Sunday, July 10, 2005

Jack Attack

Beads of sweat ran down my forehead as I crept silently through the barn. Carefully taking just a few steps then stopping to look around and listen for the sound of death which I new could be hiding anywhere amongst the old farm machinery or bales of hay. OK so far so good, a few more feet, stop, watch, listen. Satisfied for the moment that it was nowhere to be seen I made my move, I could see my goal just a few feet away -- the old 45 gallon drums of horse feed.

Earlier in the day when my uncle had asked me to feed his horses as he was going to be away, I had been to embarrassed to tell him of my fears. After all I was 10 years old, that's practically a grown up.

I moved quickly now. If I was fast maybe I could be gone before it returned to its lair. I dashed the last few feet to the feed barrels and flipped the metal lid off the drum with one hand and reached for the feed scoop with the other. Frantically I scooped the required amount into the green plastic bucket all the while scanning left and right for any sign of its return. There that's it, four scoops, I can't believe it, Im going to make it. Then I heard it, the sound that brought terror to my soul. The sound of death.


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