College Vamp

Baggage (EDITED)

8:45 pm

Damon sat hunched over his kitchen table. A half-empty cup of coffee in front of him. The pot warmed in the brewer on the counter next to bottles of dish soap. His chin resting in his hands, a dreary look in his eyes. A loaded Winchester rifle sat propped against the table with the barrel pointed to the floor. The overhead light radiated an aged glow. He reached for his cup and stood up, dragging himself to the brewer. He grabbed the heated pot and repoured his drink.

Putting the pot back, he blew the radiating heat off the fresh coffee. He took a careful sip, allowing the caffeine to break through his overbearing fatigue. He stepped over to his sink and gazed out the window. Looking out at the pasture, he paid particular attention to the barn. Moonlight bathed the aged, but still structure, revealing no sign of activity. Sighing, he took another swig of his drink.

As he did, he saw one of the barn doors swing open ever so slightly. He had almost missed it. The cup hit the sink with a loud clunk, spilling the hot contents down the drain. Damon dashed to the table, grabbing his phone and punching in a number.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"Sharron, it's Damon. That thing is in my barn right now."

"Officer Debson and Benson are on patrol nearby, I'll send them your way immediately."

"Thanks."

Hanging up, Damon put the phone away and brought the rifle up, sliding his fingers into the cocking lever and over the trigger guard. He burst out the front door, leaped over the concrete steps, and landed on the ground with a muddy splat. Avoiding a nasty spill, he charged for the pasture gate, vaulting over. He raced up the mud path to the barn, cocking the rifle.

As he came to the doors, Damon slowed down and brought the gun up, pressing the stock against his shoulder. From inside, he could hear the terrified neighs and whinnys. He crept inside the dark barn, keeping his eyes locked ahead of the gun barrel. Pushing the barn door further, it revealed the stocks that lined the walls. His horses looked to him, still filling the room with anxious noise

Pulling out his phone and turning the flashlight on, he panned the gun from left to right as he made his way to the back.

"I know you're in here. So, come out."

He approached the back, finding the ladder to the rafters overhead. He traced his light up, seeing the loose hay bales uptop. Still no sign of what had set the horses off.

A loud crunch jerked Damon's attention back down. He brought the rifle down, pointing it at the last stock on the left. The door was slightly ajar with clear footprints. He kept his finger over the trigger guard as he approached it, using the barrel to push the door. Damon flung it open. The hinges shrieked, joining the cries of the horses in a cacophony of horrific sound.

The sight shook him to the core. His grip went slack, nearly dropping the rifle. His breath choked back in his throat. Every inch of him trembled. The horse's head was pinned to lumber that made up the stock. A pitchfork embedded in what remained of the neck. Gravity pulled its lifeless body down, slowly tearing the puncture wounds further open. A pool of fresh blood pooled below, mixing into the dirt and hay.

The gun barrel dropped, hitting the ground with a wet thud. He stared in abject terror entangled with the horrific sight before him. So shocked, he barely heard the approaching footsteps.

Something hit him from the side, knocking him off his feet. He smacked against the wooden half wall, dropping to his knees in a daze. His head spun, but he managed to hear the footsteps running away. Whipping his head around, he saw something dart towards the barn doors.