(This is the short story I wrote for my Back to Basics year of study. Click the “Keep reading” link to read.)
Isolation can be a wonderful thing, from time to time at least. A simple escape from the worries and tiresome nonsense of the world around you. A time to sort your thoughts and breath the fresh air as you relax into a comfortable spot. But one cannot remain in such isolation for long. As beings whose based our very nature around our interactions with others, we must find some means to coexist with at least a few beyond ourselves. If for nothing else than to maintain our own sanity, to ground us in reality. For though the dark places of the world may hold some dangers, the darkness that lives within the mind can be far worse.
In this tale there was once a small town nestled in the middle of a forest. This town wasn’t much to speak of as it was the same as any other little place with its crops and livestock. But here there lived a man that folks around there called Old Jack who lived and worked in the smithy off at the far edge of town, out away from everyone else.
Old Jack had grown up in the town, the same as everyone else, but had also grown to distrust or outright despise everyone around him. This was because he had always been the butt of various pranks over the years. From the simple surprise scare to having cow dung shoved down the back of his pants, their was no limit to what they would do to anger him or cause him trouble.
There was a time, back when he was around thirteen years old, a group of the other boys had led him out to an old, abandoned barn in the woods. They had told him that some sheep had wandered off from the flock and headed in there. Claiming to need his help in rounding them up, they pleaded with him. He was a bit wary about the story at first, but didn’t want to risk losing any of the towns sheep should he be wrong. So he marched into the dark barn in search of the sheep only to have the doors slammed shut behind him. He pounded and screamed from within as the boys put a heavy bar across the door to hold it shut. It wasn’t till after nightfall that they came back and let him out again.
From that day onward he would never trust a single soul and shut himself away from the world until his father died and left him to run the forge. Having to take up his father’s work forced him back out into the world again and many people from the town came to him to have their tools mended and new shoes crafted for their horses. Though, never once did any of them every apologize for the things they had done to him in all those years. So his distrust and destine continued to grow day by day and, beyond the stone faced business arrangements he had to deal with, he would never come to speak nor spend any amount of time with those who lived in the town.
One day Jack awoke to the sound of clucking and a soft, sharp scratching noise in his room. When he sat up and looked around he saw a small chicken with white feathers clawing at the floorboards in search of a morning meal. He didn’t know what to think of it at first, knowing he had latched every door and window before lying down to sleep. Then he figured that it must have came through some hole in the wall that had gone unnoticed till now.
Rolling off from his bed, he slid his way over to the bird and lifted it to his chest. He then carried it over to the nearest window, opening it enough to slip the bird out before lying back down again. A short time later though, the same sound of clucking and scratching roused him again. So again he took the chicken and tossed it out the window.
After rubbing his eyes and giving a long yawn, he decided to give up on sleep and went to the wash basin to clean himself up and start his day. Then he fixed up a bit of breakfast with some eggs sizzling away in a cast iron pan next to a couple slices of old bread. He dug around in the cabinets for a bit of cheese he had stowed away but could not find it.
Searching about, a sudden cackle shocked him back into focus and there stood the chicken once again.
Jack uttered a curse and stomped at the bird but it took no notice of him. Then taking up his breakfast, he plated it and began to eat, thinking to ignore it as well. But the chicken jumped up on the table in a flurry of feathers and scurried across his plate before jumping down on the other side and started to run. Old Jack gave chase, tossing obscenities at the thing like darts as it weaved this way and that through his home.
After a time, winded and red in the face from exertion and rage, he soon fell to his knees. His chest heaved as a thought of what a joke this was and what a sight he must seem, chasing a chicken about his home. He froze for a moment.
“Why those sorry,” he cursed aloud, “I’ll give them a right good piece of my mind,” then stomped out the door and down toward the town with the skittering chicken following close behind.
The first door he came to, as the little town was beginning to rouse from sleep, was the that of a man named Dale, a simple farmer who tended to the town’s wheat and corn. Jack pounded on the rough wood of the door, shouting out obscenities and demanding an answer. Dale soon stepped out with his eyes wide at the commotion.
“What wrong, Jack? Has something happened?”
“You know blasted well what’s wrong,” he shouted, “I don’t know how you and the rest of them pranksters did it, but it ain’t funny.”
Dale cocked his head, “Did what?”
Thrusting his hands down toward the small chicken at his side, Jack stared daggers at him. “This right here is what.”
He took a moment to look down before looking back up with an eyebrow raised, “I don’t see what your talking about?”
“The chicken,” he curses, “It’s been pestering me all morning and I know it has to be you lot whose done it.”
“What chicken?”
It took all Jack’s will not to punch him then and there. “Don’t you dare try that with me, Dale. I know better. You lot have been doing this kinda thing our whole lives and I’m tired of it. If I see you or anyone else wandering around my house at night, I’ll whip the lot of you.”
Dale looked on, eyes narrowed and mouth agape as Jack stormed off back to the smithy.
The day dragged on as he went about his work mending some old axe heads and butcher knives. All the while the chicken kept finding its way into one bit of trouble or another. It was knocking over racks of tools, jumping in the way his hammer in mid swing, and many other issues. Yet every person who came by claimed to not even notice it was there.
The hours soon past as the day drew to an end and he had had more than enough of the bird hopping about causing mischief. So he took it, killed it, plucked it, and fried it up for a late dinner. The savory meat felt like a fair reward for all he had put up with that day.
“That’s the end of that,” he said to himself.
However, as the sun rose on the next day, he found himself again awakening to the sound of cackling and scratching. Another chicken had found its way into his home. But he wasn’t having it again and immediately slaughtered the bird for breakfast before getting on to work once again.
The next day was the same. Another chicken, another meal, and another days work. Then the next day followed suit. Then the next day as well.
“Enough is enough,” Jack shouted with a curse, “This has gone too far.”
The latest chicken looked up at him and cocked its head sideways a bit too far.
His face crinkled up as he looked at it. “This one ain’t quite right either,” he thinks aloud, “I’ll toss this one out to the dogs.” He killed the bird and tossed it over into the woods for the wild dogs to eat before storming off into town again to give Dale another talking to.
Again Jack pounded on the rough wood door, shouting and cursing. Dale then answered, his eyes narrow and mouth tight as his tone struck bitter. Jack held his ground.
“What is it now, Jack?”
“This joke your playing has gone to far. I’m tired of it.”
Dale sighed, “What joke? We haven’t been playing any joke on you or anyone else.”
“Your a lying cuss and a stupid one too if you think I’d believed that,” he cursed.
“I’m telling you, Jack. We do not know anything about this chicken you keep going on about. It may be that all that time keeping to yourself has messed with you mind.”
His eyes went wide as his jaw tightened and his fists clenched.
“If your going to get angry about it and hit me, then go ahead. But what I’ve said is true.”
Fuming, Jack turned away and stomped his way back home.
The days continued by with a new chicken showing up day after day. On the twentieth day when Jack awoke to the then familiar sound, the condition of the bird he saw shocked him. Several patches of feathers were missing and large, black splotches covered its body from head to claw.
He leapt from his bed with a series of obscenities flowing like water from his mouth. “It ain’t enough that they pester me with this nonsense, now they got to give me the blasted diseased birds too?” He grabbed the chicken by the neck along with his hammer and a large, iron nail. “I’ll show them how sick of this I am.”
Marching down to the center of town, he found the old well and presided to nail the chicken to one of its posts. Then he returned to his home, a sly smile on his face, to await the coming complaints and fury about his actions. But no one ever came. The day fell to night and no one came.
The next day, curious about the lack of action over what he had done, Jack wandered back down into the town to see what was going on. It was quiet. No children playing in the streets. No baker announcing his wares. No farmers nor herdsmen tending their duties.
He went door to door pounding and shouting but received no answers. The last door he took to trying was Dale’s. As he rapped his knuckles against it, it swung on its hinges, emitting a soft groan.
The room was dark. “Dale,” he called out, “You at home?” He gazed about through the open door until his eyes fell upon a bed against the far wall where Dale lay, his back to the door. “Dale, you lazy cuss. Get up and greet me.” He didn’t move.
Jack stepped with caution into the room, wary of some new prank. “Dale,” he cursed, “Get up right now. Get up, I say.”
He grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him over before jumping back with a gasp. His eyes went wide and mouth agape, as Dale’s face came into view, eyes bulging out of his head as a thick black ooze drained from his nose and a large space on his head looked caved in. His ashen face and deep red lips terrified Jack.
Jack ran from house to house busting in the doors to find everyone else in the same state. Whatever had happened spared no one. He stumbled his way out to the center of town and fell on his knees by the well.
“No,” he repeated again and again, “It can’t be. What happened?” Tears welled up in his eyes. “No,” he continued to repeat.
Then a familiar cackle rang in his ear. He turned around and saw, standing there in the shadows, the same diseased chicken he had nailed to the well. The long, iron spike was still protruding from its neck and the black splotches had grown larger. He stared, dumbfounded and terrified, as it opened its beck in a large grin, revealing a set of almost human like teeth and a tongue like the tail of a snake trying to escape. He backed away until his back pressed against the stones of the well as the thing came closer to him.
He could not speak, breath, nor even think beyond the desire to get away. Yet as the creature came ever closer, he found himself frozen with fear. It was soon standing at his feet, staring back at him with those large yellow eyes. The stare seemed to pierce his mind as he envisioned his own death by the beast. A cold chill ran through him as his mind reeled.
But then, in a moment of either instinct or panic, he reached out, snatched the thing up by the throat, and tossed it, with as much force as he could muster, down the well. He stood for a moment, waiting for the sound of a sudden splash below. It never came. Fearful that it had grabbed on some where and may climb up again, he grabbed the nearby wood covering and slammed it in place before heaping stones on top.
Without another thought, he began to run. He returned home long enough to grab up some clothes, money, and his faithful hammer before heading northward. He needed to get away. He needed to tell someone about what had happened. Who would believe him, though? No, there was nothing he could do other than save himself from suffering the same fate as the them.
After many miles, he found himself standing at the door of an old inn. The sign above had the image of a bear painted in red and the sound of music and singing rang into the night as clouds began to cover the sky and rain and thunder rolled over the land. He stepped inside out of the cold where the innkeeper, a tall well built man with a thick black beard, greeted him.
“Welcome, sir,” the innkeeper began, “How may I help you? You’d like a place to sleep I’d wager, what with this weather moving in, and nice, hot meal too?”
Jack avoids looking him in the eye, “Yes. On both accounts.”
A bellowing laugh, “I thought as much. Head over to the hall and I’ll get you a bit of something.”
He followed the man’s suggestion and took a seat at the corner farthest from the other patrons and their marry making. The small, wooden table, wiped clean, was still covered in scratches and nicks from years of wear. However, the straw cushion was comfortable enough.
The crowd was small for the most part. A mix of adventures, travelers, and tradesmen stopping in for a good meal and warm beds. One of them, a young boy who had yet to grow his first beard, held up a lute and was strumming on it as another sang some song he had not heard before. He sat and listened for a time, letting his worries melt away.
The innkeeper came to him minutes later with a bowl of hot pork stew, a cut of bread, and a cup of ale. Jack drank and ate his fill before asking to see his room for the night. Many of the other patrons had taken to their rooms as well by then.
The man led him up two flights of stairs to a room at the far end of a short hall. He opened the door and motioned for Jack to step inside. The man bid him goodnight before closing the door, leaving the room dark. Jack listened as his heavy foot falls faded into the distance before dropping his bag on the floor and plopping down on the straw stuffed mattress.
The linen had been recently cleaned and the fresh scent calmed his mind as he drank it in. His mind then took to questioning his future. Where would he go from here? How would he make a living on the road? Would someone find his town and think him responsible for what happened there? These questions rang through his mind as he drifted off to sleep.
In his dreams he found himself back in the town standing once again before the old well. The rock covered wooden seal was still in place. But then the earth began to shake beneath him and the rocks fell one by one until the covering itself soon followed. From deep within the dark depths he heard a soft scratching and cackling. Then long, dark tentacle like appendages spilt up over the rim, seeping out onto the ground as the sounds grew louder. Soon a shinning pair of yellow eyes crested the edge and a great, unnatural smile shone out from the mass of dark before lunging forward at Jack.
Bolting upright in the unfamiliar bed with a shriek, covered in sweat and shaking, he looked around the room with his eyes wide and teeth clenched. Nothing was there. He looked beneath the bed. Nothing was there. Still terrified, he rummaged through his bag until he found his hammer.
He sat curled up on the bed, sheets tossed aside, clutching the hammer in his fists. He waited and listened for any noise, any sign that it had come back. A sound down the hall caught his ears and he tensed.
“It’s here,” he repeated to himself in a shaking, soft voice.
The sound reached the door and then there was a soft scratching noise before it began to open inward, the hinges protesting at the slow movement. Not wishing to wait for it to make the first move he leaped from the bed with shout and lashed out with the hammer. He fell through the doorway out into the hall, swinging wild with each strike meeting its mark as he screamed through the haze of fear.
After several blows, Jack fell to the side and scrambled for a moment to place his back to the wall, hammer held tight and knees to his chest. His eyes, large and red with fear, glared down at the place where it had lain and a soft whimpering escaped his throat. It was the innkeeper, his face bloodied and smashed.
“No,” Jack choked as other patrons began to leave their rooms to see the commotion.
They saw the innkeeper laying on the floor in a pool of his own blood and Jack sitting by with the murder weapon in hand. It took only a moment for them to lunge at him in an attempt to restrain him. But he lashed out with the bloodied hammer as he screamed and then ran.
The sound of their voices trailed off as he ran out of the inn into the pouring rain. Every time he dared to look back, a yellow glow shone out at him as a familiar grin crept over a now distorted face. He screamed and cried as he scrambled through the darkened woods.
He ran as fast as he could, but it was never enough. With each flash of lightning, he saw its shadow through the trees. With each crack of thunder, he heard its cackling laughter. He kept running. His legs ached and his chest burned with the effort, but he kept running.
A flash of lightning blinded him for a moment causing him to trip over the root of a tree that stuck up from the ground. He scrambled to his feet again, raising his hammer high above him as he planted his back against a tree, expecting an attack. But nothing was there. Lightning flashed, illuminating his surroundings. Nothing but the trees and rocks surrounded him. He listened, but heard only the boom of thunder.
He found a small cave in the side of a nearby hill. Drenched and freezing he huddled as close to the rear wall as he could manage. His mind was blank and his breath was shaky as he fell to his most base instincts to survive.
Then he heard it. The soft scratching and that horrible cackling. He raised his eyes to the opening of the cave and there it was, silhouetted in the flash of lightning. More demon than chicken now, with its dark form covered in writhing tentacles, eyes shining like yellow flames, and jaw unhinged in a twisted abomination of a smile as its tongue like a snakes tail lolled out.
It came toward him with slow steps, its tentacles reaching out for him. It gripped around his arms, legs, waist, and throat. He stared into its eyes. The flames seemed to scorch his mind but he could not fight back against it. It showed him visions. He saw the town. He saw himself. But it was wrong. He was going door to door killing everyone with a smile and a laugh.
“No,” he cursed, “Stop it. That isn’t me. No.”
The creature laughed as the visions played over and over in his mind.
Soon he fell silent. Then he began to laugh. It was nothing more than a soft chuckle at first. But then it grew and grew until it was a booming and blusterous cacophony echoing off the cave walls. His stomach ached and the world spun as the shadows grew over him.
“It was me,” he thought, “I finally got them back.” He continued to laugh until his eyes rolled back in his head and his laughter died.
The next day, a herdsman from a nearby town came wandering by in search of a lost sheep that had separated from the flock, grumbling all the while about how everyone was far too lazy to help. He came armed as tell of the murderer at the inn had already spread. He looked inside the opening of the cave in the nearby hill to see if the sheep had sheltered there. What he found was the body of a man, cold and gray, with a large and unnatural grin frozen on his face and a hammer, coated with dried blood, clutched in his hand.
The man turned to head back to the town, intending to tell of what he had found, but stop as he heard a soft cackling behind him. A small white chicken was standing there looking up at him. Thinking it had wandered off from the farm as well, he took it up and brought it back with him. Though as he did, he thought for a moment that he saw it smile. But who ever heard of a smiling chicken?
Tales of Therafell: The Smith and the Chicken- Story Planning
This is the planning phase of this short story I wrote for my Back to Basics year of study. Click the “Keep reading” link to see it.
Prompt
Day one. Blasted pranksters. I don’t know how they did it, but they managed to get some sorry chicken to follow me around all day. They constantly denied it, they denied even seeing the thing, but I know it was them, somehow. Jokes on them though. That bird roasted up real nice.
Day two. They’ve done it again. Woke up to find another stinking chicken sitting at the foot of my bed. They still denied it though, thinking it’s just so hilarious no doubt. Just another free meal for me.
Day five. A jokes a joke, but this is far to much. This bird doesn’t even seem right. It keeps cocking it’s head sideways as it looks at me with those dark eyes. I’ll throw this one to the dogs, I think.
Day twenty. It won’t stop. They just won’t stop. Their trying to drive me mad, the whole lot of those sorry cusses. They’re even giving me the diseased birds now. This one’s missing patches of feathers and has black spots all over. I’ll nail this one to the well. That’ll show them how sick of this game I am.
Day twenty eight. Their dead. Their dead. Oh dear god, what have I done. They are all dead. But the chicken, it’s back again. It won’t stop staring at me with those bulging, yellow eyes. What is happening? Who is doing this? I’m going to leave. I need to leave. But first I’ll drop this thing down the well.
Day fifty eight. It won’t go away. It won’t go away. It won’t go away. What in the name of heaven is this thing. It has teeth now. When did a chicken ever have such teeth? Every time it opens its mouth it lets out that blasted long tongue. It’s like the tail of a snake trying to get away. Oh god, it’s smiling at me. The thing is actually smiling at me. How can a chicken smile?
Premise
Protagonist(s)
Old Jack
Problem
A chicken keeps following him around.
Desire
To stop the people who are pranking him.
Focal Relationship
Old Jack and the chicken.
Other Relationship(s)
Old Jack and the people.
Opposition/Antagonist(s)
The people and the chicken.
Adventure
Every time he kills the chicken another takes its place.
Change
The chicken’s appearance changes over time and the people die.
Finalized Premise
When Old Jack awakens to find a chicken is following him everywhere he goes, he believes the people around him are pranking him and tries to make them stop, but as time goes on the people all end up dead and the chicken slowly turns into a strange monster forcing Old Jack to find some way to get rid of it or go mad.
Beginning Hook
“Stomping through town, face twisted in a grimace, Old Jack marches door to door looking for the perpetrators of this most recent prank as the soft skittering of small feet keep pace behind. Upon reaching the home of a man named Dale Perce, Jack pounds on the rough wood door, shouting out Dale’s name along with a few choice obscenities. Soon a tall thin man steps out with his eyes wide at the commotion.
“What’s wrong, Jack? Has something happened?”
“You know blasted well what’s wrong,” he shouts. “I don’t know how you and the rest of those pranksters did it, but it ain’t funny.”
“Did what?”
He thrusts his open hands toward the small, white chicken standing at his side as he glares daggers at Dale.
“I don’t see anything.””
Theme(s)
Distrust
Genre and Tone
Fantasy-Dark
Who is the Audience?
Mature
Brainstorming Plot Ideas
The Outer Journey
1. The Ordinary World
1. Jack lives in a small town with a few other people who will occasionally prank him.
2. Call to Adventure
1. One day, he wakes up to find a chicken is following him everywhere he goes.
3. Refusal of the Call
1. After accusing everyone of playing a prank on him, he kills, cooks, and eats the chicken.
4. Meeting the Mentor
1. The chicken comes back.
5. Crossing the Threshold
1. The chicken starts looking strange.
6. Tests, Allies, Enemies
1. The chicken looks diseased so he nails it to the well.
7. Approach the Innermost Cave
1. Everyone dies and the chicken comes back again.
8. The Ordeal
1. Jack tries to run away but the chicken follows.
9. Reward
1. He finds holy ground where the will not go.
10. The Road Back
1. He must confront the chicken.
11. The Resurrection
1. The chicken keeps coming back.
12. Return with the Elixir
1. Jack goes insane.
Summary
A smith named Old Jack is being followed around by a chicken, which he believes to be a prank by the other people in his town. He becomes more and more distrusting of the others as a new chicken seems to show up after he gets rid of the previous one. But after everyone else in the town dies mysteriously and the chicken begins to take on a more demonic appearance he soon begins to go mad.
Details
Character Theme
Old Jack is is the characterization of the distrust of others and self isolation.
Story Theme
The dangers of paranoia and isolationism.
Characters
Old Jack:
Name, age, and role?
Jack Doonis, 45, protagonist
Personality?
Distrusting and isolated, angry and cold
Greatest strength?
Confidence
Greatest weakness(es)?
His personality
Greatest fear?
The unknown
Goal?
To stop everyone from pranking him and be rid of the chicken.
Background?
Has been the target of pranks since he was young.
Likes and dislikes?
Dislikes being around others and prefers solitute.
Appearance?
Average height, short, bedraggled, dark hair, brown eyes, scar on right cheek, always has a sour expression.
Setting
What is the location?
Varn, western side of Aryna and south of the Spamora Mountains.
The Red Bear Inn, north of Varn.
What is the time period?
1148 AG
Who lives in the location?
Varn: Around twelve people, no children, all grew up in Varn.
The Red Bear Inn: The innkeeper and his patrons.
What is the weather like?
Cool and rainy.
Story Planning
Act 1 Old Jack lives in a smithy on the far edge of town and shows severe distrust of the other townsfolk as they’ve had a tendency of pranking him often. Then he wakes up one day to find a chicken is following him everywhere he goes. Scenes * Introduction and a brief glance at his living conditions.- First paragraph * People play pranks on him.- Next 3 paragraphs * He wakes up to the sound of scratching and pecking at his floor.- 1 paragraph * He throws the chicken out of the house but it finds a way back in.- 1 p * He tries to go about his work, but the chicken keeps getting in the way.- 1 p Act 2 Part 1 Jack blames the people of the town for the chicken following him, accusing them of pulling another prank while they deny it and claim not to see the chicken. Scenes * He marches into town and begins accusing everyone of pranking him, but they all deny it.- 3 p * He kills and eats the chicken.- 1 p * Another chicken appears the next day, so he accuses everyone again and eats the chicken.- 1 p * Some time passes with a new chicken appearing each day, but then one shows up that acts strangely.- 2 p * Another shows up that seems diseased so he nails it to the well.- 3 p Part 2 Jack finds everyone in town dead but the chicken still returns. Scenes * Everyone in town is found dead and the chicken is back.- 3 p * Jack drops the chicken down the well and runs away. - 1 p * He stops for the night at an inn where he gets drunk and rents a room.- 2 p * The chicken appears in his room and he starts screaming and throwing things at it until the innkeeper comes in and throws him out.- 4 p Act 3 Jack runs away to a cave for shelter but is met by the chicken again, goes mad, and dies. Scenes * Jack kills the chicken with a rock.- 2 p * He finds shelter from a storm in an old cave but the chicken appears again.- 4 p * A local farmer finds him dead with a smile frozen on his face and a chicken standing nearby.- 1 p
I’m sitting at work right now, but wanted to make an update.
Nothing has gotten done.
New Years Eve, driving to work, 40 miles from home, my truck breaks down. I was stuck out there in the freezing cold for more then an hour before my brother-in-law could get out to me and quite some time more before the tow truck got there. Of course I missed work that night.
The next day, I woke up barely able to breath and coughing my head off, so me and my sister went to the hospital, she was also sick at the time, and found that she had the flu while I had acute bronchitis, just short of pneumonia. I missed another week of work for that. Ended up with a very small paycheck. I managed to get by though.
Then, when I was able to get back to work, I found that a bunch of people started quitting and I have been working 70+ hours a week. I’ve been lucky to get any time off. But, they have started to get some people in now so, as long as they stay, I should start getting back to normal hours.
Well, that’s how my year has been so far. Hopping to get some stuff done eventually, we’ll see.
I hope the year has been better for everyone else. See you all when I post again, eventually.
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