Short Horror Stories ^~^

The Petting Zoo

As he studied the road ahead looking for a safe place to make a U-turn, he saw it. An old farm house set back from the road. If it hadn't been for the pothole, he would have missed it completely. By the mailbox, a freshly painted sign read:

ELSWORTH'S FAMOUS
SPIDER PETTING ZOO
OPEN YEAR ROUND
ALL VISITORS WELCOME

This must be the place, he concluded. Carefully turning up the heavily rutted lane, Johnson wondered what he would find. Perhaps one of the locals playing a joke on the tourists, he mused.

Tall grass slapped at the bottom of the car and rusted barbed wire clung to rotted posts that ran alongside the lane. In the untilled fields, scrubby bushes had sprung up like mushrooms. Johnson tried to imagine what the farm looked like in better days, but it was impossible.

When he reached the top of the hill, the farmhouse looked even more decrepit. Blistered paint hung from the wooden shingles and there was a disturbing sag in the middle of the roof. What once had been the side garden was now occupied by tall thistles and a mass of tangled timbers indicated the former site of the main barn.

Except for the glass still being intact in the windows, the house looked abandoned. Where is everybody? thought Johnson. In response to his question, an old woman dressed in a black skirt and a woolen sweater stepped out the side door. She was gnarled and withered like the lone apple tree that stood in the yard. Johnson guessed she must have been at least 70, maybe even 80 years old.

"What you want?" she spat.

Turning off the CD player and rolling down the car window, he replied, "Is this the petting zoo?"

"That's what the sign says, don't it?"

Ignoring her rudeness, Johnson continued, "Are you open?"

"I'll git Jake. He out back choppin' wood."

He watched as she shuffled down a dirt path and disappeared around a corner of the house. Charming, thought Johnson.

Opening the car door, he stepped out. Despite the poverty, the farm had a certain rustic appeal which reminded him of the house that he grew up in in the country.

But there was something odd. Something missing. Where are the flies? thought Johnson. On most farms the low buzz of the black swarms was constant. But here there was none. Except for the moaning of the wind, it was quiet.

Perhaps it was the lack of animals, he thought. Or maybe it was the stiff breeze at the top of the hill that kept them at bay.

Glancing at his watch, he frowned. It was after 5 o'clock. If he did not get back on the road soon, he would be late for his appointment. Either that or skip his shower. After driving all day, Johnson did not want to skip the soothing ritual.

Taking one last look around, he reached for the handle of the car door. Just then the old woman reappeared and behind her an even more wizened up old man wearing faded blue overalls and a nicotine-stained undershirt.

Stopping at the corner of the house, the old man spat out a long jet of chewing tobacco on the ground. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he paused momentarily to study Johnson.

Speaking to the old woman, he said in a low tone, "Thought I heard a car come up."

"Wants to see yer spiders," she said before she turned away and went back into the farmhouse, letting the screen door slam behind her.

"You wanna see my spiders, young fella?"

"Sure if you're open. How much?"

Looking over the Lexus, he scratched his ruddy face and said, "Fifty bucks."