Ghoul by Z. Goldstein

Ghoul

by

Zachary L. Goldstein

“Okay, Mr. Livingston. We’d like you to tell us what you saw when you came out to the fields this morning to file in our report.” The deputy stared gravely at the farmer, who still appeared a little shaken. The law man waited patiently for him to begin.

The farmer opened his mouth to speak but hesitated. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, starting again: “It was just before sunrise. First thing I do every morning is feed the hens. I go outside and I remember thinking it was strange, not hearing my rooster sing. In fact there was absolutely no noise at all, couldn’t even here the wind blowing between my ears.”

“When you got to the pen, what did you find?” asked the lawman.

“They were all lying down on their sides. The beaks were open and the eyes were...barren, cold.”

“Was there anything still alive inside there?”

“No. Just...silence. The hay bed wasn’t even ruffled. It was like whatever got them had no legs.”

“Any signs of struggle? Where did you see blood?”

“No...there was no blood. It was like something had drained them. The throats had all been cut into—I couldn’t understand why there wasn’t any blood.”

“You said the throats had been opened.”

“Yes, each wound was exactly the same. So precise—like someone was practicing a grisly surgery.”

“And the door of the barn housing the foul was deadbolt-locked, you say?”

“Yeah, I woke up in the morning and the lock was still there, good as before.”

“Could anything have gotten inside from the roof or high up along the sides?”

“It would have to be something small. The only access is an open-air window at the rear, some thirty feet up. The space isn’t more than a foot across, each way.”

“Okay. Tell me about the goats and the mares. You often leave them free to graze overnight?”

“Well yes, the property’s fenced off in all directions and I personally think it’s healthier that way.”

“For them or for you?” inquired the deputy.

“Both.” responded Mr. Livingston acutely.

“When you got to the grazing grounds, what did you find?”

“I saw rows of goats and cows lying in the soft green grass. They were all in a line: four going that way, five laying the other way. The angle was almost perpendicular—like some middle school kid’s art project.”

“Were the throats cut here, as well?”

“No, the throats were intact. But the necks were snapped—all of them. And not just snapped, mind you, but bent at damn near ninety degrees. The rows were so neat, and yet it was like whatever killed them was so fast that they just dropped where they had been standing. It was all very eerie, deputy. I can’t even describe how it felt. My livelihood was destroyed and for all I know a ghoul could be the culprit.”

“You said it looked as if they just dropped where they were standing. Like they didn’t even have a chance to react?

“Listen, I know animals. The sense of danger is an instinct. Call it God, evolution, witchcraft or whatever you please—it’s there, ingrained in them. It’s all they know. Fight or flight. But this—it was automatic. One moment they were all living and the next they were dead. Instinct didn’t even come into play on this one.”

“I’m having trouble believing it was some sort of animal. What creature do you know of that kills just...to kill? It doesn’t make sense that it would just leave the bodies. It’s against all—.”

“Instinct, deputy?”

“It does seem rather unnatural. Mr. Livingston, do you have any enemies? Any who would want to destroy what you have made for yourself and your family?”

“After this day, I’m certain that I do.”

The deputy thanked the farmer and sent him on his way. He decided not to tell him. He would find out soon enough anyways. Everyone would.