired hands had never been around cattle. He was cleaning out a feed bunk and when the bull started pawing at the ground he ran. My dad said it seemed like it only took a second for the bull to catch him and knock him to the ground. As soon as he was down the bull simply put the bony part of his forehead on the man’s chest and picked up his front feet so the full force of his weight would be concentrated down through the ridge of his brow.
I remember my dad describing the sound of cracking bone as the man’s chest was crushed. The way he spoke about it, I knew it was an image and a sound he would never forget.
My heart is pounding so hard it feels like it could explode. I scream “No!” and reach one arm out toward the scene playing out before me that I’m powerless to stop. Not Dorian! This can’t happen to Dorian! I turn my head slightly and look down. I keep running toward him, but I can’t watch him be crushed.
I know it’s only been a half second since the bull pinned him against the wall of stone, but it feels like time has slowed down. It’s like a cruel joke that makes moments like this last forever while I’m waiting to hear the sound of Dorian’s chest flatten. I expect the crack and squish that my dad described, but the sound is more like a very large sack of potatoes falling to the ground.
Chapter 5
Ilook back toward Dorian and time restarts. I don’t see the image I’m expecting – one where Dorian’s life is at an end.
Dorian is standing in the same spot, with the same curious expression on his face, and the bull is lying on the ground in a heap.
I can’t believe it – I stop running and come to a stop just in front of him with our eyes locked on each other. Adrenaline is coursing through my veins and my heart feels like it could break through my chest. He’s okay – somehow, he isn’t injured.
His intense stare into my eyes triggers a wave of relief in me and I feel the start of a tear forming in my eye. Without consciously thinking about doing it, I reach both of my hands up to touch his face. My hands feel numb with the pressure of so much fear and so much relief in such quick succession.
An instant before my hands make contact Dorian realizes what I’m about to do and his expression of curiosity turns to one of horror and pain. He squeezes his eyes shut tight and tries to turn away from me pressing himself farther into the stone wall.
I feel a sense of de ja vu – this is the same look I imagine was on my face when I was expecting Dorian to be crushed. A choked and pain filled “No!” escaped Dorian’s lips as my hand brushes his face. I pull my hands back instantly, but Dorian remains frozen.
He must have some fear of being touched. Instantly I’m able to place a thousand pieces I wasn’t before. That must be why he ran from that girl in class when she touched him. It would explain why he always seems to walk with his hands in his pockets, why he would avoid crowds, and why he would try to put off those girls that wer
e trying to flirt with him.
I take a step back hoping to make him feel more at ease, but his eyes are shut so tight there’s no way he could notice. I hate to see the look of so much pain on his face. Very softly, like I was speaking to a frightened animal, I say “it’s okay, I won’t touch you again if you don’t want me to.”
At the sound of my words, his face slowly turns toward me and his expression changes to disbelief and surprise as his eyes open. We stand there like this and I watch a myriad of emotions transform his face. I wish I knew the dialog running through his head, but all I can do is guess and watch as he works through whatever it is running through his mind. Finally, he gains a look of resolve and with his eyes boring into mine with a slightly distant edge he says, “What are you?”
I blink and look away to give myself a second to think about his question. Did I hear that right? I don’t have time to contemplate much longer because Dorian’s hand flies toward me and pushes me sideways.
Before I can get angry at being shoved, I look down and see the bull writhing and jerking in the spot where I was just standing. It looks like he’s having a seizure – just like that girl in biology class. My voice is surprisingly sharp. “What did you do to him…and to that girl in class!?”
“Let’s get away from here before we talk.” He takes a few steps away but keeps his body angled toward me in an obvious sign that he intends for me to follow.
“Wait. Can’t you help him?” I feel pity for this creature that almost just killed in front of me. He no longer looks like a fierce monster and I don’t want to see him die.
In a sad voice Dorian says, “There is nothing I can do.”
“I have to go get my Dad to call the vet!” I turn back toward the path that will lead me to the house, but I’m quickly stopped by Dorian’s voice.
“There is nothing a veterinarian can do either. He may die, but there’s no medical treatment or medicine that would improve the odds. It’s best that we go now.” He walks toward where a large stone rests forming a natural bench farther down in the quarry and this time I follow. I don’t want to leave the poor creature lying on the ground, but I believe that Dorian is telling the truth. I know there’s another reason I’m following him too – I can’t resist the chance to talk with Dorian.
Lucky: Dorian Gray Novels Book 1 Page 4
