It’s weird to know how an otherwise healthy person is going to die, but I can tell you right now, Basil Langdon is getting murdered by a sheep. Or a goat. Or three pigs, who might actually be one pig deceiving us- I’m still working that situation out.

I know this. She does not. Basil thinks her animal husbandry venture couldn’t be going better. What else is the avatar of God’s last remaining shred of goodwill towards His people to do, I ask you, when her winter-hardened New England farmer of a great uncle leaves his estate to her? Turn that stoney, shadow-fertile land into a sanctuary for rescued animals, naturally. But she couldn’t stop at just any wretched beast. Basil is drawn to take the most unwanted creatures available into her beneficent embrace. Case in point: she hired me.

I’m kidding. My family loves me. I’m being dramatic because I dropped out of mortuary school and the stress fest shows no sign of stopping anytime soon. True story, though, I think my thick aura of self-disappointment helped me get pity hired. So! Here I am. An uneasy young woman fresh out of potential, sitting in the drafts of a two-hundred-year-old barn, up to my knees in the greasy black wool of a sheep who should have been bald two hours ago.

It just keeps growing back. I’m pretty sure I heard her laugh at me earlier. I tell her, “I’ll have the last laugh, Pepper. You know how much money I can make on a never-ending supply of wool?” I don’t. It has to be some amount.

Pepper flicks her ears and saunters off, fully aware I’ve lost this battle.

I find Basil carrying a bucket of fresh slop for the pig(s) along the dirt path, her cheerful gait bypassing loose rocks, tree roots, and puddles like they don’t exist. She’s singing something Nordic-sounding and doesn’t hear me walk up.

“Hey, boss.”

“Oh!” Basil grips the slop bucket she nearly dropped. “Afternoon, Jaye. Everything good?”

“Sure, sure. I mean, the shearing situation is a no-go, but Pepper doesn’t seem to care. The sheep’s happy, the peeps are happy, right?” I actually do hate myself.

Basil cracks a confused smile. “Thought you were off today.”

“What, and leave you all by yourself to welcome the new arrival?” She picks up her pace again, and I follow. “I’ve been in the barn all morning with Pepper.”

“I wondered where she went off to. It’s nice to see you bonding!” Now I’m certain I hear the sheep laugh.

“Absolutely. She’s great. You’d definitely never know she was the sole survivor of a horrific freak accident that destroyed her last home.”

Without a trace of irony, Basil replies, “I know, right! Such a sweetheart. How did you know about our new friend? I only got the call last night.”

“Dark Larry told me in a dream.” I wiggle my fingers in the general direction of the goat pen by way of greeting. Dark Larry stares unblinkingly in salutation. Before Basil can finish laughing and press me, I ask, “What are we getting?”

“A ram!” She sets down the bucket and pulls out a pocket notebook- she has one for each of her animals. “Of the Suffolk variety. Should be arriving any minute. He comes from a very small farm in Maryland.” I start to map it out on my phone. “And guess what! He doesn’t have a name yet. You can do the honors, if you want.”

“Heck yeah. Hey uh, that’s like, a thirteen hour drive at minimum. You just got the call last night? Were they already on their way?”

The pocket book is tucked away and we’re back on track to feed the pig(s). “The man said he was still arranging transport when we spoke.”

I’m hearing: get this thing out of my life and far away from me as soon as humanly possible. Not that I’d expect much different. Basil is three (or five) animals into this, and she already has a reputation. Got a sinister cow or something? Scares you in a way you can’t explain to most people, wouldn’t dare trying to explain? We’re talking well past the point of euthanasia or slaughter. Whatever attempts have been made on the lives of our rescues have been repaid with interest. No, there’s only one recourse. The Langdon Home for Malevolent Livestock.

Basil doesn’t know I call it that.

There’s one pig today. A grey Vietnamese pot-bellied boy, his face an angry wrinkle, weighing in at just under two hundred pounds. “Greg,” I acknowledge him. He grunts.

When there are three Gregs, we remember it as if there have only ever been three. Same deal for when there’s one. I caught on when I found out Basil had two different notebooks going. You might think that the care and feeding of one fully grown pig versus three would be noticeably different, giving us a solid answer, but reality gets shifty around Greg. It’s not a huge priority, what with so much restoration needed around the farm. No big deal as long as he/they seem(s) happy.

Basil clasps her hands in excitement as we both register the sound of a car making its way up the long gravel driveway. It’s time to meet the new guy.

***

I wake again in the dark, my hooves twitching, the face of The Farmer burning in my mind. It’s quiet now. We’ve stopped- that’s what woke me. Not for the first time, but I sense we’re at our destination. Here come the footsteps. One set from behind me and two further away from the front. Set one comes around and opens the trailer I’m in.

A man with long black hair in a thin ponytail gestures toward me as he says, “It’s in here.”

Two women peer inside. The shorter of them laughs (where else would I be?), but eyes her companion and holds her tongue.

“When’s the last time he ate?” the tall one asks.

“Dunno. Tried to give it a bite of my donut this morning, but I guess it doesn’t like Boston cream.”

“I really don’t think- not that I’m trying to tell you how to do your job, of course.“ The tall one clears her throat. “It just doesn’t seem like a good idea, giving a ram a donut. The chocolate, for one thing-”

“Yeah, I’ll definitely remember that for the next time I never do this again. You have any idea what you got yourself into, lady?”

I tire of him and rise to my feet. The man stumbles out of my way as I exit the trailer. The smaller of the women snaps, “She has a name, bucko. Come on, Basil, let’s get…” She eyes me with an appropriate fear. “Let’s get our new pal some hay.”

I am sustained by my purpose, by my singular, flourishing hatred for The Farmer. It’s true I haven’t eaten.

I have feasted.

***

I regret not sticking around to hear about that rude guy’s road trip with the cursed ram. But I saw the bags under Basil’s eyes, and I know she stayed up all night preparing for today. Researching, taking her little notes, fretting over the accommodations. And sure, she might be willfully ignoring certain hostile vibes, but he had no right to talk to her like she doesn’t know what she’s doing.

“Something’s off,” Basil says, cocking her head at the ram. He’s been walking silently beside us, totally unbidden, for half the dirt path now.

“No way,” I deadpan.

“The man told me it was a Suffolk sheep, but those don’t have horns.”

I’ve avoided looking too closely at him. Sure enough, this thing has a malicious pair of curved horns ready and waiting to gore. They’re as pitch black as his face, standing out stark against his white wool.

“Kind of looks like he’s wearing a sweater,” I realize out loud. “I mean, I guess he technically is.”

“He is! Maybe we should name him Sweater! No, no, that’s stupid. You should do the naming.”

“I’ve got something in the works.” So far, I’m working with the letters R and H.

“I’m grateful you came in today. I was so nervous, I could hardly sleep last night.”

“My pleasure, boss. Hey, I got this. Go take a nap.”

“No, I can’t make you do everything!”

“You already did most of it. Gimme that notebook. I’ll brush up on my ram husbandry, you go get some sleep. We’ll regroup to tackle that fence later.”

Basil takes out the notebook, which I now see is white with a black sheep face drawn on the cover. She flips through the first few pages, thinking it over, then hands it to me. “Thanks. Just a quick nap! You’ll hardly notice I’m gone.”

I shoo her off and fish for a pen in my pockets. The ram stops. He lifts his head, watching Basil walk away with a calm and focus that comes across as calculating.

“Whatever you’re plotting, bud, leave her out of it. All she wants in this world is to take good care of you. You can have a pretty sweet life if you just let her.” I cross in front of him to break his line of sight on Basil. “You got bad intentions, intend ‘em toward old Jaye here.” I point to myself. “All right? First, get some hay. No use murdering me on an empty stomach.”

I walk on ahead. After a beat, he follows me, grunting softly.

***

Jaye walks me past the pig and gets me situated in a large pen with plentiful hay. She checks me over for injuries and diseases, of which I am free. I make no protest. I will bide my time and gather my strength here until I am ready for my final confrontation with The Farmer. The little one back home must hold out until then.

Jaye soon begins to chatter at me. “You’re a healthy boy. That’s good to see. Weird about the horns, but whatever. Alright, then.” She gestures around the pen as she flips through the notebook. “It’s all yours. We’ve got to keep you in here for a day or so, according to Basil’s notes. Now, let’s see about a name. Oh. What’s this, a to-do list? Look, I’m on here.”

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She shows me the words I can’t read. “It says ‘talk to Jaye’. Heh, talk to me about what? Of course I just sent her off to sleep. Buddy,” Jaye sighs, lying down next to my pen, “this right here? This is not good for my mental health. Boy, am I gonna dwell on this.” She turns the page and starts writing.

I settle in, trying to shake off the stiffness after my long journey. It will be much longer getting back.

“Think she’s gonna fire me?” Jaye asks absently.

As my spirit is fed by righteous anger, so the hay nourishes my body. They are kinder here than at my home.

“I’m sorta already in the middle of reinventing myself. Dunno if I have it in me to start over again. Not sure if you can relate.”

She’s right. I cannot. My purpose has always been steady and total. Still, my attention isn’t needed elsewhere at the moment, and if they grow comfortable around me, escape will be all the easier. I bleat at her.

“Yeah, didn’t think so. Oh! I got it!” The notebook is back in my face. “Herb. Homicidal Evil Ram Buddy. You like it?”

I’ve met few humans, Jaye, but something tells me you’re a strange one.

“Herb,” she laughs, “you don’t know the half of it.”

Jaye pushes herself off the ground and walks away as my certainty solidifies- that girl just answered me.

***

The Mortuary Science Program was supposed to be a perfect fit. Every time it came up, the conversation went: 

I say what I’m doing after high school. They say, “That’s perfect for you!” They look embarrassed because wow, what a weird thing to tell someone. But I’m laughing, then they’re laughing, and we’re both like, “It is, though.”

I like dark stuff. Death doesn’t bother me. I’ve always been a huge weirdo, and that’s great. I’m great! I’m also tired. And lonely. I’m actually the worst. And now that I remember the loneliness, I’m even more tired. I was supposed to find my people in school. Then I had to put off going to save up some money, then help take care of my aunt, then suddenly it had been years. After all that time, I guess starting school had taken on the appearance of starting my life.

It turns out seeing a dead body in person is incredibly different from thinking about death as a concept. I still get sick if I let myself think about it too much. Throwing up right in front absolutely everyone didn’t do much to help me feel like I fit in.

I really hope Basil isn’t going to fire me. I think I’d still be stuck in bed right now if she hadn’t come into my aunt’s hardware store and mentioned needing an extra hand six months ago. 

One thing that will definitely not help me keep my job here is striking up conversations with the animals. It’s one thing to blather around them; tons of people talk at stuff. Getting caught deep in dialogue with an ungulate is another matter.

I wasn’t going to deal with the fact that I’ve been hearing Basil’s animals talk until I’d finished getting back on my feet. I don’t even have an apartment yet. No one can expect me to process sudden onset zoolingualism and a spine-crushing housing market at the same time.

At least Herb doesn’t seem so bad. Definitely murderous, but he has some reason in him, too. I think he could fit in here. If he wants to. Maybe I could even get over myself and help him do it.

In the meantime, Pepper’s ocean of wool isn’t going to move itself. Probably.

***

It doesn’t take me long to get the lay of the land. Basil lets me out of my pen on the second day, and I graze, observing. The other animals are like me. Divine and merciless justice resides in them. I fear they’ve turned away from it, however.

My fellow sheep tells me her work is already done. The goat denies his nature altogether, though it couldn’t be more plain, and tries to lure me off my path with talk of rehabilitation.

“Not every human mistake has to have horrible consequences,” he suggests. “Some people learn the error of their ways by, you know, talking stuff out.”

“And anyway,” one of the pigs chimes in, “who ever said it was our problem? We have our own lives to lead. You don’t have to put up with being nothing more than someone else’s punishment.”

I don’t argue with them. The lives they’ve chosen are perfectly fine for them.

I’ll be leaving in the predawn hours, well-rested and fed, and none shall stand between me and that arrogant, brutish, loathsome Farmer. I’d only like to speak to Jaye one last time before I go.

***

Basil doesn’t mention the to-do list, having no idea that I’ve seen it, and I chicken out of bringing it up at every turn. My voice of reason, ever meek, reminds me that it’s most likely nothing- a scheduling adjustment, a favor, a question about bones or funerary practices or whatever she’s aware I’m into. I fret all sense and logic away as I add a fresh coat of paint to the tool shed.

Herb walks up behind me. He knows that I sense him there. Basil’s inside the house learning the finer points of grant writing, so I set my brush down.

“Hey, Herb.”

“Jaye.”

“Something on your mind?”

“The others weren’t sure you could actually hear them. The goat is convinced, but the pigs aren't buying it.”

I find I’m too uncomfortable being idle, so I get back to painting after all. “Not sure I buy it, either.”

“Why talk to me?”

“A feeling.”

Herb comes around my side to get a good look at my face. He asks, “What about?”

“That we might understand each other.” I’m blushing from how ridiculous that sounds, but Herb only studies me and waits for more. “I used to be very purpose-driven, too. Got shipwrecked, though. Been lost at sea for a while. You probably don’t have the context for that metaphor, huh?”

“I am blessed with much knowledge. I see now that my purpose is a blessing as well.”

“Wanna tell me about it?”

Whether indulging me or his own wants, he agrees.

Herb tells me of a farmer and his wife, Jess. How she loved him more than he deserved. She thought a baby would soften his heart, make him the man that he used to be when they first met. How she learned too late that he had never really been that man. Herb speaks of escape plans falling through, of cries for help ignored, of violent anger that never relented. Not even when she held their little boy in her arms.

Finally, he explains how she knelt in the hills surrounding her home and pressed her palms into the grass. She begged the earth to protect her son. She sensed, rightly, that she didn’t have much longer, and desperately sought some way to save him. 

Herb’s mother came by that evening and ate from the same grass. Though the farmer had no male sheep, she gave birth to Herb five months later, on the same day Jess went to her grave.

I gather, “You’re going back there to kill The Farmer.”

“I am.”

“You don’t have to. You know? I could call the cops on that guy or something.”

“You wouldn’t be the first. They did nothing before. They’ll do nothing again.”

I wipe sweat from my forehead with my sleeve. “Okay, who needs the cops? Nowadays, we got these things called true crime podcasts.” Side-eyeing him, I say, “That was funnier in my head.”

“Why would you have me abdicate my responsibilities?”

“I’m just trying to understand the full situation. I wasn’t lying when I said you could have a good life here. A great one. You didn’t even choose this purpose, and I want you to know what you’re giving up for it. You deserve a choice.”

“I see. Thank you for your concern, Jaye. You speak much the same as the pigs. Perhaps you will find a better understanding between yourself and them.”

With a polite nod, Herb walks away, ending our conversation. 

Guilt seems to add ten pounds to my paint brush. I’ve failed again. On top of that, I lied. It’s true that I want Herb to have a choice. But now that I’m alone and being honest with myself, it was for Basil’s sake I asked him to stay, not his.

The sun’s nearly on the horizon. Whatever else I might screw up, I determine that the tool shed will be at least one shade of grey darker than it was this morning, and hurry on.

***

I rise before dawn. It’s an easy jump over my fence. I wet my dry tongue with dew from the cool grass, and I make my way out of Basil’s farm.

A woman I have never seen before, but who I know well, greets me at the gate. I see much of her son in her. Jess’s form seeps into the morning fog, hardly holding together, as she tells me, “I will guide you back to him.”

“Let us go, then.”

“Is that a ghost?” Jaye jogs up to us and comes to a halt beside me, gasping, “A for real ghost?”

I step between her and the apparition. “Why have you come, Jaye?”

“I’m not really sure. Felt right. Look, um.” She pinches the bridge of her nose, thinking. “Basil’s going to be heartbroken. You know that, right?”

Jaye is being honest with me today, so I reward her in kind. “I honored your request when we last spoke. I took the time to think about what you said. This is my choice.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that figures.” She kicks the grass. “It was cool of you to hear me out, man. I feel… a little silly being here. Is that really a ghost?”

“Do you only see one?”

She answers me with a look of displeased surprise. A gaze out at the horizon reveals many distant but attentive shapes yet invisible to her. I tell Jaye, “You’ve concentrated strange energies on this farm, gathering the other animals and I. Some have taken notice.”

“Oh. Great. I’ll watch out for that,” she sighs.

“See that you do. Now, please, do not feel silly for being here. I wished I had said something yesterday.”

“Really?”

“I am leaving, it’s true.” I measure my words to get them right. “That child is my charge. There is no manmade force that can stop me, and no natural force that wants to. I sense you do not really want to, either.”

“Hope that doesn’t make me a bad person.”

“I’m not the one to ask.” She smiles at this remark. I go on, “I wanted to thank you before I go.”

“What for?”

“You and Basil genuinely cared about me.”

She drops down to sit at eye level with me. “You can take that right out of the past tense. We’ll still care about you when you’re gone.”

“Think of something kind to tell Basil, please. And you should know that you are not adrift.”

With a smirk, she asks, “How do you figure?”

“You were terrified when you named me. Though I still do not understand the nature of your crisis, I recognized it as one, and it did nothing to stop you from granting me something no one else ever has. Your instincts are steadfast and sure. They’ve brought you to where you are for a reason. I will give your words back to you now: You could have a ‘pretty sweet’ life here.”

Moving slowly so as to be sure of my comfort, Jaye gives me a long, gentle hug as she laughs. “I’m really glad I decided to talk to you.”

“And I am glad I decided to lull The Farmer into a false sense of security by allowing him to send me away.”

“Really worked out great for everyone who didn’t murder the mother of their child.”

“Indeed.”

I turn to Jess, who has waited patiently as we said our goodbyes, and move to depart. 

Jaye says, “Hey, Herb. You got any plans for after?”

I blink. “I know only what I must do. Nothing else matters.”

“Yeah, well, after is gonna come either way. Just know you’ve always got a home here, ok?”

To my surprise, I believe her.

***

“I just wish I knew how he got out,” Basil says for the tenth time today as we retreat from searching for the evening. “You don’t think a wolf could have gotten him?”

“We’d have seen signs, for sure. I’m positive he’s okay.” I feel bad letting her spend the entire day looking for him, but I didn’t know what to say. I still don’t. “He’ll turn up. I promise.”

“You seem so sure. I hope you’re right. I just feel like I failed him.”

“You did everything right. If anything, it would’ve been my fault, remember? I put him to bed for the night.”

Basil grabs my arm, alarmed. “No! Please don’t think I blame you.”

This is getting to be more than I can take. I’m starting to sweat over here. “O-okay, look, it’s nobody’s fault. We’ve done everything we can for now. Hey, the goat treats came in today. Apple flavored! I bet Dark Larry would love to try some.”

“Yeah.” She takes a deep, steadying breath. “Which is weirder? If I bring the animals into the house tonight, or if I sleep in the barn with them?”

“Please don’t do either of those things.” I laugh, but her quick smile in response isn’t very convincing. “I know Herb is safe. I… I feel it. That probably sounds weird, but it’s true.”

“Thanks. Thank you, Jaye. That means a lot.”

An awkward silence carries us to her front door. Just as she unlocks it, I blurt out with no plan whatsoever, “Was there something you wanted to talk to me about?”

Basil looks at me, utterly innocent. “I don’t think so. Why?”

“Uh, I shouldn’t have brought it up. It’s nothing. There was just, like, some old to-do list in Herb’s notebook that I happened to see- I wasn’t snooping or anything, it was just kinda in there, I guess, I mean. Yeah. It had ‘talk to Jaye’ on it?” I long to die on the spot. My body can feed the Gregs.

Her eyes widen as a nervous smile fixes itself on her face. I’m thinking: I knew it, I knew this was bad news, I should have left it alone, I’m such an idiot. Then she shouts, “The wool market!”

“What?”

“You had plans to sell Pepper’s wool. You have to get it washed first, and the companies that wash wool are backed up for years. I wanted to warn you about that. So, I guess we’re stuck with it for now!”

Once it occurs to me that I have to say something, I sputter, “Okay.”

“But since I’ve got you, there was something else I wanted to say. I’m just really happy that you’re here. At the farm, I mean. Things have been better since you arrived. Well!” She claps and says abruptly, “I better get to bed. I’m exhausted. Good night.”

Basil dashes inside. From the other side of the door, she hastily adds, “Thanks again,” before I hear her lock it and walk away.

I smile to myself. Maybe I’m not completely out of potential. My career in keeping Basil from being shuffled off this mortal coil by a farm animal lives on.

There’s only one more thing to take care of before I head home. I swing by the barn to make sure everyone’s comfortable. Basil has left a little rose in Herb’s stall, and the sight of it breaks my heart.

“He’ll be back,” I reassure myself. “The rest of you better be on your best behavior. I can’t have anything else go wrong, all right?”

Pepper gives an amused sigh. One of the Gregs says, “I’m telling you, she’s just weird. She’s not actually communicating with us.”

“Hey!” I turn to the Gregs. “It can be both!”

The animals all stare at me in amazement, too stunned to answer. At last, Dark Larry says:

“Called it.”