Lambs to the Slaughter
Dad’s getting the sheep ready.
I’m standing on my tiptoes in the kitchen, nose to the cold window glass, steaming up a white patch with my breath. It’s past my bedtime, and it’s dark outside; I watch my dad’s torch as it slices yellow light through the black fields, as he leads one of his sheep by a rope. The window’s thin enough that I can hear the nervous bleating from the flock. I think they know what’s coming.
Dad does this sometimes. He’ll see tracks in the mud around our farm in the morning, or we’ll hear these cries in the distance when we let the dog out at night, and then Dad takes one of the good-sized sheep down by the big fence. It’s not tall, and it’s mostly wire, but the big fence goes all the way around our farm, and down to the village as well. Our hill’s close enough to the water that we need the fence too.
It’s been there for ages. It’s how we keep the monster out.
Dad walks down to the gate in the fence; the silver in it glints when his torch hits it. He pulls the sheep in front of him as he opens the gate, and hurries it out, closing the gate behind it again as soon as it’s through. My dad’s not scared of anything, and he’s tough enough to batter anyone, but he’s still scared of the monster. Everyone is. Dad says it hates us.
He’s coming back up the field now. The sheep’s looking after him from behind the fence, like it’s confused. I feel bad for it.
Dad comes through the front door, breathes out heavily, and slams the door behind him. He doesn’t even notice me until after he’s done up all the locks, and when he does see me, he jumps.
“What are you doing out of bed?” he asks. He looks more scared than angry.
“I wanted to see the monster,” I tell him.
He gets this serious Dad look, where he looks a hundred years old and looks like he’s about to tell me something grown-up and important. “If you see it, it can get you easier. You’ll go right up to it and it’ll eat you.” He just looks at me for a second, and then he sighs. “Get to bed. And stay in bed.”
I go. And I sleep with my covers right over my head, just in case.
I’m still awake when the dog starts barking downstairs. I lie completely still, and I listen. I can hear her jumping up and clawing at the door. She only does that when there’s someone outside.
She stops barking soon, and I know that whatever was there is gone. After a minute, I hear my Dad’s heavy footsteps downstairs. He stomps to the front of the house, and I hear the door close behind him - he always goes out afterwards, just to check that the fence is okay. It’s over now. I pull my covers off of my head, and try to go to sleep.
The dog starts barking again.
I open my eyes. I wish she would shut up. It’s only Dad.
I hear a shout from outside, and I freeze. The dog starts barking louder. It’s dark in my room, and the moon behind the curtains makes everything grey. It’s still and quiet and it just makes the dog seem louder, and I think I can hear my heart too, and she won’t stop barking.
Downstairs, my mum screams.
I get up and run to the window. I scrape the curtains back, and the dark falls into the room. All I can see is the moon, and the light of it catches on the sheep’s wool, and the silver fence, and the eyes of the man standing behind it.
He doesn’t look real. His hair is long and dark, and his skin is so pale he could be glowing, or dead. He looks young, but his clothes are old-fashioned, and the sleeves and collar of his shirt are soaked in red, and the back of my dad’s shirt is clutched in his hand. My dad is a dark lump on the ground.
The monster feels me staring, and looks up. His eyes stop glowing when he tilts his head, and I can see he’s glaring at me.
I pull the curtains back so hard I think they might come down, and run back to my bed. I slide under. I don’t breathe. I lie there and I wait as my whole body goes numb.
I stay there for the rest of the night, even after the dog stops barking, and my dad and the monster are gone.
