The Shape of Goats

The Baby

The baby cried.

Frans stormed out of the house with a toast in his mouth. He checked his watch: seven o'clock. Late, late, late. Late!

Inside a store, he grabbed a copy of the daily newspaper, a pair of scissors, a packet of chopsticks and three bowls. He paid the cashier, stacked everything but the newspaper inside his bag and dashed out.

The baby cried.

A squeak leaked from his still filled mouth as he let his hefty bag hang on his shoulders. Anxious, he checked the clock again: five past seven. Doubtful, Frans headed towards school. Perhaps, he could still make it.

He skimmed the newspaper. Censored images of brutal murder cases filled every corner of the front page. Frans smirked as his fingers passed through the thin sheets of paper and his eyes passed through each paragraph. 'Barbara Turner, murderer of 365 innocent people, vanished from her cell this morning at 3:00 a.m.' Thrilled, he reread the newspaper. He bit his lips and threw the newspaper in a bin.

The baby cried.

The school was almost a desert, with only few teachers wandering around with paperwork. Frans checked the time again: half past seven. He smiled, knowing he had made it, knowing that he had just enough time.

He walked past the maths room where Mr Ahssan, the first victim, used to teach. He remembered that day so clearly that he could relive it whenever he closed his eyes. The gruesome scenery with the skinned and dismembered body of the man flaunted in front of his eyelids. In the end, he recalled the tongue, glued to the board with an incision: "Barbara Turner did it".

The incident occurred after he dismissed his 9 o'clock class. When his next class walked in his room five minutes later, the bloody spectacle welcomed them. Chills escaped Frans's body. Nobody could explain how it all happened. It was physically impossible to commit such a sophisticated crime in a matter of minutes.

It was hilarious to observe so many different faces and emotions. Watching the head teacher worrying about the school's reputation was especially entertaining.

The case was never solved.

Despite the irrationality of the first murder case, the second case put it to shame. The second victim was a police officer who died on his way home after being hit by a driverless truck. The policeman was found not only dead, but already in decomposition as the autopsy revealed he had died two weeks prior. Also, carved on his tongue, was found a message: "Barbara Turner did it".

Family members and friends were left in tears and terrified.

All of the following incidents were as crazy as the first two, and they were all signed with the same message.

Carefully, Frans unlocked the door of the old staff room with the keys he had stolen a day ago and locked himself inside. The room was lit by filtered sunlight coming from a dusty window. He looked around searching for a table, but there were only mountains of dated books and test papers. Frans grunted and created his own table by stacking books and placed his bag on it.

The baby cried.

Scrupulously, he removed everything he had bought and his books.

The baby cried.

Finally, he took the crying baby out of the bag. Her bluish right arm was twisted and immobile, and her broken nose was blood red, due to the weight of the stuff he bought. He should have seen that coming.

"Let's play Barbara... let's play..." murmured Frans, whilst preparing the bowls and the chopsticks.

Author's Notes:

First of all, I wanted to thank you for reading! The Shape of Goats is the very first story I am sharing with the world and I hope you will enjoy it.

There will be 9 chapters in total, and I hope you stick around to discover the mysteries of this world. New chapters will come out every Monday and Friday. If you've enjoyed the read, don't forget to comment and vote!