Pearl

Chapter Eleven: The Farmer

The farmer blinked with heavy lids, tightening his grip on the wheel of his truck. It was late, much later than he preferred to be out on the road, but he had needed to run a last-minute errand at the not-so-local grocer.

The moonlight flickered through the dense trees that lined the rough road, hitting the pavement intermittently through the canopy. The farmer reached forward on the dash for the radio to help wake him up, glancing down for just a second to hit the right switch.

He looked up and swore.

A figure had appeared in the road, crouched and frozen with eyes staring wide into the headlights. He caught just a blur of pink before his hands slammed back to the wheel and his foot rammed down onto the brake pedal.

The truck skidded, the unweighted back fishtailing as the farmer struggled for control.

He managed to guide the vehicle to a stop, his knuckles white on the wheel and his heart beating itself a new path in his chest. He hesitated only briefly before he remembered the humanoid figure and hopped out of the driver's seat faster than his bones preferred. His old boots crunched down on the loose asphalt as he searched in front, behind, and under the truck, checking for whomever--or whatever--he had just seen.

The farmer lifted his cap and scratched his greying hair as he considered, the cool night breeze calming the fearful sweat from his brow.

Looked like whomever it was had gone, and not by way of his tires.

He glanced around the woods, the misty night air heavy with anticipation. He felt like a balloon that had been rubbed against carpet--full of static electricity, and the eerie sense that he was under surveillance.

After a few steadying breaths, the farmer climbed back into his truck, ever more eager to get himself home. The engine needed some light persuasion as he turned the key, and he almost cussed it out again as his fear spiked at the delay. He made a mental note to check the battery in the morning once it finally rumbled to life and he eased back onto the road.

The woods soon gave way to his farmlands, and not ten minutes later the farmer pulled up the gravel driveway to his two-story home, the only house for miles in either direction. He sighed in relief as he saw that the lights were still out. He hated to leave Charlotte unattended, but had figured she'd be okay with the dogs while he ran a quick errand.

After all, it was Charlotte's birthday tomorrow, and he had realized that he was all out of pancake mix.

The farmer twisted in his seat to grab the few plastic grocery bags that he had placed on the back seat when, through the back window, he noticed an unfamiliar lump beneath the blue plastic tarp in his truck bed.

The hair on his neck prickled as he stared at the lump, unsure if it was the bad light or if there truly was something underneath his truck's rain coat, as he liked to call it.

He considered only briefly before he reached for the small revolver that lived in his glove compartment. Something had him spooked tonight, and he didn't mess with spooks.

He left the truck headlights on as he eased himself out of the cabin, letting the lights reflect off of the painted white garage door to illuminate the night. He cautiously came around the side of his vehicle to the truck bed itself.

Slowly, he lowered the tailgate.

With a direct view he could tell that it wasn't just his imagination--there really was a lump under the tarp.

"You there, come on out, nice and slow," he said, his voice steadier than his hands.

The lump still didn't move, and he began to wonder if he was making a fool of himself. He went through his mind for the last time he had used the truck, trying to remember if he had left anything back there.