Free Funhouse by Michael Bray Page A

both a drink, then returned to his chair, propped the shotgun against the wall and lowered himself down with a sigh. They sat in silence in the grimy kitchen, and without warning, Jorell began to speak.
    “Thirty seven years ago, I came here to this farm. I was a young man, and back then I thought the world was at my fingertips. My father had bought it, and put it in my name. He wanted me to learn the family business. To earn my way in the world. That first year was a tough one, and the learning curve for those intending to live off the land is a high one. I enjoyed it though, and got to be competent. I grew everything I need right outside my own door, Fruits and vegetables. Out back, I have a coop with chickens and a few cows for milk and cheese. I have my very own little food chain.”
    The old man smiled, and began to pick the thick dirt from under his overgrown fingernails.
    “Two years went by, and I was doing fine. My wife was with our child, and I loved my job. First time I thought something might be wrong was the summer of '57. I was out front there, ploughing the earth. I had this idea to grow wheat, and thought it was just about the perfect place. I was out there digging, and the sun was fierce on my back. That’s when it happened.”
    “What happened Mr Samsonite?”
    “Well, sonny, I don’t rightly know for sure. All I know is that there was something in the dirt. Something foul and evil and forgotten, and I was unlucky enough to find it. I don’t know what it was, and I ain’t about to speculate, but whatever it was, I had a desire, a compulsion to protect it. Built my first scarecrow out there later that week. Called it George after my father.
    My wife asked me what the hell I intended to frighten away from an empty field, and I told her to leave me to my work.
    Well, it turns out whatever was in the dirt was a powerful thing, and I took to going out there as often as I could. I would sit all day at that damn scarecrows feet, and these ideas of what I had to do came to me. That week I built two more crows, planted em’ right out there next to George. By now of course, my wife was startin’ to think I needed to see a doctor, and so I took fists to her and put her in her place.”
    Randy and Dwayne shared a quick glance, and Jorell smiled. “You boys don’t have to judge me; I have punished myself enough for that and more over the years. I don’t want to get distracted if I can help it.”
    Randy and Dwayne nodded, and the old man licked his lips and continued.
    “So, it went on like that for weeks. I didn’t sleep, I barely ate. All I did was sit out there in that damn field and soak up whatever was down in the dirt, and do as it told me. By that winter, the field that was intended for my wheat held just short of sixty five crows. A little after Christmas of that year, I came back to the house to find a doctor waiting for me, wanting to examine me. Well, I chased him out of the door, and told him not to come back. My wife threatened to leave me if I didn’t explain, so I dragged her out there to the field, and showed her.”
    His smile faded, and he swallowed as he recalled the memory.
    “Crows took her that night. Part of me knew it was gonna happen, and yet I dragged her up there anyway. There was a lot of blood, and I knew they liked that, they liked the blood soaking through the dirt. Later, where that blood had flowed, smaller crows started to push through the dirt. You probably saw some of the juveniles when you snuck in.”
    Randy nodded, and the old man shrugged his narrow shoulders.
    “Well, that’s how they grow. Come up fully shaped like that. Don’t ask me how or why, because I don’t know.  They just did. You gotta remember, I was just a young fella back then, and scared of what would happen to me if I told the police. Without my wife to keep me in check, things got worse. I stopped looking after the farm; I stopped even really spending time in the house. I would either be