The Goat

  Standing in the cold, Sparky thought of the barn. He wished that he could just snuggle up with Princess and his children. He would give anything to have that back. Sparky pulled the coat tight and marched on.

  The city of Asquith is by no means a large one. It was not long before Sparky was standing in front of the Asquith Motel. The place was now a pile of rubble. It had been destroyed in a fire, and from the looks of it, quite some time ago. The sign, however, still stood in pristine beauty. Sparky pulled a few loose flowers from his pocket to munch. The sweet petals lessened his aggravation.

  Sparky checked the other address from the paper in his pocket. It was on Main Street.

  Main Street was easy enough to find. When he reached the corner, Sparky could easily see the sign with several of the neon letters burnt out. Lining the road between he and the motel were two small offices and a house. On the front porch of the house was an older man, rocking back and forth. It was the first person he had seen since leaving Mrs. Kettle's house some hours earlier.

  Sparky checked over his disguise. The coat and the hat did well to conceal his inhuman form. He hoped between his clothes and the darkness the man wouldn’t identify him.

  Sparky eyed the other side of the street, he could cross, but that might make the man more suspicious. He was fairly sure that small towns usually don’t have a lot of strangers walking the streets this time of night. Across the way was a clock on the First Canadian Farmer’s Savings and Loan sign.

  10:25.

  The man rocked back and forth in a wooden chair. He reached down and grabbed a bottle from his side. The man hoisted it up and took a hearty swig before placing it neatly again on the porch. He waived hello.

  Sparky looked around for anyone else, he was absolutely alone. The man continued rocking.

  Sparky kept his coat tightly closed. He walked as casually as he could. The goat’s eyes fixed solely on the half lit sign ahead. Sparky was directly in front of the house and halfway to his destination. There was no reason to be worried.

  “Getting cold early this year.”

  Sparky wasn’t sure what to do. He ignored the words and stepped on. The neon grail was a little over a block away.

  “Don’t get a lot of strangers around these parts. Not until recent like.”

  “I reckon, filthy bastards,” Oliver’s words from Sparky’s mouth.

  The man on the porch disregarded the roughness of the statement and continued his back and forth rhythm in the chair.

  “You like this chair? You know it’s quite old.” His rocking chair was over a hundred years old. More than a family heirloom, it was actually registered as a historical landmark in the local histories. John Barton, its seated owner, dedicated his time to displaying it to the tourists. Tourists weren’t exactly common in Asquith, at least until a couple of weeks ago. Some provincial construction activity had brought more than one convoy into town the last few weeks. The excitement had prompted John to show off his pride around the clock.

  “It is a very nice chair, dag-no-mighty,” Sparky coughed with discomfort. He wasn’t sure if he should disguise his voice.

  “You want to take a picture of me with it?”

  “I don’t have a camera,” Sparky kept his head turned away.

  “Well that’s just dandy. I got this Polaroid here and just put in some new film. Be gentle with the flash though.”

  “The flash?”

  “Yeah, had my corneas torched a few years back to make my eyes more cosmetic like, now I can’t take strobes head on without getting flashbacks of the Dead.”

  Sparky stayed back, the man would certainly see him in the porch light. The man would never forget his face, but Sparky desperately wanted to know if the man had more information on anyone else that had come through town. Sparky took three measured steps forward.

  “It’ll be great; you can show it off to the family back home. The oldest chair in over two hundred square miles,” the man completed his statement and set the camera in his lap. At the same time John Barton wrapped his hand around the top of a solid glass bottle. His head fell back as his lips clasped tightly over the mouth of the container. He swung back in a wide arc. His pursed his lips and closed his eyes.

  “Ahh!”

  Sparky walked another step. Although he could not read the bottle’s label he was now sure John was drunk. It was a sight that the goat had witnessed with his owner enough that there was no question.

  “Well, damn, if you take all night,” the man dropped the bottle in a huff. “Must be from the city.”

  “Lived most of my life in the country.”

  “Really?” John leaned forward in his chair. “Where aboot?”

  “On a farm.”

  The man raised a drunken eyebrow. “Well then,” John dropped back into his rocking routine. “Let me welcome you to As-, As-, As-” He abruptly leaned over his chair and vomited.

  Sparky looked away. The smell rose up and assailed his nasal passages even at the fair distance he had maintained.

  “Asquith. Cleanest place on God’s green earth,” John wiped his face with his sleeve. “Now how-s-boot that photo?”

  Chapter 18

  “Well boy, you sure are full of questions,” the two were inside John Barton’s house. Sparky had insisted on going inside. John was trying to sell him on taking another roll of photos for the grandkids' grandkids' grandkids. Sparky could take no more.

  John had commented when Sparky first came in about the quality of the furs under his coat. He wanted to make mention to his guest that it was not all that cold, but became distracted showing off the pictures on his entry wall.

  “These nuns came through about seven years ago, couple of them even sat in the chair, they wanted to test its rock-ability,” the man laughed with a sly regard. “Hard women to talk into the sack-a-roo believe you me,” he threw up a friendly elbow at the goat, catching him in the side.

  “I bet.”

  “And this man right here,” John paused; he felt a pressure rising in his throat and thought it best to excuse himself.

  John covered his mouth mid sentence. He bolted to the bathroom. As he hovered over the white porcelain bowl indulging his sickness, he couldn’t help but feel that he was alienating his guest. As his throat pains eased, he hurriedly swept clean his face and returned to his entry. The room seemed different but he could not place how.

  “Did you turn out the light?”

  “No.”

  John scratched at his head.

  “So any more recent visitors to this chair?”

  “What? Oh, of course! I almost forgot what we were talking about. That chair is over a hundred years old. It came down from-“

  “I heard about that.”

  “Oh.”

  He placed his fingers under his chin, partly from habit, but mostly to try and keep his head level.

  “You have some pictures of the people that came recently?”

  “Yeah, come to think of it, I haven’t framed the pictures.”

  “I would love to see them.”

  “Oh, well, it may take me a minute to find them. Um, here,” he shoved the bottle out for Sparky to grab onto. His acute smell picked up the spice of liquor in the bottle. John held it out expectantly to his guest. Sparky made no move to take it. After giving Sparky a moment, John twirled away tucking the bottle neatly under his arm.

  John disappeared into another room. Sparky looked over at the broken light bulb. His intent was to disable it only for his visit, he was fortunate that his host had not noticed the damage. Sparky looked over the myriad of pictures on display, all of John’s prized wooden rocker. Several pictures even had heads and arms cut off, displaying just the chair and torsos of those in it.

  “Here you go!” John handed a short stack of pictures to the goat; they slid through his hooves to the floor. Silence followed.

  “Want me to, uh,” John started to offer, but wasn’t sure it was appropriate. He thought back to the two mont
hs he had spent incarcerated. John was still rather uncomfortable bending over for a stranger.

  “Please,” Sparky backed away allowing the man room to work.

  John retrieved the photos, keeping his eyes on the hands of the stranger rather than the feet. They stayed neatly in his pockets. The man’s nerves eased as he rose up. John held the photographs out for Sparky to see.

  “This little beauty came by the other day. Her pants were tighter than a condom on a polar bear!”

  John flipped to the next photo. Sparky smiled underneath the brim of his hat. It was the same black coat. There was no longer a question in his mind about the plot at work.

  “Who’s this guy?”

  “Oh him? I don’t remember what he said his name was, but he was from the East. Montreal, I want to say.”

  “Montreal?”

  “Yeah, he said he was out doing some agricultural surveying.” John’s head was starting to ache. He felt strong pains vibrating into his back.

  “Do you know his name?”

  “Nah, Hooty over at the Sleep Hut probably knows, he stayed there for a few days. Just left the other day if I remember myself,” he rubbed his skull between his fingers with his free hand. “I hate to be rude and all, but I think I have to lie down.”

  “Right here?”

  “Well no, I’ve got a bed, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “So, it was nice meeting you.”

  Sparky stood staring at John as he massaged his sore brain. The man was bearing all of his teeth in a smile.

  “It’s time for you to go.”

  “Oh, yes. I’d better be on my way,” Sparky was ready to make his escape. He was far more than content with how his night was shaping up. He watched as John rubbed at his neck and sides and realized that he too was a little sore, and a little tired.

  “I take it you can see yourself out?”

  Sparky nodded.

  John escaped to the bathroom.

  Sparky scooped up the pile of photos and stashed them in his pocket.

  He emerged back onto the porch. His eyes drifted past the rocking chair and to the bank across the street.

  11:12.

  Eight degrees.

  11:13.

  Chapter 19

  The motel was all but deserted. The few parking spots were empty, and there were no lights on. The building had been built into a long U shape with the office on one end and rooms speckled along the inside. The room numbers only went up to ten.

  Sparky snooped from window to window, but his eyes were no match for the darkness inside. What few telling details there might be were lost in obscurity. The only way to get more information would be to engage another person. Sparky came to the office window, his vision was occluded by a soft pink curtain. Deep in the back of the room he saw a faint light.

  “What?” A woman’s voice called out from within.

  The suddenness of her response startled him.

  “Hello? Hi, I'm looking for someone and I was hoping you could help me out.”

  “Who the hell are you?”

  He didn’t waver. Over his shoulder he peered back at the bank. 11:19. “I just need to ask some questions.”

  His ears focused on the buzzing from the neon that should have read “Sleep Hut.” His eyes strayed down to a straw mat at his feet. Wipe your hooves.

  There was a rustling inside proceeded by a melody of clicks and jingles. The door sprang open. The sound of clinging bells reverberated throughout the small office space. Sparky stood waiting for a person to appear, but no one did. He waited another long moment and still saw no one. He took the plunge and stepped inside.

  “Watch out!”

  Sparky looked down. The short girl who had opened the door was clearly flustered. Despite her adult voice she couldn’t have been taller than a seven year old.

  “I didn’t see you. I’m sorry.”

  “I bet. Can I have my foot back?”

  Sparky removed his hoof from her foot taking an extra step to stay out of the office light. The little one already had a great vantage to thwart his disguise.

  Hooty, being a dedicated owner and manager, could tolerate being woken up and stepped on at eleven o’clock at night. She kicked a wedge under the door then trotted back to the counter.

  “So you need a room, I take it?”

  She was on a stool buzzing over the large board covered with many nails and keys as Sparky dared to enter.

  “I wanted to ask some questions.”

  Hooty Roberts was a woman of limited tolerance. She had raised four of the loudest most immature brats turned success stories north of the border. She had cooked, cleaned, read, pottied, primped, prepped and empowered them every day of their lives lovingly without so much as a dime for it. No stranger was going to wake her up this late expecting her time and no profit.

  “What in the hell do you...”

  Hooty stopped. She felt foolish, overlooking the obvious details. His black shoes glimmered, they were well shined. His dusky gray coat and low hanging hat were all standard. And no one came to Asquith in the middle of the night unless they meant serious business. Even the dark hairs on his face seemed to give him away. “Are you a cop?”

  The goat nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I’m sorry I was so rude before,” She scuffled up onto a stool directly behind the counter. As he crossed the room, she noticed something odd about the way he walked. Almost as if he was limping, she wondered if he had been wounded in the line of duty. She watched as his black-gloved hand flickered out from inside his sleeve. A picture slid out onto the countertop. Her eyes focused on the image.

  “Have you seen this man?”

  Hooty recognized him right away, Reilly something. He had been very rude. He had however paid in cash, which was always nice. That was also why she had overlooked that last morning with all the banging and grunting sounds like a wild animal. She knew he had wrangled himself a hooker, probably that Watson girl from the way she sounded.

  “Yeah, he stayed here.” The man before her looked rather rugged to be a city cop. “Not too long, just a week maybe, left yesterday. Didn’t really talk a whole lot,” she continued surveying him.

  Sparky was uncomfortable already and he was positive that the young child was suspicious of his secret. Her face was covered with many sharp lines like the old man, but hers would straighten as she leaned in, her eyes growing in turn. She must be able to see his face. He backed away. His feet ready to gallop.

  “I knew he was up to no good when he paid in cash,” she leaned in a little more. Was he backing up? She couldn’t tell. What was that look on his face? Was he disgusted at her size?

  “His secretary showed up the day before yesterday and they were gone yesterday. What’s this all about anyway?”

  Sparky produced another picture, the woman with the tight pants that John Barton had been all over.

  “Yup, that’s the hussy. Are you going to tell me what this is about?”

  “They’re thieves.”

  “What did they steal?”

  He stepped further back from the counter. She kept leaning over further and further. Sparky turned around completely and took a few steps away toward the middle of the room.

  “Did he say where he was from?”

  “No he didn’t.”

  The cop was avoiding having to look at her and Hooty couldn’t stand it. She turned up her nose, no longer interested in being a help.

  Sparky’s lip was between his teeth. The child was clearly getting more aggravated as she spoke. Her voice was on the brink of hostile. Every step he made away she would counter and move in. He knew he should leave but he had no lead where to go.

  “Did he leave anything behind?”

  Lousy police. She could deny him, but if he came back with a warrant he would certainly bring more of his dwarf-hating coworkers.

  “I haven’t cleaned it out yet, so you’re in luck.” She fetched the key on
the nail marked six.

  “Great.” He spoke more emphatically than before. Children, at least his kids, seemed to like it.

  Hooty scowled. Now he was talking to her like a child. How much was she supposed to take? She could kick him in the shins. If only he wasn’t a cop.

  Hooty led him out the front door, Sparky kept a fair distance. She led him past several numbered doors. She didn’t walk very fast at all. In fact she seemed to be hobbling. Hooty appeared very strange for a child, and Sparky was wondering if the other human children walked and looked this way. He had never seen one up close.

  “Here it is.” She put her shoulder to the door and pushed it free of the jamb; groaning. The room was completely dark. Hooty ambled in. She switched on one of the wall lights above the bed.

  “Messy devil, wasn’t he?”

  Several empty beer bottles were littered about the room. The bed sheets lay in a pile on the floor. A pizza box dangled from the top of the television, two slices still inside. A lone fly gorged on the feast.

  Sparky drifted toward the bathroom, taking measure of the mess. He never fully put his back to the little girl. The lights of the room surely gave away more of his animal nature than the dark office. He flipped the sheets on the floor, candy wrappers and bottle caps fell to the floor.

  The girl had her hands on her hips. This late at night she would likely be in bed, just like his own kids. Sparky then realized her parents could walk in at any moment.

  “So, where are your parents?”

  “What do you mean by that?” Hooty bit her tongue for the last time.

  Sparky thought a moment before he asked another way, “I mean your mommy and daddy?”

  “Are you playing a game with me, son?”

  Sparky scrutinized the bathroom while his mind raced for a good answer. If her parents were half as unreasonable he was in trouble. He was desperate for a clue, anything. White towels had been thrown into the corner. The trash can had been stuffed with more bottles and snack wrappers. He dipped down and sorted through it.

  “No. I just wanted to know why you were up so late, without parents.”

  “You sick son of a bitch you get back here right now, you’ve got to the count of ten to apologize, before I kick your ass!” Hooty was hotter than the devil himself. “Get out here!”

  There was nothing here to help him and now Hooty was seething. Sparky needed to make an escape.

  “No good racist too probably. Are you out here to string up all our colored folks, too? The hell is wrong with you? Can’t you speak?”