When Sheep Get Rabies

Introduction
The Tractor is a huge, megalomaniac red tractor with a deep, booming voice (complete with maniacal laugh) and an all-consuming desire to try and kill me. It’s smart, with an innate ability to track me down, and it will stop at nothing to get at me. It can also grow, and occasionally shape-shift to disguise itself (not to mention it can get a nasty array of tools to drag behind it, like grain threshers).

Did I mention it can rearrange the landscape and summon tornados with glowing yellow eyes? Yeah. And a whole lot more. The Tractor is my nemesis of the dreamworld, but I like The Tractor dreams. They are always interesting, original, and weirdly thrilling.

Make of my dreams what you will; I hope they can offer some (bizarre) entertainment.

Disclaimer: Any semblance to reality is strictly coincidental.

When Sheep Get Rabies

The sky is gray outside; it seems to drain the color out of the scenery. I feel the oppressive atmosphere as I sit in my living room. Something’s wrong, and it’s going to get worse--isn’t that the way it always is? I’m fiddling with a notebook and pencil, sensing a story idea that wants to be written down, but my mind isn’t quite grasping it. Raucous shouts come from the kitchen, startling me. I leap up, my muscles tense, and I stare through the wall into the kitchen. Damn.

Black-garbed bandits are chasing my sister around the table, all of them wielding rifles. I know they’re agents of The Tractor. Few other psychos invade my property who aren’t agents of my nemesis.

“Jessie, over here!” I shout, waving my arms to get her attention.

I get it, but the bandits also notice me. They run towards me, grinning behind their masks. Jessie disappears into her room and slams the door. The bandits ignore her and charge at me. Without a second thought, I spin around and jump onto the back of the couch. Ripping the window out of the wall, I hurl it at my pursuers, satisfied at the way the glass shatters, and I jump out the window.

For a moment, I think I’ll fall a long ways, it seems to take so long. Then I hit the ground on my feet and jump up. I don’t wait to see if the bandits are following me; they’ll probably go out the front door, rather than leap out the window. I run into the field on the east side of the house, eluding the tall, twisted shrub bushes sprinkled about. Ahead is a tall line of pine trees, a natural border that separates my property from my neighbors’. Cover, perfect. I head for the tree line, knowing it’s the best way to lose my pursuers.

I glance over my shoulder. The bandits are creeping after me, cautious and slow. I can easily outrun them. Smirking, I bring my attention ahead of me once more.

The grass in the field is up to my waist, brown and thick, and it slows my progress. Someone needs to mow this place. I drop to a crouch so I can knife my lean body through the grass better. Finally, I reach a post-fence strung with barbed wire that fronts the line of pine trees.

I glance behind, but didn’t see the bandits any loner. The dirt road on my right looks much wider than normal, and two cars zoom by with headlights blazing (even though it’s the middle of the afternoon). I swallow. If the cars are on the road, it means The Tractor is somewhere nearby. It is after me again. I’m not surprised, nor, for that matter, all that frightened. It’s more a dull, resigned feeling--and excitement. I love a chase, and I’m going to give The Tractor something to remember before it ever catches me.

The terrain morphs before my eyes and turned into a completely different field, an over-grown stretch of farm-land that used to be a cornfield, but had been left to seed for five years. The gray sky darkens; I sense The Tractor getting close. I unsling a rifle from my shoulder and decide to hunt some deer since I’m in the field. The range of trees to my left--maples, birch, juniper wreathed in grape vines--looks prospective and I slink in that direction. Sure enough, a herd of deer stands grazing on a pile of corn. Then I spot him: an enormous twenty-point buck, right in the herd’s midst. Just as I take aim, the buck sees me. He charges. I get off one shot--it misses--before the male deer slams into me, antlers seeking to impale me. I hate it when the deer are deadly.

I grabbed the buck by the antlers and tried to force him off. He knocks me to the ground. I kick him several times in the face, hard. He snorts, and one kick gets him in the left eye. Then he backs off, gives me a wicked stare, and vanishes. As I lie panting and contemplating the strange nature of deer nowadays, a rumbling in the earth forces me to sit up with a jolt. The Tractor. It’s coming.

My heart pounding, I leap up and glance at the field that has gone to seed. In the distance, I see the headlights of The Tractor sweeping back and forth, its deep baritone voice rumbling in my head.

I’ll find you. You can’t hide for long, not from me. Why don’t you just give in and make this easy on yourself? I’ll kill you, never fear. Running will do you no good.

I glared at it and shouted, “Hah, if you want me, you’ll have to catch me first!”

The Tractor’s roar echoes around the gray field and it rolls toward me with amazing speed. I turn and bound through the grass. The thick weeds impede my progress. Damn, why does this always happen?

Beyond the line of pine trees (which had reappeared), I see a dilapidated farm that has sprung up where a copse of sumac used to be. I race toward it, sensing the presence of The Tractor just behind me. It’s not going to catch me, I’m not going to let it.

I dash into the barn and swing nimbly up into the rafters. Scuttling along the beams, I reach the far end where a small window is set in the crumbling wood. Just outside stands a chicken coop, but it’s empty. The Tractor bursts through the sliding doors of the barn below, its maniacal laughter ringing in my head. I have no choice. Into the chicken coop I go.

It’s cramped and stuffy inside, and only a slim ray of light shines through the roof. Suddenly, I stiffen, a horrible thought rushing into my mind. The chicken manure has rabies virus in it! I’m breathing the dust in, and I could get rabies.

Heedless of what might happen with The Tractor, I burst out of the chicken coop, via catapulting my body through the roof. Gasping fresh air, I jump down into the deserted pen below. More chicken crap. Gross. I’ll never get my clothes clean now, let alone by boots. And then I see some of the little birds; their eyes glow red and they start cackling. They’re all infected with rabies.

I really, really hate it when this happens.

Bunching my leg muscles, I dash to the fence and clamber over it. Just in time, too, for the chickens, clucking evilly, are chasing me. I’m getting tired, panting, stiffness creeping into my limbs. I have to find somewhere to rest and recuperate, somewhere The Tractor won’t get me. Where? That fiend could find me anywhere and it can grow in size to reach me in even the highest building.

A pole building across an open stretch of well-trodden dirt catches my attention. The abandoned farmhouse is to my left, but driving around the house comes The Tractor. I clench my teeth and run for the pole building. My legs are stiff and feel like iron-weights. The Tractor’s laugh resounds in my head, along with its sinister voice.

Run all you wish, I’ll find you, I’ll catch you, I’ll kill you…

“Try it,” I spat back, and dash through the pole building door. It’s quiet and dark inside. At the far side, I can barley make out shapes in the gloom. Sheep. Just a bunch of sheep. I heave a sigh. Sheep aren’t dangerous--

The lead ram looks at me, and his eyes start glowing red. “There she is!” he bleats, and suddenly the sheep are charging toward me, wielding torches and pitchforks. They all have rabies.

I yelp as one of the ewes stabs at me with her pitchfork and the lead ram bares his long fangs and tries to tear my throat out. I dodge the attacks. These sheep are agents of The Tractor. (Who else?)

I jump as high as I can into the air and catch a dangling rope. I pull myself up and spot a series of long, narrow poles* (why else do you think it’s called a pole building?) now implanted in the ground. I balance on two as I stare down at the rabid sheep. They start circling the poles, chanting in an unknown tongue. All of them have crazed looks in their unnatural red eyes. And then they set the poles on fire.

I cough as the smoke curls up and the flames gobble at the bamboo, climbing higher. The sheep show their fangs and laugh hysterically, chanting, “Fall! Fall! Fall and die!”

I try to pull myself up farther on the rope, but it’s frayed and finally it snaps. No! I fall, landing on my back on the ashes covering the cement floor. The breath knocked out of me and almost unable to move (I think I broke something… like my back), I can do little as the sheep pounced on me. I fling an arm up to cover my face as the descended en masse, fangs bared, pitchforks held ready.

Having a normal day just isn’t possible sometimes. Now it’s about to be over--for good.

But while I receive several kicks and some nasty cuts, the sheep don’t kill me like I’d expect them too. They pick me up and carry me on their wooly backs out of the pole building. My head lolls to the side. In the distance, I see The Tractor waiting on the road.

I groan.

The sheep dump me on the road, and tie my hands behind my back. Fighting back isn’t possible, I’m too weak from previous injuries. The sheep retreat, bleating and bowing as The Tractor rumbles forward, its headlights turned off--that only helps to accentuate its evil.

You cannot escape me, it says.

I feel like telling it to go to hell. Then it occurs to me The Tractor is probably from that inferno in the first place, so it wouldn’t do much good. I glare at The Tractor, lying helpless before it’s huge, rutted tires.

With a booming laugh that hurts my ears, The Tractor rolls forward. I wince as its enormous tires crush my legs and ribcage. Yet rather than pain, I felt strange, comforting, almost arousing feeling. The Tractor backs over me again and again, grinding my prone body to a bloody pulp on the road, then I finally lose consciousness.

<end dream>