Ashrays

Frankie's Chicken Coup (3)

The wind slammed the screen to the front door shut as Jane Benson shuffled her way to her kitchen counter. She shoved stacks of her husband's dirty tools off to the side with the grocery bags to make room for what was more important in her mind.

"Honey! When you come back in here can you clean some of this up please? I'm trying to unload groceries and there's no room for the bags!" She shouted upstairs to her husband Frankie, who was always working on something new. "Frankie! Frankie, you hear me?" She shouted again once she got no response. Jane struggled her way up their creaky stairs, grocery bags still in hand. 

"Frankie, did you hear wh.."  Interrupted again.

"Yes, woman. I heard you loud and clear. I'll move everything off the counter once I head back down, but I got my concentration cap on. So please..." Frankie made a shooing motion towards his wife without turning to even look at her. His long bony fingers continued to twiddle around small tools and parts. 

"Please don't interrupt me Franklin, you know I hate that." She sighed, turning around to head back downstairs. "Oh, before I forget, make sure to lock the chicken coup tonight as well. I don't want to risk our chickens being slaughtered. Especially now since that wolf has been going rampant in our town, killing everyone's livestock. Someone needs to put a bullet in that pests head." Frankie heard his wife, but decided to ignore her for now, as he was too busy with his project. 

Later that night Frankie slipped on a coat and gathered a flashlight and some chicken feed before heading to the coup. The moonlight shined bright, making the trees cast shadows and causing his flashlight to be useless. Frankie pocketed his flashlight and followed the gravel pathway to the chicken range. Once he was inside the coop he shook some feed onto the ground and counted the chickens to make sure they were all accounted for. All seven are safe and fed. Frankie stepped out of the coup, locking the door with three different locks before turning around to head back to the small lit up house, not too far off into the distance. 

While walking back, Frankie admired the shadows the trees had displayed on the ground. He was always fascinated with the beauty of the night, but never spent much time taking in all of its charm. He admired his home and his land. His entire life's work and everything he cared about was here in the perfect place. His "little slice of hard work paradise" is what he called it. He walked a bit slower enjoying his walk back and admiring his wife's large figure standing in the kitchen window setting up the dinner table. Frankie was consumed by his thoughts, being thankful for everything in sight.

A gust of wind rattled his apple tree's thick branches, startling him out of his trance. He froze looking around himself, puzzled. Something felt off. He felt the need to run as far away as possible, but saw and heard nothing.

"Franklin! Did you lock up the coup?" Yelled Jane from inside. Frankie struggled to respond. His brain was mixing up words and couldn't complete a full sentence. So he stood there in the cold. He could hear his wife continuing to call out to him but couldn't make out a single thing she was saying. Frankie thought of the horrible things that could have been happening to him. Maybe he was having a stroke, or a seizure. Maybe this was the end and he was actually dead, but hadn't realized it yet. 

Suddenly he felt a sharp pain in the back of his ankle. Frankie cried out, finally breaking his silence. After falling to his knees, he felt two more similar strikes. One on his waist, and one on the top of his shoulder. The wounds stung. Almost as if someone had poured acid right into each laceration. He looked to his side and saw a blurry mess of blood. 'What's happening to me?' he thought. 

He laid on his freshly mowed lawn clutching at his side, silent. He heard a low clicking grumble near his head but couldn't find the strength to look for where the sound was coming from. The sound was awful, consuming his every thought. Frankie tried his hardest to focus on something else. The smell of his lawn, the shadow of the tree above him, the prickle of the grass through his gloves. Something, he needed something. His mind scrambled, anything to distract him from the fear and agony he was in. 

Maybe someone had drugged him. Maybe, he wasn't actually feeling this. Maybe it was just a terrible trip from some crazy new drug the kids were mixing up these days and he'd wake up tomorrow feeling fine. Maybe something was in the cookies Jane had bought from the neighbors last week.

He slowly turned his head towards his house and watched his wife fumbling across the yard to him. Every movement that his wife made seemed so heavy and unnatural. The pain got worse and was now covering every inch of his body. It felt like he was being eaten alive, but saw no evidence of a creature, only wounds. His vision went blurry except his wife, who was now standing next to him. He looked at her with glazed eyes as she struggled to help him. He saw her lips moving, but only heard a ring. Everything was hazy, and all at once the little slice of hard work paradise that he had created with his wife, gradually faded out of vision.