"I don't wanna, Daddy," a small voice, thick with sobs, pleaded to a man wearing an old rancher hat. His shirt was tucked in, his face aglow as the sunlight from the setting sun cast a warm glow over his handsome features.
"If you wanna be a man like Daddy, you must steel your heart," the man said, his voice deep and reassuring.
Small fingers tightened around the cold metallic trigger of a sharp carbine rifle, its muzzle aimed at a brown bull calf resting atop hay on the barn floor. The calf's legs were tucked beneath it, its eyes locked onto the muzzle, a blend of innocence and curiosity reflected in their dark depths.
"Jesse boy, you gotta understand, you can never be a liability to anyone. This calf... it's a spent affair. It can't produce milk, so there's no point in feeding it. We can't sell him with his disease." Jesse's hand tightened further, his eyes brimming with unshed tears.
"So, do Daddy a favor and be a man," whispered the man, leaning close to Jesse's ear.
The moisture in his eyes made his vision murky and blurred, but he could still make out the calf's innocent, blinking eyes in front of him.
"Pop."
"HaHa, I didn't think you had it in you, boy. I thought you'd turn your head, at least, but you didn't. That was something." The man shook Jesse's shoulder, his voice swelling with excitement and pride.
Ruffling Jesse's smooth black hair, he continued, "You are my son after all, haha,". Jesse's dad kept talking, his words a distant hum to the young boy whose gaze was fixed on the emptiness ahead, where a thin trail of steaming liquid traced its path to the ground from the hole in the limp head of the life he had just taken.
"Grrrr…" A small rumble shattered his trance. Jesse's eyes darted around, searching for the source, but it was futile—only pitch-black darkness surrounded him.
"Grrrr…" The sound again. This time he realized it came from his own stomach. Yet, that realization paled as the horror before him twisted into terror. He remembered it had been a calf, but now in its place lay a grotesque pig with a short snout, slick skin, and a grotesque smile. Confusion buzzed through him as the pig's smile twitched. He strained to make sense of the sounds that followed, which were almost human but not quite intelligible. Bending down, he leaned closer to the mouth. Finally, he heard it. "Why…did…y-you kill me? What did I ever do to you, you fuc-…fuc-…murderer?"
Jesse fell back in terror, scrambling to his feet and bolting into the endless darkness. "Murderer," he echoed, the word reverberating in his mind. "No, how can an animal speak, and a dead one at that?"
Jesse clamped his hands over his ears, but it did nothing. The sound wasn't external; it echoed inside his head. "Stop, someone stop this!" The pain surged, unbearable, as if nails were being hammered into his skull. Saliva dribbled from his mouth as he curled up into a ball, holding his head between his arms. "Aaahh," he screamed in agony.
"STOP!!"
And it did—the sharp, stinging pain atop his head accompanied by accusatory screams filled with mockery, calling him a murderer. He still dared not change his position, still grasping at his ears. He lay there, no thought other than the fear of it voice returning,after five more minutes. Slowly, he opened his eyes and took in his surroundings: wooden walls painted a faded white, showing the gaps and cracks of years gone by, with a large window right in the center letting in the morning sunlight.
He recognized the familiar scenery of his room. He slowly sat up and settled on the edge of the bed, his hand covering his right eye. His hand trembled as he lowered it from his face and dropped it to his side. As he continued to stare at his calloused hand, memories surfaced. He was at a party with Eric, and then two other guys took him to a strange room, and there it was—that thing-artifact or whatever they called it. His hand,which held that thing, began to tremble more intensely; it was shaking now.
He clenched his hand, gritted his teeth, stood up, and stomped out of the room. He walked to a wooden stairwell and proceeded down, each step guiding him to a spacious corridor lined with rooms on either side. On the right side sat a telephone atop a wooden stool. He grabbed the receiver, connected to the telephone shell, paused for a moment, put it to his ear, and used his other hand to dial a number. Trin. Trin. Trin. Trin. It rang for a minute, but no one picked up on the other end.
"Oh, look, the princess is up," resounded a voice, tinged with sarcasm, which Jesse recognized immediately—it was his brother. Something clicked in Jesse's head; surely his brother must know how he got here. He turned to regard the black-haired man adorned in a disheveled apron smudged with oil and other unidentifiable stains. Austin stood leaning against the kitchen entrance with a teasing smirk.
"How did I get here?" asked Jesse, ignoring the smirk.
"Whoa, don't you remember? The witch dropped you off in your pumpkin wagon."
"I am serious, Austin," Jesse interjected with an annoyed shout.
"Whoa there, young man. You still have a lot of drinking to do before you talk to me like that," Austin said with unbothered calm.
"Ugh… what?" Jesse took a deep breath.
"Dear brother, do you mind telling me how I got here?" his voice polite but laced with impatience.
"Oh, to be young!"
"Well, I get it. Blacking out for the first time can be a scrawly affair, but don't worry, Eric dropped you off. You should thank him; you know you've got a good friend there!"
Jesse wasn't so sure of that anymore.' What the hell happened to me last night?'He replayed the night's events in his head. He hadn't paid attention to it at the time, but Eric had been behaving strangely. Earlier, Eric told him that he didn't know Jason, yet he acted as if they were old friends. Eric's quiet, shy behavior stood out to Jesse. But what stood out the most was his behavior in that room and that dream—or was it? It felt so real and vivid that it still scared him. He wanted answers right now, and if he couldn't get them over the phone, he'd just go to Eric's house.
Determined, Jesse asked "Can you please give me the car keys?".
"Ah, the perks of being the big brother. Brother dearest, your kind words warm my heart," Jesse cringed at his words, but he had to play along for now.
"But no," said Austin abruptly.
"Huh? Why?" A hurried question left Jesse's throat, his brows furrowed with confusion.
"Did you forget about today's Sunday service? It's your turn this time."
"Fuck, I forgot." Every Sunday, Austin and Jesse took turns accompanying their father to their local church, and it was Jesse's turn now.
"And what do you even need the car keys for? You wanna go to the junkyard or something?" Austin said, making a swatting gesture in front of his nose.
This reminded Jesse that he was still wearing last night's outfit. He took a whiff and felt like gagging as the foul odor made its way up his nostrils.
But if he went with his father, by the time they got back, the car wouldn't be available, as Austin would take it to work. He'd have to wait until tomorrow for answers, and he had a feeling Eric wouldn't be picking up his phone. The thought made him anxious.
Seeing his brother's expression, Austin sighed, "Just go take a bath for now. Dad'll be here any minute." He paused, then added, "I'll give you the keys first thing in the morning."
"You are the best brother, you know," said Jesse, his worries a bit less now. Seeing this, Austin smiled.
"Enough with the flattery now," Austin said as Jesse walked past him and went upstairs to use the washroom.
Austin stared at Jesse's back, his eyes filled with pity and tenderness.
Their mother had left them years ago when Jesse was seven. Austin had always pitied his younger brother and had desperately tried to fill their mother's place for Jesse. He wanted to give his brother what he himself never had—a family.