The Misunderstood and Other Misfit Horrors
Page 11
Knowing that he would fall again if he looked back, George set his sights on the house and moved as quickly as he could. It would only be a matter of seconds before the beast was upon him. Yet strangely, even after a few seconds, George found himself alive and still moving toward sanctuary.
Gasping, he reached the front door. Flinging it open, he staggered inside and hobbled over to a window. He watched as the beaten, dismembered scarecrows used every last ounce of strength to corral the dark, horned beast. Although badly charred, the burned scarecrow held up its crippled brother so that it could ram the pitchfork’s tines into the monster’s glistening head. The demon howled in pain as the pitchfork pierced its skin and bone. The scarecrow that had been cut in half by the shotgun blast hacked away at the creature’s legs with the axe.
The straw men weren’t as strong as they had once been but they were resolute in their defense of George and his house. Wounded and angry, the beast staggered drunkenly around the field with a mighty roar, but not before grabbing two of the scarecrows and flinging them into the corral with the cattle who quickly trampled all over the remains. Bleeding profusely from its wounds, the beast stumbled and fell toward the third scarecrow, who managed to raise the pitchfork before being crushed beneath the demon’s weight. The fiend screamed once as it fell onto the tines of the hay fork. A dark stream of ichor ran from its wounds, scorching the earth and the scarecrow beneath.
George watched it all in amazement as the fiend seemed to dissolve right before his very eyes. Soon, there was nothing left of the beast but a patch of burned ground and a few charred bits of hay.
The monster was dead. The scarecrows had killed it.
George still didn‘t know exactly what he‘d witnessed, but he knew he was fortunate to be alive. Whatever had been summoned forth from the bowels of the earth was gone now, and hopefully, he could get back to the business of cattle farming.
George smiled weakly. It was the first time in two weeks he’d been able to manage such an expression.
Wincing at the pain in his ankle, he hobbled from window to window, watching for several minutes to make sure that the threat was over. Drained from two solid days of vigilance and edgy nerves, he collapsed into the recliner, relieved that the threat was finally over. He could rest easy for the first night in a long time. And then he realized that he couldn’t really. There were still things left undone.
With a sigh and a tired smile, he got to his feet and lumbered to his bedroom to pull out some old clothes. Before he went to bed, he still had a few scarecrows to make.
This time, he thought to himself, I’ll make them twice as big.
Just in case.....
About the Author:
Jason Brannon is the author of The Cage and Winds of Change. His work has been translated into German, been nominated for awards, and even won a few. His short fiction has appeared in over one hundred magazines and various anthologies. He currently lives in Amory, MS and maintains a website at www.jbrannon.net
Table of Contents
Beware The Death Angel
The Machinery of Infinity
Follow the Leader
Running Toward Eden
The Fourth Key
The Oracles
The Juggler
Mother Mary
The Misunderstood
About the Author