“No!”
Sparky’s body was launched into the air. He drifted forever. The heat of the fire reached out to grip him. His mind was freed from thought and turned only to pain.
“Maah! Maah! Maah!”
Chapter 13
Sparky's eyes resisted the daylight. He strained to move his legs. A grating sound invaded his ears. As he came to, the sound became clearer and softer. It was Oliver, crying.
“Why, why, why…” Oliver sat on the bed. The rivers of tears pouring down his cheeks fought their way through his wrinkles then dropped off into his lap. Oliver wiped clear the streams and sniffled.
“I knew you were unhappy, but why would you leave?”
What? Who? Leave?
“My beloved pets! You delicious little bastards! Why?”
Sparky’s leg collided with the bed frame. Oliver’s eyes went wide. The old man dove from the bed and wrapped his withered body around the goat.
“You’re not dead!”
Sparky was victim to his snot and tears, unable to move.
“I prayed for you to come back to me! You righteous monster!”
Oliver’s crying continued, revitalized by Sparky’s awakening. Sparky felt bits of warmth at the ends of his legs. The muscles lacked the power to lift him free of Oliver.
“I’m gonna make you some cereal,” the old man said before he scurried away.
Sparky pulled his front up, his limp bottom nailed to the floor. His front legs wobbled beneath him as the scene of Oliver’s bedroom set in. Before him was the open window. With a little effort, he propped himself up onto the sill. Outside the lawn was grassy and the wildflowers bloomed.
Oliver called him from the kitchen. Sparky moseyed his way through the hall. Oliver divvied out a mound of bran flakes into a bowl. The cereal pounded against the ceramic and the sound provoked a terrible pain in Sparky’s neck. As his strength returned a deep soreness awoke in his other muscles.
Oliver was smiling from ear to ear. It gave his wrinkled skin a look akin to paper mache. His eyes glued to Sparky as the goat wobbled closer. He set the bowl down and rubbed Sparky’s head.
“Thank God, your damned soul is safe!”
Wasn’t he crying? Between the aches in his arms and neck Sparky found it difficult to focus. What happened? He remembered he was supposed to get into the house. Then what? Sparky dropped his head to the bowl of bran and scooped up a tongue full.
“I bet you’re starving.” Oliver stroked his own face. The little hairs caught his fingers. They reminded him of his precious herd of goats. His eyes filled with tears.
Sparky looked up at Oliver. His head was too clouded to comfort the man. Sparky leaned his head down into the dish and secured another bite. What is going on?
“What have I done?” Oliver’s words exploded through his tears, rattling Sparky.
Sparky opened his mouth to ask Oliver for an answer but stopped. They had to escape the strange man.
Oliver buried his head in his hands, bawling.
The map! Sparky crept out to the living room. The atlas was still spread over the floor. Sparky raced to the back door. The pasture was still and green without a single goat frolicking through it.
Maybe they were at the barn? Had they waited there when he never returned? What had Oliver said before? “I knew you were unhappy,” the words returned to him “you delicious bastards. Why?”
Sparky’s fur stood on end. The old man came out from the kitchen. “What are you doing here? You god-damned fool,” he was still sobbing. “Those terrors all left Sparky, it’s just your sorry rat infested ass and me.”
The goat’s heart dropped to the floor.
“They ran away in the middle of the night. They trampled the fence. Dirty bastards.”
Oliver collapsed to the floor wrapping his arms around Sparky. The goat had the strength to resist, but he was too shaken to care. Sparky stared blankly at the empty field as the old man’s tears poured over his coat.
Chapter 14
Oliver and Sparky nestled together on the couch. Sparky nibbled at the excess of alfalfa hay the old man had poured out over the chair. Oliver snacked on his bran. He had been telling stories all morning rambling on about Sparky’s herd and the goats of his life. His tears came and went like the tide.
Sparky hardly listened. He had come beyond worry, anger, and fear. Now it was simply sadness. He was alone.
“If I’d known they was unhappy, I would have sold them all to that lady when I had the chance,” Oliver said.
Sparky had the words circle through his mind a few times before it struck him. His head perked up.
“Oh why, why didn’t I?” The wave of tears rolled in.
Who wanted to buy them? Sparky was shocked to hear the words. His memories became electric and illuminated the woman in the window. He hadn’t remembered until just now. Sparky headed to the back door. He tapped against the glass. Oliver waddled down the hallway, squinting at the goat, his eyes swollen.
“Do you need to get some fresh air?” Oliver opened the door.
Sparky galloped away over the hill.
Oliver screamed after him in panic, realizing his mistake only too late. “Don’t you dare run away, God damn it! I’ll break your legs!”
The muddy earth in from of the barn wore huge scars extending up much of the hillside. The gashes contained puddles of dark water and stopped just shy of the dilapidated shelter. Sparky burst through the barn door. The straw was thick across the floor, spread unusually evenly. He heard a rustle in the loft above. Sparky climbed the ladder. Two vultures were sitting on the window’s ledge. Just past them through the window he could see Oliver hobbling down the hill, screaming obscenities.
Sparky couldn’t let himself be wrangled and thrown back in the house. Sparky hid there in the loft. There from the window his eyes followed the tracks across the pasture.
“God damn it all! I saw you come in here, where in the name of the bloody cross did you get to?” Oliver was rage and sadness when he entered the barn. The old man kicked away loose hay, vainly checking everywhere but the loft.
Sparky laid low. Crouched by the window he wished he could comfort his owner. Oliver did circles around the barn floor calling, sometimes screaming and sometimes crying. Sparky looked longingly out the window, hoping they were all safe.
It was clear to Sparky now. Oliver's weak senses could not detect what he could plainly see. This was no disturbance a herd of goats could have made.
The dark man.
“You dirty bastard, I’m giving you to the count of ten and then I’m going to, I’m gonna... I’ll...” Oliver buckled. He was on his knees in tears. “You filthy disgusting vomit piles!”
Sparky’s mind was constructing the conspiracy. The woman last night had been working with the stranger. They had failed to buy the goats, so they had been left with no choice but to steal them. Where did they come from? They had a big truck. They had weapons, tranquilizers…he stopped himself.
He couldn’t call the police.
He couldn’t tell his owner.
“God damn it all! God damn you all to the bowels of hell,” Oliver was thrashing the hay on the floor. “I love you so much, so much.”
Sparky could hear him trying to clear his sinuses in his wild state. The goat didn’t have a complete answer, but it was becoming a larger picture.
“All of you better be back to me! I can’t live without you.” Oliver stepped slowly from the barn, his feet dragging along the ground. His head stayed against his chest as he climbed the hill and disappeared.
It would be no use getting Oliver's help. Sparky could do nothing from here, the villains wouldn’t likely return even if they knew one goat had been left behind.
His family needed him. He would have to go out there and find them.
Alone.
Chapter 15
Save a small bright crack in the doors, the back of the truck was pitch black. None of the humans h
ad opened them since the goats had been loaded in. No food or water had been offered to them. In the few hours they had been mobile, the smell of sixty one goats had accumulated.
Many were quiet, but a few actively grumbled about their plight. Sam had chosen to play games with some of the younger kids. She had learned how to present tales and riddles with sweeping gestures from her father. The pictures he would draw in the air with his hooves always made the children laugh. Now the kids in the near dark were finding comfort in the sound of her voice.
“It was the third day of the week, and that would make it…” Sam trailed off urging the little ones to answer.
“Wednesday,” Montana said.
“Very good little brother!” Sam wished her father was with them now. She hoped that their captors hadn’t hurt him. “And the little kid with the bright orange spot on his coat woke to the morning sun, and what was his name?”
“Butt-head,” Sparky Jr. responded from the rear of the group.
“Knock it off!” Sam turned and saw her mother lying on the floor; she too, was stricken with grief.
Princess’s thoughts, like her daughter’s, were on Sparky. Was he still alive?
“Mythias!” Shelly called sitting next to Sparky’s youngest daughter. The two were the very best of friends.
“Very good choice, Shelly!”
Blossom sat quietly with her mate Oreo, nearby. Oreo started to come around from his wound. It was far from fatal. The captors had only wanted to subdue him. It was very clear to the herd that the villains had taken great care to capture them all alive.
“He’s gonna be okay,” Mudbubble spoke out from the darkness.
“What?” Blossom had barely heard him. “Oh yes, I know, he’s doing better.”
“He’s a fighter!” Muddy stepped through the maze and came up to Oreo.
Oreo lay on his side, his chest rising and falling in labored measures. Mudbubble hovered over him. Oreo's eyelids flickered in the shadow, adjusting to the new silhouette in view. Oreo forced a small smile. “Next time they won’t be so lucky."
“Don’t I know it,” Muddy's eyes caught Princess. Her head was buried in her arms. Mudbubble made his way past the children to her. “Sparky’s not one to give up. He’s probably on his way to rescue us already,” his tone both confident and innocent.
“This truck could be going anywhere. How would he find us?”
“Well,” he licked his lips. “I haven’t thought that far, but I’m sure he has,” he continued.
Princess imagined her partner, riding to the rescue in a fast car, struggling with the wheel. She giggled. He would be wearing dark sunglasses. He would jump on the back of the tractor trailer and bust the locks, setting them all free. He would fight off the men in dark suits. Together they would all return to the safety and comfort of the farm. Oliver would smile and be happy. Peace would be restored.
Chapter 16
Sparky waited for nightfall before he left the barn. The goat snuck over the poorly reconstructed fence and made his way around the tiny house. As he passed near the open window he heard Oliver snoring. Sparky paused.
“I’ll be back, old man.”
Sparky reached the road and looked both ways along the deserted pavement. A breeze was the only traveler on the highway. Fall had finally come. The chill wind brushed across him as he stepped onto the asphalt.
In all the time he had been on the farm, Sparky had never once crossed this road. It was a testament to the care he received from Oliver. He had never had a single unmet need and no desire to roam. He would miss the farm.
Once on the other side of the highway, Sparky stared at the well-maintained yard of Francis Kettle. He bent over and took a bite of her tulips. A bit over-ripened. The goat crept up her walkway, sampling more of her lovely plants. He stood up on two legs at her doorway, brooding over the door, his mouth full of yellow rose petals.
The driveway was vacant. Sparky had heard her peddle off in her little round car earlier that day, and she had never returned. His thoughts churned as he chewed patiently on the doorstep. Without another hesitation, Sparky proceeded with his plan.
He sucked in a deep breath and rang the bell.
Francis Kettle had been asleep for a long time. The cruel fall air only made her grumble. When the sun set she had mummified herself in her nightgown and three blankets, one of them electric, and read until she fell asleep. Tonight she had selected to read from an old Reader’s Digest. She had gotten a subscription some time ago, and rather enjoyed the uplifting stories.
The last tale she had read before she went to sleep was about a young boy named Daniel. Daniel was only eleven and had been fighting for his life against cancer. His mother and father had been by his side the entire time and the boy was improving. Although the article alluded to the marvel of prayer, it also showed that a splendid new treatment involving microwaves was being used.
Daniel was also receiving a lot of attention from his Belgian Groenendael, Chopin. Chopin never left Daniel’s side even for a minute. His parents had gotten special permission for the dog to be allowed into Daniel’s outpatient visits. One of the pictures showed the boy holding his pup sitting on a metal examination table with a weary smile.
The heartfelt monologue at the end from Daniel had lifted the lady's spirits and carried her into a sweet dream. She was petting the sweet black sheepdog in her back yard, serving lemonade to the young boy when the terrible sound of her bell awoke her.
Francis shot up in bed. She scowled at the cold room. The layers of blankets fell from her. An uncontrollable shiver shook the length of her spine. She hated the cold. Despised it.
In short order she recognized that she had been awoken from her sleep, but for the life of her she didn’t know why. It took her a moment to do anything besides detest the situation. Not hearing any further disturbances, she wrapped herself up and placed her head on her pillow.
Sparky, still on the doorstep, was fully satisfied that the lady was still not home. He took another bite of the yellow tulips and turned the handle on the door. It swung inward without a sound. The moonlight cast long shadows down the entry. Sparky’s hooves tapped as he moved along the parquet entrance. His mouth gnawing on the last bits of fresh petals.
He flipped on the lights and got to work. Sparky turned his attention to a closet on the left hand side. Inside was exactly what he had hoped for, a generous selection of coats. One in particular, a long gray overcoat, caught his eye. Sparky pulled the coat down and slipped it over his arms. A perfect fit.
He wandered down a short hallway into the kitchen. Sitting plainly on the counter was a thin yellow phone book. His venture was going better than expected. He pried open the directory and danced his hooves through to the business listings. Having thought over the details of Darren' story, Sparky had a hunch. Reviewing the information under his animal appendage, there were only two motels in Asquith where the villains could have held up with the kidnapped youth: the Sleep Hut and the Asquith Motel.
Sparky lifted the receiver and dialed the Asquith Motel. After numerous rings and no answer he set the phone back down. Sparky rechecked the page in the phone book, lifted the receiver again and dialed the Sleep Hut. There was no answer there either. Sparky caught the clock on the stove: eight-thirty. He ripped the page from the book and tucked it into his coat pocket. Sparky has no other leads. He had no choice but to go there to investigate.
He turned to leave, stopping when a basket of fresh bananas caught his eye.
Francis Kettle watched from the top of the stairway. Her hand clamped on the banister. She eased her foot down the first stair. When she had tried to call the police, the line had just rung. Forcing back her terror, Francis took matters into her own hands, and she had grabbed her late husband’s cane from under the bed.
Down the stairs she could see the intruder. In her husband’s overcoat! That fiend! Francis choked up on her grip of the cane, and took another step. The stair creaked as she s
et her foot on it.
The figure below turned its gaze up the stairs.
The stranger stood frozen, masked partly by shadow. Even obscured, Francis knew it was no human. The creature she looked upon had blazoned horns. Dark fur covered his elongated face. His piercing yellow eyes left no mystery. Francis Kettle was being robbed by the devil.
Sparky clearly saw the woman through the shadows. Her eyes were wide behind her muffled, hanging hair. Sparky knew he should run before she could identify him, but he remained in place. Something struck him about the look on her face, the way she had turned completely white. Francis collapsed against the stairs.
“Mrs. Kettle?” The voice called to her as in a dream, her eyes couldn’t focus. Deep inside she felt a sharp pain, but she was too clouded to identify it.
“I’m going to lay you in bed, you’ll be okay,” she struggled, but with little force. Thoughts of Rosemary’s baby bounced in her loosely conscious mind.
Sparky carried her to her room and placed her on the mess of blankets. He realized the possibility that tomorrow he may be more than a missing goat and now he could be a wanted criminal.
“No Mr. Devil!” she screamed from her bed. “You will not have my body tonight!” Her eyes opened to the devil face just above her. Francis became powerless and weak. The room spun faster. She collapsed again, against her pillow this time, and was silent.
Sparky flew down the stairs. Ransacking the closet by the front door and found an old fedora that fit snug over his horns. He burst out the front door.
Knowing it would be a long walk to town, he snatched the brightest remaining flowers along her walkway. Sparky tucked them into his coat pocket. It was the first article of clothing that Sparky had ever worn, already he loved it immensely.
Chapter 17
The streets of Asquith were empty. Sparky found himself by the payphone in front of the Big Ol’ Gas N’ Gulp. He pulled the crumpled paper from his pocket and read the information again. Asquith Motel, Four-Two-Two Cory Street. The receiver was sitting on top of the phone. It struck him as odd. Sparky grabbed it and dialed the phone. An automated voice came to the line and requested a toll. The goat dropped the receiver.