Downsizing

Chapter 1: A stranger's lurking

       After watching 3 seasons of "butterflies in the meadow," I realized the noise I was hearing wasn't coming from my home's sound system, but rather from outside my house.

It first sounded like boots creeping in my uncle's wheat field. Then, hands brushing in and out of the hand dug watering system; as if scooping up water. My little niece was curled against my side, napping with the background of her favorite show quietly rocking her further into sleep. I smiled to myself when I noticed her face still painted with cat whiskers from earlier in the evening. I let her become her favorite character from the show, the kitty sidekick named "Fierce Meow." Whoever was getting paid for this bullshit was obviously doing better in life financially all by calling a cat fierce.

Whatever it was, my 6 years old niece loved the show the minute it debut on Cartoon Network. While I tried to work Teen Titans into her favorite streamed shows, she had to choose fairies with butterfly wings and cat sidekicks. Now, all I cared about was her safety. I cradled her while wrapping her in a "Butterflies in the meadow" blanket (a treasured item) and began taking her to the family cellar.

Living in the middle of nowhere leaves room for precaution.

"Ray, where are we going? We only got to the third season." I hear Lizzie mumbled into my shoulder blade. A yawn escaped from her lips afterward. She leaned back towards my chest, letting her annoyingly adorable blankets fall onto the floor. "Go..odness... Dam...Milk" I said in a rush, picking up the blanket but trying my hardest not to swear.

I won't be the first to tarnish her innocence at six.

"Yes baby, we will finish all 13 seasons soon. Okay? Someone is outside, so I'm going to take you to the cellar for a while. A T.V is downstairs, along with a cozy bed and your fierce meow sidekick! Meow will have your back." I say once again in a rush, hoping nothing has set off her alarm. She cannot be scared. The cellar is dark enough without the fear of strangers lurking.

I feel Lizzie rising off my chest. She came very close to my face, putting her forehead on to mine. Her pigtails brushed up against my curved nose, making it automatically crunched up. "Ray beat the bad man's ass. Meow will protect me, but nothing out there is going to protect you." Lizzie said this while looking directly into my eyes.

A cold sweat ran firmly down my spine. It felt like oil pouring into my body as if someone misplaced my shirt's hem for their car's funnel. It trapped me into a dead lock, buckling my knees and drifting my mind to somewhere else entirely.

I must have been standing there for a beat too long, for Lizzie tugged on my navy shirt. "Put me down. I will be in the cellar; hold on I need my night light."

I felt her fall out of my grasp just as she explained what's going to happen next. She glided around the house effortlessly, letting her butterfly fairies pants side off her hips. I laughed as she let her Fierce Meow limited addition underwear show.

"HEY! This is no time of giggles. We need to fight! Like Butterfly Princess Emerald." Lizzie replied to my laughter with poise I never expected in a 6 years old. In hand she had a night light, blankets, and a gun.

I nearly screamed my head off.

"Liz, why do you have a gun? Give it."

It was Lizzie's turn to laugh. "Are you a noob? Ray this isn't a gun. It's a BB gun." She belted, letting her laughs echo the small ranch style home.

I swiftly put my hand against her mouth, my eyes wide by fear. In respond, Lizzie only nodded, placed the BB gun in my hand, then ran straight to the cellar.

With BB gun in hand, I hastened my pace to the wheat field. I was wearing softball sweats from last season, an old long navy T-shirt along with my beat up converses. I instantly tied my hair into a ponytail, knowing hair falling into my line of vision wasn't smart for shooting.

I patronized myself for forgetting a jacket in West Wales's weather. The air always has a thick yet dry texture; instantaneously. The thick feeling only came after heavy rain storms, making the field become muddled and my black converse turn from clean to smudge by puddles of soil.

A rustle from around the bend;

A crackle from the east wing.

"Come here you son of a bitch," I whisper to the wheat, treading in and out of the rows without making a sound.

I guess playing hide and go seek here all those years really made a difference.

Although in this moment, I reminded myself that this wasn't a game of hide and go seek. This person could be a killer or maybe a spy.

Scratch the idea of a spy; they wouldn't decide a wheat field was a good place to be "hiking" or dumping dead bodies. It's check at the crack of dawn than every 2 hours until night falls. With my uncle around, it would be checked every 30 minutes.

I made my way the grounds house, deciding whether picking up a rusted shovel would be better than my sorry ass BB gun. The shovel might come in handy before the plastic pellets. I skipped picking up the shovel all while keeping my aim straight.

To practice, I shot a wheat flake, hitting it with precision I wish I gained before this incident.

"Wow." I heard under someone's breath. It sounded hushed; like someone didn't think before they spoke. I swore under my breath, letting it echo around the field. I slowly drifted into the humming breath....

My BB gun aimed, cocked and ready to fire.

I hear the rustling of the wheat, the strains falling onto the trenches. In seconds, I paired my heartbeat to the BB gun fasten on my shoulder. 

   I  aimed once again, knowing I won't miss