I peered into the tomb of forgotten souls as I cautiously slid the closet door open. Menacing boxes full of neglected memorabilia leered at me as I slowly looked from one to the other, reading the various classifications written in bold black marker: IMPORTANT, REALLY IMPORTAN, KINDA IMPORTANT, EH, MAYBE IMPORTANT,… Finally, I came to it. DOCU-IMPORTANT. It was scribbled on a tattered, beaten-up red Nike shoe box located on the top shelf.

As I reached up to carefully take the injured box down, the casualty tore open, spilling it’s innards of discarded documents onto my upturned face. The small box sighed with relief at the expenditure.

“SSSHHIIIIIIIT,” I muttered in my own sign while looking about me.

Kneeling down, I began sorting through the documents of my life looking for the W-2’s the I.R.S. claimed they needed for the audit.

“Fuck them!” I proclaimed as I ran across a surplus of lost check stubs.

I began dividing the mass of papers when a folded worn photo fell out from between two sheets. As I unfolded it, it revealed the image of a young short haired boy standing against a thick wooden fence post. In the distance, a herd of cattle could be seen grazing in the field. Looking closely at the herd, I could almost see a splash of rusty-brown. I smiled at the thought. And at the innocent young boy.

“Damn, I was naive…”

The sun’s heat soaked into my skin, as the wind gently tossled my hair from side to side. Rustling leaves along the way, the breeze continued on into the trees. A lone swallow sang of my passing to others of his kind as I entered the wood line. In the distance, a woodpecker could be heard going about its business with a rhythmic “knock-knock-knock.”

Pretending to be an Indian of sorts, I created my own trail through the forest as quietly as possible, avoiding the smallest twig or crumpled leaf along the way. Trees became scalp hunters and whirlwinds of leaves spirits of ancient warriors forced to roam the land. The game came to an inevitable end, though, as the meadow opened up before me.

I came to a sudden halt. For beyond the sea of grass, beyond the barbed wire coast, stood a creature of immense size… a beast of unlimited power… a demon, whose breath itself seemed to emanate evil, set loose on the surface. Beauregard, my grandfather’s bull, had jumped the fence!

Terror welled up inside me. This was a “minion of Satan, spawned from the bowels of Hell.” I did not really understand that, but my brother must have, since he had proclaimed it with much passion mere days before. I did not doubt him. I had no reason to, John had many more years experience than I, he being a worldly twelve years old and I but a naive eight. John of all people would know which animals came from Hell or not. I was about to turn and flee for my life when a vague remembrance of Grandfather entered my mind. This demonic Holstein had meaning to Grandfather. Somehow, he looked upon Beauregard with admiration. Once I had even heard him remark with a smile, “He’s worth at least what we paid for him if for nothing more than the stud services he’s providing.” This filled me with bewilderment as to why my grandfather would look upon it with admiration, let alone call it a “stud.” But than again, he had to be a master of experience compared to my brother, so I trusted his judgement, especially.

I found that loyalties to Grandfather dictated I watch the beast. Anyway, I tried to tell myself, I could just let it wander the countryside wreaking havoc on the defenseless country folk.

Slowly, placing one foot in front of the other, I stepped forth into the swaying grass. It tickled my thighs as I ponderously waded through the waist-deep ocean of green. I searched the pockets of my cut-offs in hopes of a weapon of sorts. Sling-shots were great against giants, but all I had was a Luke Skywalker action figure. The force wasn’t with me.

It seemed like hours, but I soon reached the fence. And there, waiting for me, staring at me, not more than fifteen feet away, stood a mountain of muscle and horns.

From the dull luster of it’s honed horns to its glimmering coat of rusting iron, this beast vibrated with power.

Seconds ticked slowly away until they became minutes. Frozen in my tracks, I fought for just the right words that would sooth the savage beast. Unfortunately, the words of Franklin, Kennedy and others were of yet instilled into my young mind. I mustered the courage to speak, though.

“Hi,” I offered in a barely audible voice.

It brought it’s eyes around to take in my timid form and finally replied with a snort that could curdle milk.

A cold shiver ran up my spine as I thought of the implications. I had never thought that Beauregard would acknowledge my presence, let alone answer me. It did not matter that I could not understand it’s language. It was a demon, after all, and would not possibly speak human. I was just thrilled at the fact that it did not just dismiss me with a ball of fire. That had to be a good sign!

I tempted fate again. “So, ah, whatcha doin’?”

With a look of utter disregard, Beauregard gazed at me out of the corner of it’s eye, shook it’s head and proceeded to relieve itself in the neighbors’ recently-plowed field.

O.K., so asking a minion of Satan what it’s doing is a stupid question, but I had never had the task to do before. How do you go about making small talk with a succubus, anyway? There are just some things they do not teach in second grade.

As the gravity of the situation weight heaviest on my young shoulders, Beauregard swayed it’s massive head toward the barbed wire separating us and stretched to reach the grass on my side. It looked then into my eyes, as if for help.

At that moment, Beauregard changed to me from an it to a he. He was not going to sacrifice me in the name of some forgotten god. He was hungry and I could be his salvation. But then again…

I gently reached down and cautiously tore out two hand fulls of grass. I extended the offering to him through the fence, all the while assuring him my good intentions. He hesitated, though. I promised him that there was not a holy cross for miles. With that, he sniffed the gift and tugged it from my unsure grasp. Before I could pull more, Beauregard had disposed of his prize and was urging me, with swats of his tail, to hurry.

This continued for half an hour, when we heard the distant rattle of my grandfather’s old blue ford pickup making it’s way through the field in our direction. Like a barge on the sea of green, it pulled up and docked next to me.

“So, you found the old beast,” Grandfather offered.

He had found where Beauregard had jumped the fence and started looking for him when he spotted me there in the north field.

“It’s a good thing you stayed with him, he might have decided to wander off into the woods. It would have taken days to find the scoundrel.”

He climbed out of the truck and dug around in the beat up red tool box in the back. With wire cutters in hand, he marched up to the fence and cut the three rows of barbed wire. And with a slap on the rump from my grandfather, Beauregard swaggered through the open.

“You get back to work, stud. Those cows are waiting for you,” my grandfather scolded.

As he proceeded to fix the fence, I queried, “Why are the cows waiting for Beauregard? And why is he a stud?”

I noticed a slight pause in his work as I asked my simple questions. But he took up mending the fence again.

“Well?” I prodded.

He paused again and looked up at me.

“You aren’t gonna let up on this, are you?”

My silence was answer enough.

“O.K., but your mother isn’t gonna be happy with me.”

She wasn’t either, I thought as I stood up and took the frame holding my graduation picture off of the nightstand. Gently, I smoothed out the old photo and placed it in the small wooden frame. And placed it back on the stand.

With that, I turned back to the dreadful pile.

“Minion of Satan. My brother had never me the I.R.S.”

This entry was posted on Saturday, May 24th, 2008 at 3:16 am and is filed under Other real.... You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.