Chapter Three: Brave

Sheldon pulled Margaret and I behind the snowbank on the other side of the road. "Stay out of sight," he said. His nostrils flared and his breathing was heavy and fast. "I'm going to move closer and try to get a better look at what it is."

"What if it eats you?" Margaret pulled on Sheldon's sleeve.

"It's not going to eat me." Sheldon held onto his shovel with both hands and stepped over the bank and into the field.

Margaret and I peeked over the top and watched Sheldon trudge over the deep snow toward the haystack, beside the big red barn.

"He's so brave," Margaret whispered.

"No he's not," I replied. "He's just nosey."

"Nosey?" Margaret squeaked as she turned to me. "He's not nosey, he's strong, handsome and brave."

I squeezed the snow in my mitt and threw it to the ground. I stood up and stepped over the bank as well. "I am strong, handsome and brave too, you know."

"No, you're not," Margaret replied.

"Yes, I am." I turned around and stepped onto the field. I lifted my little legs and followed Sheldon's giant footprints across the field. “I am strong. I am handsome. I am brave.”

“Wait!” Margaret shouted. “I’m coming too.”

I wasn’t surprised she would follow me. She hated being alone - except when she used the bathroom.

Margaret Swift was an only child. Since she moved next door two years earlier, she had pretty much eaten at our house every day, except when she had the chicken pox for a week. I still remember seeing her face when I rang her doorbell. She looked like a pepperoni pizza.

She came over in the morning for breakfast as well, before the two of us headed off to school.  Her mom was really sick, and needed lots of rest. I didn’t know where her dad was. My parents didn’t mind having Margaret around, because she helped out a lot around our house.

I liked having her around too.

Most of the time.

“Hurry up,” I said, reaching my legs out to find Sheldon’s next footprint.

“Slow down,” Margaret replied.

Sheldon stopped by the gate that was attached to the fence and the big red barn. On the other side, the haystack continued to move. Soft murmurs came from inside it. Bits of straw slipped down from the pile.

“It doesn’t sound like a dragon,” Margaret whispered as she approached the fence. She stood beside Sheldon and held onto his sleeve.

Sheldon didn’t move. His gaze was focused on the mound of yellow straw.

“It sounds like its hurt,” I replied.

Sheldon nodded. His large hands flipped the handle on the gate. He pulled the wooden frame toward him, and stepped into the cow pasture.

The smoke from the forest continued to spread out over us, turning the sky from a bright blue to a creepy grey. I could only imagine how stressed Margaret was getting, considering the amount of pollution that was staining our clean, fresh air.

Another funny sound came from the haystack.

“It sounds sick,” Margaret whispered.

“It sounds like it’s having trouble breathing,” I replied.

Margaret covered her nose. "Probably because the field stinks of cow manure."

Sheldon stepped closer to the hay pile, holding the shovel up over his shoulders.

Peter the dog, yelped a couple times again from across the main road.

“Be careful, Sheldon.” Margaret stepped onto the first plank of wood along the fence. Her eyes were glued to him.

I felt butterflies in my stomach. “You know, if I had a shovel, I would be going in there too.”

Margaret rolled her eyes. “Sure you would.”

“It’s true, when I was seven I once chased a wild dog out of our yard. It had rabies and was foaming from the mouth.”

Margaret shook her head. “You mean, Peter the dog? He wasn’t wild, he just got loose and stole your ice cream. I was there, silly.”

She was right.

I hated when she was right.

Sheldon knelt down in front of the hay. His hands looked all shaky. The muffled murmurs grew louder. The cows grouped together at the far end of the pasture, wagging their tales, quietly mooing to each other.

I called them 'manure-cows' because Farmer Tom and Mr. Hickory used their poop as fertilizer more than their milk. Margaret wrote a letter once to our City Hall complaining that the cows' stinky toots were harming our ozone.

She could have been our next mayor.

If only.

Anyway.

From the other side, through the faded yellow hay, a black rubbery-like arm crept out of the pile. It stretched out, feeling the half frozen straw.

Shelden inched back, eyeing the slithering object.

"Is that a snake?" Michelle asked, trying not to move her lips. She breathed quietly through her nose.

"I think it's an arm, or a leg..."

"Or a tentacle," Michelle added.

Sheldon rose up to his feet, adjusting his grip on the shovel.

The black object slipped back into the haystack.

Sheldon looked back at us, shrugging his shoulders.

I opened the gate and stepped into the snow-covered pasture. "Should we help it?"

A long heavy moan shook the ground below us. Icicles from the roof of the barn dropped down, sinking into the deep snow.

Sheldon stepped back and joined us by the gate. "I don't think it's sick." He took his woolly mitt off and scratched his head. "I think it's -"

The hay burst into the air in all directions, like a bomb had been set off. The black slithery object darted out into the open field, bounding toward the big manure-cows.

The giant animals jumped and kicked about, knocking over a rusted barrel and a snowman Margaret and I made a few days earlier.

Sheldon turned to us. Panic was painted all over his face.

“Run!” he shouted.