Disclaimer :As the narrator, I am pretty sure this story happened. I slapped a fly away from my face. Damn flies. Just dirty parasites. Why couldn't they just go bother someone else? "Mooooooooo" said the cow eloquently, expressing his rebuttal in an articulate and comprehensive manner. Damn cows. Have you ever tried to have a conversation with a cow? It's pretty freakin' hard. How do you talk to something you're probably going to kill and eat in the near future? "Hey man, look, I know we had some good times, but I really, really want to eat you. I hope that's okay. If it's not, well, screw you I'm going to enjoy you even more now, since you were rude to me". I'm gonna be honest. I might've actually had that conversation, with a real life cow. It made me feel better. I don't even know why I took this job. Working on my uncle's farm, quite frankly, sucks. I didn't even know this much animal crap existed. And that's from 3 cows, 2 pigs and a horse. I could paint my house with the amount of crap I've seen today, a nice shade of Shameful Brown. My uncle isn't even here. He went away for a week, and asked me to look after his farm for a while. Without even having seen the farm, I foolishly said yes. Why in God's name did I say yes? To be honest, the fact that I didn't run away as soon as I saw the two-storey pile of timber that my uncle calls a house, has convinced me that my uncle is some sort of wizard(Seriously, the house looked like it was held together by sadness and animal faeces). How else could he have stopped me from running away? See? Logic. He's a wizard. So here I am, toiling away under the hot sun, slowly whittling away at the hours I would have to spend in this rural, out-of the way hellhole. Living all the way out here makes me think I should be playing the banjo and procreating with my sister and/or pigs. It's not a good place to be. I can't stand the isolation. The crapshack (purely an affectionate nickname) sits at the end of a long, long, long driveway, that twists and turns so that you can't even see the country road that you turned off. Not that I can even see the driveway from where I am, cleaning out the stable that the horse slept in. Why can't animals clean up after themselves? Having to clean up these stables has made me wonder what horse tastes like. I picked up some hay and walked out, the hay scratching at my bare arms as I moved. Why does everything in this damn place hate me? It either stinks, itches, burns or tastes bad. The only redeeming feature of the pigs is at least they will one day be turned into bacon. I heard a slam. Despite how the rest of the house looks like an old man that gave up a long time ago, and now walks around the house drinking beer with no pants on, it has a sturdy oak front door. A door, that coincidently, is quite capable of making a loud slamming noise. Hope flared inside me. Perhaps my uncle had come to save me from this hell of flies and cows that thought they were smarter than me. Stupid cows. I walked up the path from the stables to the back of the house, between huge patches of overgrown grass that tickled my legs. There was a window at the back of the house, slightly covered in grime, that enabled you to see all the way to the front room where the door was. The first story of the crapshack is essentially one big hallway. Anticipation rising like a kid about to see Santa, I peered into the window. And then like a kid who grows up and realised the Santa at the mall is just a fat alcoholic making 13 dollars an hour misleading children, my hope died. I couldn't see my uncle. To be honest, I didn't really know what I was seeing. The hallway was well lit, the dust and cobwebs that covered the walls clearly illuminated. Rooms branched off the long hallway, and at the end was the open doorway into where the front door sat. The strange thing is, my uncle is a completely normal guy. drinks beer, watches TV, he even plays Xbox. Why did his house have to be so freakin' creepy? I swear he does it on purpose, just to mess with me. My gaze travelled past the well worn walls, taking in the threadbare carpet, and I saw it. The shadow. At first glance, it looked like a man. But then I looked closer. Something was off. The proportions were different to a normal person. And what was that sound? I pressed my ear against the window. And then I heard it. A loud scritch scritch, like someone was scratching a fingernail against the peeling wallpaper. Suddenly, a small localised storm right above my pants appeared, and my pants were soaked. I totally didn't wet myself. Oh crap. The shadow was moving. Towards where I was crouching, staring into the window. I felt my heartbeat quicken, thumping like someone who doesn't really know how to play the drums, but hopes to make up his lack of skill with enthusiasm. I slid down the wall and pressed my back against the wall of the house, praying to God and Vishnu and the Easter Bunny that the thing hadn't seen me. Swish, swish, swish. Swish? What was this? Some sort of musical?
Damn! That was actually pretty good, write some more and you have talent! More people will probably reply. But really good job man! Fuck yo presents!