An Old Goat.
At Nine O Clock every night Christopher gets put to bed. His mother who would always wear pink pyjamas reads him a story from the shelf of rotting paper from his grandfather's childhood until they grimace at the idea of staying awake. She kisses him on his head and checks under his wooden bed, in his wooden closet and out of the wooden framed window for Old Goat.
On every night except this one Christopher pleads with his mother to protect him from this creature called Old Goat. He would alchemise a concoction of cheese, peanut butter and pickle brine in a plastic water bottle every evening at 7:30 after doing his homework to keep the beast out. According to Christopher, Old Goat hated foul smells.
Old Goat hated everything in fact. Fun was an absent when he arrived. He hated books and chess. And mother. His breath smelt like he hadn't washed in months, it would rip apart the paintwork and make the mastiff in the neighbour's semi-detached cringe. Upon the abhorrent head of Old Goat were yellow curled horns like a bitter Satyr. Every time Old Goat metamorphosed from the moisture stain in the celling there would be a new piece of blooded fabric on his left horn. Unlike a typical Goat, he would walk upon two legs and with every step of his yellow fungal hooves he would instigate a fissure in the floorboards. His fur was muddy brown, his teeth were overgrown and yolkish yellow. He had an underbite. It was no wonder Narcolepsy plagued the mind of young Christopher. Old Goat would stamp in through the door and simply grow to a point where his hooves broke through the roof. And then snatch a different item from Christopher's room which never seemed to return. The night before it was even his mother's jewellery.
Mother woke up the next morning with a shiner on her face. She refused to acknowledge the possibility of there being such a thing as an Old Goat, instead she had simply tripped over the cat. His father then emerged from the downstairs loo and sat down with a shot of Captain Morgan succeeded by a plate of soft boiled egg and soldiers made lovingly by wife. As he spoke his words were slurred and angry, mother forgot the salt on his damned eggs. Christopher was hurried off out the door by his mother to make the melancholic march to primary school. On that day, a bitter winded Wednesday in February, Mother had forgotten to give Christopher his packed lunch. Luckily, he hadn't made it past the post office. So, he scurried back and knocked on the door fearfully. From the inside he heard the cat screech and scratch on the door and his packed lunch was hastily pushed through the letter box like play dough by the brown hairy hands of father.
As he walked he checked the contents of his bagged lunch. The tuna sandwich has been squished, the banana was bruised beyond belief and the small milk chocolates hid underneath the sandwich has also been trampled by the hungry steel flap of the letter box. Christopher threw it away. He didn't want to eat today.
Even though the nightmare was over he smelt the stench of his wildest nightmares stalk him as he slinked to school as inconspicuously as possible. The trotting of hooves punched his ears in, yet nothing was following him. The entire school day was a drag because of this. The visage of Old Goat manifested itself into two plus two on the board during maths. Comprehension was impossible because all he could comprehend was the fact that he may lose another precious valuable that evening.
The end of the day however was different. It was Chess Club. Christopher was undeniably a prodigy and could easily beat the larger children. He was only seven and would qualify for under fourteen tournaments. He would make sure that he also played with the priceless ceramic chess set that his grandfather gave to him on the day of his passing. As every piece of the board was played, it was like overcoming a nightmare. As the image of Old Goat went absent from his mind. It was funny that the knights in on the board were Goats, usually they're horses. These goats are ugly, and always the pieces which Christopher loses first. He hates goats. Christopher won every game that day. And he waved goodbye to his teacher.
