Domestication

Copyright © 2024 Shannon Knight

E-Book ISBN: 979-8-9876393-9-9

Paperback ISBN: 979-8-3288643-0-5

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law, such as brief quotations.

This is a work of fiction. The story is a product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Winter Moon Press, 2024

First print edition in the United States

Cover illustration © Savanna Mayer

Contents

Part I

1.The Head Box

2.Deep Pack

3.Captive

4.Jolene

5.Scythe

6.Useless Creatures

7.Little Pig, Little Pig

8.Sheep's Clothing

Part II

9.Territory

10.Bones

11.Entitled

12.Howl

13.Fenced In

14.Predators

15.Bite the Hand that Feeds

16.Burnt Offerings

17.Pack

18.Food Chain

19.Tanning Solution

20.Transformation

Thank You!

Acknowledgements

About the Author

1

The Head Box

Janie was the only person to exit the Greyhound on a rural highway beside a shuttered building with a battered padlock on the front door. The bus pulled away, leaving her in isolation. Everything was exactly as had been described to her, which was reassuring, but the building didn’t look as if it were temporarily closed, and she couldn’t remember the last town they’d passed. She’d have to get her return ticket online.

Janie shifted her pack and started walking down the gritty shoulder of the highway. She wasn’t used to physical exertion, but that was half the reason she’d decided this was a good idea. Daily exhaustion would be the perfect solution for her heavy thoughts. More than anything else, she didn’t want to think anymore.

The summer heat pressed down on her, and mosquitoes buzzed around her face. The dank musk of skunk made it hard to breathe. Janie saw the telltale black and white of the creature on the road ahead of her. Its intestines streaked out across the highway. Janie noted the way the red was like a gigantic exclamation mark amongst the black and white of both the corpse and the highway.

What’s black and white and read all over? she thought. Her husband used to tell jokes like that. The answer had been a newspaper till they got married. Then it was a nun rolling down a hill.

Her husband was far away, and she was done thinking about him.

She stepped over the roadkill. Its black eye was clouded over, and a small pink tongue had escaped its gaping mouth. A series of stings caused her to slap at her neck. She looked at the tiny blood smears on her palm. At least these blood suckers were exactly what they seemed to be.

Janie almost missed the turn-off, which was saying something since she was on foot. Her contact had directed that she should head into the woods at the marker tied to a vine maple. Sure enough, a yellow bit of plastic wilted in the heat. Janie high-stepped through the outer barrier of marionberry thorns till ferns began.

Proceeding further into the forest felt right. The physical isolation would match her social isolation. Janie was tired of living a pretty lie.

By the time Janie had decided she needed to leave her husband, she had already been separated from both her family and friends, so she had no one to seek advice or help from. She discovered an online support group that explained her isolation wasn’t her fault. In fact, it was a standard abuse technique to separate women from those dear to them because women with close friends and family were able to leave abusers more easily.

Janie had walked out of her husband’s house wearing white linen, so nothing unusual would appear on the cameras. Her stowed pack had contained a change of clothes before she’d even arrived at the first bus station. Prior to that, earning and hiding the necessary money had been a Sisyphean task. Getting as far as Janie had on her own already felt like a noteworthy triumph, as if she were traveling east of the sun and west of the moon.

Her new friends from the online support group were the ones to suggest this destination.

It’ll be perfect, Caroline had said. The most dangerous time is when you leave and through the finalization of the divorce. Disappear for a while. He would never find you there. Besides, going somewhere completely different, learning new skills, building your strength—that’s just what you need.

Trudging down what couldn’t be more than a deer trail, Janie felt the weight of every item in her pack. Once upon a time, she’d been athletic. She’d liked to go to dance classes and lap swim. But she’d given that up, piece by piece, as she’d spent more and more time aiming to appease her husband. She had become physically weak.

Janie turned around, looking back towards the highway, but there was no sign of it. The rustle of pine needles far above accentuated her isolation. The forest wrapped her in shade, but she was still sweating.

At least Caroline had been right on one front. There was no way he’d find her here.

When the animal trail connected with a much wider path that had been mown to shin-level, Janie sighed in relief. This juncture marked the final step in the directions leading to her destination. She wanted food and a shower. Her T-shirt beneath her pack was drenched with sweat, and she wondered how much longer she would need to walk before she could eat and use a bathroom. The wider path meant that the sun glared down between the fir trees, and Janie was glad for the baseball cap she’d purchased as a disguise for her bus trip.

There’s something about time that’s flexible. Days and years can pass as you strive towards small goals: achieve the promotion, keep dinners interesting, fix your marriage. Somehow Janie found herself starting over in her forties.

The distinct rumble of a motor broke her thoughts. Janie trudged along, listening to the sound for a long time before the tractor appeared, rounding the grassy bend behind her. It was John Deere green, or it had been when it was new. The sunlight reflected off the metal, and Janie covered her eyes against the glare. When she lowered her hand, an older woman smiled down at her from the tractor seat.

You must be Janie! the woman said. She pulled a work glove from one hand to shake. Her hand was cool and dry in Janie’s. The woman wore a wide-brimmed hat and a light-weight, button-up flannel. Janie guessed her to be about sixty years old. I’m Roberta. Call me Rob.

Rob hadn’t turned off the engine of the tractor, so her voice was raised, and Janie didn’t feel like shouting to be heard, so she didn’t.

Rob had shoulder-length hair. Her pale skin was faintly lined, with heavier lines beside her mouth, between her brows, and on her forehead. Janie thought she must be an expressive woman. Rob wasn’t wearing any visible jewelry. Janie liked her for that. Women weren’t decorative ornaments.

Jump on the back. Rob pointed behind her.

The back of the tractor had a large attachment that Janie identified as a mower. It was lifted up in the air high enough not to drag. Resting on the mower was a large rubber bucket with a swarm of flies hovering above it.

Janie wasn’t sure about the mower taking her weight, but she hopped on as instructed. Her feet ached from the hike, and she was pretty sure she’d developed at least one blister. The tractor jerked forward, and Janie grabbed at the bucket for balance, shifting the entire mass in her direction. The stench was such a surprise that her gorge rose.

Beneath the haze of flies, the bucket was full to the top with sheep heads. Like the skunk on the road, their eyes were clouded, and their wool saturated with blood. Some were in a heavier state of decay than others. A fly landed directly on the open eyeball of the top sheep’s head, and Janie watched in horror at the familiar sight of the fly rubbing its front legs together as if it weren’t resting directly on the exposed cornea.

The putrefaction was intense. Janie aimed to balance against the continued vibrations of the tractor’s engine while not giving in to the urge to vomit. The tractor shifted, heading up a hill, and something behind the bucket started a rapid slide. Janie’s hand shot out. Her heart squeezed hard as she realized how close her fingers had come to the sharp edge of a hatchet, sleek and sticky with blood. Janie slid her hand down to the shaft, securing the tool from sliding any further.

The road switched to gravel, and they hit a steep hill. Janie held onto the bucket to keep it from sliding. At the top, Rob turned off the engine. Janie still felt the vibrations in her hands, and the roar of the engines was exchanged with a roar of silence.

Good catch, Rob said, pointing at the hatchet. I didn’t want you to arrive to a bunch of sheep corpses, so I was taking the bodies out for sky burial, but I got behind on my chores. I should’ve taken the heads off here. Rob shook her head. I plumb forgot, then all I had on me was the hand axe.

Janie tried to imagine Rob hacking the sheep’s heads off with the hatchet, but she couldn’t picture it.

Rob swept the sweat from her forehead. Anyway, those— She pointed at the heads. Go in there. That’s the head box. She gestured to a structure a bit like a raised garden bed, except it had a screen across the top. Set your bag aside, and help me get to work.

Janie let her surprise show. I could use a toilet and some food, she said.

Rob nodded. Me, too. Use the woods if you can’t wait. Sooner we get this done, sooner we can eat. Your hands are already bloody, so the lack of gloves doesn’t even matter.

Janie gaped. Rob pulled the heavy screen off the top of the box, grabbed a shovel from beside it, and started digging. Janie set down the hatchet and flexed her hand, coated in dry blood. She guessed Rob had a point. She was here to work, after all.

Janie pulled the head bucket, but it was too heavy to lift.

Grab them by the horns. Horns aren’t like antlers. They’re part of the skull, Rob said.

Janie closed one hand around a spiraling horn and lifted.

Careful not to get the horns hooked together. We want to keep them pretty, Rob explained. They go in the head box, and the maggots and such clean all the flesh and wool off. Then they can go up on the tin roof to bake till they’re nice and clean. That’s how people want them. The skulls with the largest, most uniform horns sell for the most.

Janie passed the heads to Rob. They dripped a trail right across her new boots.

See this one. Rob held a head aloft. The flesh had already begun to liquify, so that it slid wet from around the eye sockets. The eyes were already gone. Perfect horns. Double curled.

Rob placed the head in the soil. Janie blinked a couple times, realizing she hadn’t looked at the perfect horns. Bile was flooding her mouth. She swallowed convulsively, but she couldn’t keep it down.

Janie vomited into the weeds.

Yeah, I really should have taken care of some of these earlier. It’s just quite a trip out to sky burial. Rob was covering the heads with soil. She dragged the heavy grate back over the top of the box. I need to lock this or those clever raccoons will get in here.

Janie wiped her mouth on the shoulder of her shirt. She wanted a sink to rinse her mouth and wash her hands.

We’ll just spray out the bucket, clean up the axe, and go eat, Rob said, awkwardly descending from the locked head box.

Janie stared down at her bloody hands. She could wipe them in the grass or on her jeans. She opted for the grass. The blood disappeared in the green, but her hands were still too gross to touch her bag, so she wiped them on her jeans, too. They were working jeans anyway. Then she grabbed her pack and the hatchet.

Welcome to Sweet Grass Farm, Rob said.

Janie glanced again at the grass where she’d wiped her hands.

Only when they started down the gravel road did Janie notice Rob’s heavy limp. She couldn’t tell if it was her hip or knee that was giving her the trouble. Maybe both.

Up at the house, you’ll meet Howard. Don’t mind him. Rob’s mouth set in a hard line.

Janie immediately thought of her husband, his face angry. The food wasn’t ready, or it was ready but cold by the time he got there, or it wasn’t what he was in the mood for, or, even worse, he was home before her. Janie shivered. Then she flexed her bloody fingers on the hatchet shaft.

The house wasn’t much to look at. It was small with a steep, tin roof. The light was changing, going into evening, so Janie might not have identified the lumps on the roof as heads if Rob hadn’t just explained the process to her.

A disorganized group of ducks quacked up next to them. Their white feathers almost glowed in the low light. All of their heads were turned to the side, so that their shiny, black eyes pointed at Janie. Something about the sideways movement made her think of rattlesnakes.

I need to let the ducks in, Rob said. Don’t worry about the dogs. They’d rip you to pieces if they could, but I’ve got them chained. The hose is right there. Rob pointed and walked away.

Janie picked up the hose. A thunderous bark caused her to drop it. The unseen dog growled deep in his throat, the gurgling suggestive of Janie’s flesh being swallowed down and digested. The guard dog pounded out a series of additional barks. Further away, another canine joined in. This one had a whining curl to his voice, like a coyote howling. The two continued non-stop as Janie picked up the hose and rinsed out the blood. She was not welcome here. The dogs wanted her gone. In the rapidly dimming light, Janie couldn’t tell how successful she was at her rinsing task. Her eyes strayed towards the closest dog, trying to locate him in the darkness. Not seeing the danger made it worse.

Clean enough, Rob said, and Janie yelped. She’d had no idea Rob was back at her side. Leave the bucket. Bring the hand axe.

Janie followed Rob’s silhouette towards the porch light. The porch itself wasn’t big, but it contained a couple wooden chairs, an old washing machine, and a tool rack. Rob leaned the shovel with the other tools and took the hatchet from Janie.

Never leave the screen door open, Rob instructed as they walked inside. The blood suckers are bad enough outside.

The rooms inside were small. The kitchen was decorated in a yellow and orange floral laminate. A table for four had two dinner settings laid out. Janie’s stomach growled. Whatever they were having for dinner smelled really good. She hadn’t eaten anything all day. She’d been too preoccupied, worried that she wouldn’t reach her destination.

Howard! Rob shouted. I told you to set the table for three!

Rob set the hatchet on the counter by the sink. In the bright kitchen light, Janie could see that she’d done a poor job rinsing the gore off it.

Inhospitable bastard, Rob muttered.

Rob had walked in without removing her boots, and Janie could see from the tracks on the floor that there was no need to ask about leaving a trail.

Bathroom’s in there. Rob pointed at a narrow door. I’ll want it after you.

Janie went straight to the sink, washing her filthy hands. Maybe blood on her hands would be a regular event here. She looked at her jeans and wondered if she should try and scrub where she’d wiped them with blood earlier. Her usual standards of cleanliness already felt out of reach on the farm.

Maybe that was okay.

The bathroom was tiny, but it had a full tub, the porcelain stained brown from the water. Cheap drugstore shampoo and soap set on the tub rim. Two toothbrushes were in a cup by the sink.

You ungrateful wretch! Rob shouted. We just lost the last one, and here we have new help, and you can’t even set her place for dinner!

Janie used the facilities, feeling awkward that she was overhearing their private conversation.

It’s not like people are lining up to work out here! We don’t have luxurious accommodations! We can’t pay fancy wages. Rob sounded exasperated.

Janie returned to the kitchen. A tall, gangly man sat at the table. He was wearing blue and grey plaid that looked soft and thin from many washings. His hair was faded with age, but his scraggly beard was still auburn. He didn’t look up when she entered.

Sit right here. Rob smiled at her, pulling out a chair next to where Howard was sitting. Fill your bowl from the Crockpot. You eat as much as you like!

Rob patted her arm as she passed her, taking her turn in the bathroom. Janie took her bowl to the slow cooker on the counter. It was some kind of stew, but not beef. She ladled her bowl full and sat back at the table. Howard was taking bite after bite from his own bowl, not saying a word, and Janie didn’t feel the slightest inclination to make friendly with him.

You’re eating Isabelle, Rob said as she sat back down. Fresh as can be! You always eat well on a farm. You helped me with her head today.

Janie paused, watching Rob dig into her meal. The image of the rotting heads was still prominent in her memory. She felt her gorge return, but she swallowed it down.

Isabelle, Janie said. She’d never known the name of the animal she was eating before. Those heads had horns.

Rob grinned at her. Yes! The males aren’t the only ones with horns. We raise Icelandics here. You can link them back to the Vikings. Taste that? Not soapy at all, and Isabelle was an old sheep! That’s gourmet meat for city folks.

Janie had never had mutton before, so she couldn’t compare, but the meat was tender. She would never have guessed it was from an old sheep.

Howard stood up and took his bowl to the sink. There was something odd about his gait, too. Between the way he walked, his twiggy body, and his scraggly hair, he looked quite a bit like a scarecrow. A dog she hadn’t noticed stayed right at Howard’s side. It had a shaggy coat, floppy ears, and serious eyes that never left the man. Howard busied himself at the sink for a bit before sitting back down at the table with the hatchet. It was clean except a tendril of something that Howard scooped up with a finger and flicked towards the sink. Janie decided to keep her eyes on her bowl, but her appetite had already fled. Howard oiled down the blade and rubbed some wax into the shaft. The task should have been quick, but he kept at it.

You done then? Rob asked. Her own bowl was empty.

Janie looked down at the remaining chunks of Isabelle and nodded.

The dogs will eat that right up. Let me show you where you’re staying.

Janie followed Rob back out the front door, the screen door bouncing shut behind them. The outside dogs immediately started barking their unwelcome.

We don’t keep lanterns up here, but I’ll use a headlamp for you. A ray of light shot out through the darkness. Rob looked back at her, momentarily blinding Janie with light. There’s a lantern in the barn.

The light swung with the rhythm of Rob’s steps as she headed out into the night. Janie, pack in hand, kept close behind her.

Howard doesn’t have much faith in women, Rob said. The fool thinks we’re weak. Any woman proves otherwise. We’re shedding and bleeding the linings of our organs every month for most of our lives, for Christ’s sake. Men don’t even know what strength is.

Janie had not felt strong in quite a long time.

The barn was a mountain compared to the house. A chorus of baaing commenced upon their arrival. It was harder to breathe inside; the air was thick with dust and mildew. A sea of eyes reflected back in the darkness. There must have been a hundred eyes.

They’ll be even worse when I turn on the lantern. They see a human and ask for feed. Your bathroom is in here. There’s no electricity to the barn, but I do have an extension cord running down here if you need it. You can use the lantern, a headlamp, or just navigate it in the dark. It’s no big deal when you know the place. We always keep a lantern in the bathroom.

A sudden light illuminated a bathroom even smaller than the one in the house. There was a toilet, a utility sink, and a plastic stall shower. The lantern was battery-operated.

Fair warning, there’s no hot water. We’ve got heat tape on the pipes, though, so it won’t freeze solid come winter.

Janie had no plans to hang around till winter, and she didn’t think she’d ever said anything to Rob that might lead her to think this was more than a seasonal arrangement. Maybe Rob thought she had potential.

I’m not used to cold showers, Janie said.

Rob shrugged. We can get used to all sorts of stuff.

Wasn’t that the truth. When her husband had become demanding, Janie had thought she’d rise to the occasion. She was a good cook. She became a great one. No matter what she did, the expectations increased. She hadn’t even noticed as she’d set aside all the various ways she’d used to spend her time. Everything became about her husband.

Speaking of weak— Rob snatched a toothbrush from the edge of the sink and tossed it in a fifty-gallon trashcan set outside the door. The last help was a man. He couldn’t take it. Ran away. Rob turned off the lantern.

Janie followed Rob back out into the main barn where the sheep chorused. Then they were outside again, and the guard dogs slathered and barked.

They’ll get used to you eventually. I’ll have you start feeding them soon, Rob said, walking along an exterior fence line. Your camper is away from the house enough for privacy and away from the barn enough for fresh air. Like everything on this farm, it’s got its problems.

In the beam of Rob’s headlamp, Janie saw the little camper. It was rounded and metal, maybe ten-feet long. Rob pointed at a key in the door.

Door’s broken. It’s an old camper from the 1950s, so you can’t blame it. There are two locks, one you work from the outside and a deadlock on the inside. The door falls open if it’s not locked, and you don’t want this door open, or you’ll have more to deal with than the bloodsuckers. Chickens will shit everywhere. Then you’ll end up with mites. Rob shook her head. Those red mites will live half a year without eating chicken blood. They dine at night. You get an infestation, and there’s no solution except burning the whole place to the ground. Some parasites are like that.

Janie would be keeping that door closed.

Rob pointed to the cut in the door screen. Then she demonstrated putting her right hand through the opening to reach the interior door latch.

Sometimes the interior lock gets stuck, too. This way you can open it right up. Rob opened the door and ushered Janie into the darkness.

You ever get fully locked out? Janie asked.

"That’s how we