“I don’t know.” Christopher frowns as he watches it run back and smash its head as hard as it can. “Some kind of psychotic sheep.”
Our eyes meet. “What is this godforsaken place?” I whisper.
Suddenly we hear squawks from behind us, and we turn to see the ducks running toward us up the hill, full throttle. Their wings are in the air, beaks open and ready to attack.
“Run,” I cry as I take off in the direction of the house.
“Ahh, fuck,” Christopher cries.
I grab the keys from my pocket, the sound of angry ducks coming up close.
I look down at the keys on the overcrowded keyring. “Oh no.”
“What?” Christopher cries as he runs alongside me.
“I don’t know what key it is.”
“How can you not know what fucking key it is?” he cries.
“The car. Run for the car.”
We dive into the car and jump in and slam the doors behind us. The ducks all squawk as they circle us.
“You weren’t kidding.” Christopher pants as he holds his chest, looking down at our attackers. “What do we do now?”
I start the car. “We get the hell out of here.”
We eat lunch, drink some beer, and devise a plan. Two hours later we head back up the driveway. I glance over to see the trusty shovel we bought sitting perfectly on the backseat.
I park the car and hand the house keys to Chris. He frowns as he looks through the keys. “Do you know which one it is at all?”
“I think it’s one of the copper smaller ones, though I can’t be sure.”
He nods. “The coast seems clear.”
“Hopefully they all drowned in the lake,” I mutter as I look around.
“What’s the plan?” he asks.
“I’ll guard you with the shovel, while you get the door open.”
“Okay.” He goes to get out of the car and then turns back. “Don’t slam the door.”
“Good thinking,” I whisper.
We all but tiptoe up to the porch, and Christopher quietly begins to try the keys, while I stand with my back to him, shovel in hand. Waiting for the attack.
“Hurry up.”
“What are you going to do if they come?” he whispers as he fiddles with the lock.
I grip my shovel hard. “I’m going to show them who’s boss around here.”
He chuckles. “Yes, you certainly look like the master of this domain.”
“Fuck off.”
The lock finally gives way and he opens the door. We go in, and I slam the door behind me. “This is ridiculous,” I snap as I march to the kitchen. “I didn’t sign up for this shit.” I begin to open the drawers in a rush. “Where is that envelope?” I open and shut all the drawers and finally locate it. I speed-read the letter and I get to point three:
The ducks will need to be fed their pellets each morning and will become aggressive if hungry.
The pellets are kept in the stables.
Huh?
“What does it say?”
I look up at Christopher in shock. “They’re hungry.”
He frowns.
“We were supposed to feed them.”
“Well, what do they eat?’
“It says here, pellets.”
“Where are they?”
“Stables.”
His eyes widen and he points at me. “If you think I’m going near that psychotic sheep you’ve got another thing coming.”
I pick up my keys. “Come on, we’re going back into town.”
“What for?”
“To buy fucking duck food, what do you think?”
I sit by the open fire and sip my Scotch; red shadows dance across the wall. It’s dark, the room lit only by the lamps and the glowing embers, and a sense of achievement is running thick through my veins. Not only did I unpack a lot of my things today, I sorted the ducks.
Poor bastards were starving . . . actually, they’re girls, so . . .
I smile as the golden fluid warms my throat. Either way, they were happy to receive their stupid pellets.
I look around at my surroundings and pride fills me. I love this house; there’s so much to do and it doesn’t feel like home yet, but I know it will as soon as I hang Harriet’s paintings on the walls.
I’ve had her art close to me for years, not seeing it is weird.
I pick up my phone and glance at the time: 9:30 p.m.
Should I call Kate?
No.
She’s out with her brother, leave her be.
I want to hear her voice.
I only saw her last night, calm down.
I get up and refill my glass, walk back through the house as I look at my surroundings. I love this house, I love everything about it . . . maybe not the ducks, but everything else is perfect.
I might message Pinkie instead . . . no, I want to speak to my girl.
Just a quick call to say goodnight.
My finger hovers over the name Kate. I shouldn’t.
But I will.
I press call and I listen as it rings.
“Hi there,” she purrs.
The sound of her voice brings a smile to my face. “Hi.”