Boondocks Fantasy

by Jean Rabe

  Judy sighed, then managed a tiny smile. “It could have been much worse. The fire could have spread. You could have been killed. And, at least, we have Chloe and the kittens.”

  Kent studied Judy’s face, searching for sarcasm. Had he led out a single cow or snagged a couple of goat kids, even managed to open the chicken coop door, he might have claimed to have saved something of value. Even one of the hay bales that had served as the kittens’ hiding place would command more money than the tiny lives he had salvaged from the barn. He had managed to find the one thing, the only thing they owned that had no monetary value whatsoever.

  Yet Judy had clearly meant her words. As she studied the mother cat lying on her side, the tiny kittens kneading their itty-bitty feet into Chloe’s fur, Judy’s smile broadened and the flow of tears stopped completely. “I can’t say I’m glad you rushed into a burning building, because I could have lost you forever. But I am glad you managed to save them. Look how happy they look.”

  Kent doubted the kittens understood anything that had happened to them, but he had to admit that Chloe did appear contented. Even the corners of her mouth seemed to form a feline smile.

  “I’ve thought of names for them,” Judy announced, pointing at the tiny creatures. “The two orange ones are Spark and Ember. The gray and white is Smokey. The solid gray is Ash, and the two black ones can be Soot and Charcoal.”

  Kent could only laugh. “How appropriate,” he said. “How very appropriate.”

  * * *

  The fire smoldered for three days, until everything combustible had been exhausted. Kent looked over the grounds that weekend, finding nothing salvageable. The fire had burned hottest on the south side, also the location of the stalls, and he saw no sign that they had ever owned animals. Nothing but soot and ashes remained, not even a bone, hoof, or tooth to mark the animals’ pyre. A few lumps of blackened iron lay scattered in the ash, remnants of stall locks, hinges, and tools. Most of the concrete floor remained, though jagged and broken, with the occasional outline of some object that had burned particularly hot against its surface.

  Kent shuffled through the debris in a trance, trying not to identify anything, worried that he might see something that would further ignite his guilt. So many “what ifs” had paraded through his mind, it could not contain another. He felt as if his head might just explode. The firemen had no clue what had started the fire and told the Austins they would probably never know. Kent could not help considering the possibilities. Deep in one of the bales of hay or straw, had he missed a spot of rot that had smoldered for weeks? If only he had turned off the goats’ heat lamp. It was the tail end of February and the kids all had at least a week under their hooves; they could probably have survived a few nights of cold. Perhaps the wiring was faulty; were the flickering lights in the house a clue? Or did the house’s electricity dance only because the fire licked at a common wire? The overriding realization was that if he had noticed the fire sooner, perhaps they could have saved the animals.

  Yet, Kent realized, he had checked on them only two hours before he noticed the fire. Everything had seemed fine then, nothing amiss. It had happened so quickly, from normal to deadly conflagration in a matter of minutes.

  If only I had paid closer attention to the insurance. That, at least, he could have done something about.

  Two days passed before Kent Austin could bring himself to look at the remnants of the barn again. This time, he went with Judy and the dog, an old Labrador named Phineas who had come with the farm. Chloe insisted on joining them. Kent tried to catch the cat as she headed for the door, but she squeezed through the crack at Judy’s heels. He watched her bounce out into the yard, disappearing in the distance. “Damn. Do you think she’ll come back inside?”

  Judy waited until Kent exited before closing the door behind him, laughing. “She sent you into a fire to retrieve those kittens. Do you really believe she’ll abandon them now?”

  Kent’s cheeks warmed as he realized how silly he must have sounded. “You’re right, of course. She’ll come back.” He took Judy’s hand. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

  They walked down the porch steps together. “I’m ready,” Judy insisted. “I’ll have to look at the damage sometime, and you’ve already assured me there’s nothing gory.”

  Kent knew she missed the animals, as well as the routine they had created. The past two days, when she came home from work, she had put on her coat and grabbed the egg basket before stopping in sudden realization. “I said I didn’t notice anything gory, but I didn’t spend a long time looking. It hurts too much.”

  Judy squeezed Kent’s hand. Together, they walked toward the remains of the barn, and then Kent saw something that stopped him short. Judy could not help but notice it too, and they both froze in startled amazement while Phineas ranged ahead. Where only two days earlier the smoking remains of an unidentifiable structure stood, now they saw the skeletal framework of walls. Someone had not only cleaned up the site but had started rebuilding the barn.

  “How . . . ?” Kent started with no way to finish. “How can . . . ?” Dropping Judy’s hand, he ran toward the structure. The debris was gone. Only some scorched patches on nearby weeds and trees remained to prove that a fire had even occurred. The old, broken concrete was gone, replaced by a brand-new floor. Strong, straight posts stretched up to the sky, held in place by sturdy sidepieces and firmed into the concrete.

  Judy squealed with delight. “Oh, Kent! What an amazing surprise. How did you ever find the money to do this?”

  “Money,” Kent repeated dazedly. “I . . . had nothing to do with this. I have no idea. . . .” Kent found himself incapable of completing a sentence. “Two days ago, it was . . .” He gave up trying to speak.

  Judy tried to grasp his point. “Are you saying you didn’t do this?”

  Kent bobbed his head. “I had nothing to do with . . .” He still could not finish. “It’s not my . . .” He finally managed a complete thought, “Who did this?”

  Judy’s brow furrowed, and she squinted at him. “Kent Austin, quit joking around. You’re creeping me out.”

  The dog wandered around the construction, lifting his leg to claim it in various places.

  Kent studied the structure. The boards appeared well sawn and properly sanded. Though not perfectly straight, the nails formed reasonable lines. No one could have done this singlehandedly. It would have taken a crew, power saws, a nail gun. How could this have happened completely without their knowledge?

  “We must have incredible neighbors.”

  “Neighbors, yes,” Judy said slowly. They had no neighbors in the typical sense, the nearest living a half-mile drive away. They knew only a few of the families who shared their rural route, most of them only by mailboxes and polite waves as they passed.

  “Where would the neighbors get the money?” Judy thought aloud. Though quick with favors like plowing a driveway or repairing a fence, farmers were hardly known for their wealth. “And why would they do this without telling us?”

  It made no sense to Kent either, and he had no answers. He could only stare, bewildered.

  The neighbors had no answers, either. The first two expressed their condolences but flatly denied any knowledge of the new building. The second gave them some interesting advice. “Some people only consider a good deed truly charitable if it’s done anonymously. You might do him a grave injustice by demanding to know his name.”

  Kent supposed the farmer might be right, but this was not the work of one man. Perhaps a single donor had funded the project, but it would take a group working together to have done so much so quickly. As it was Friday night, Kent decided to spend the next day watching. Perhaps the mysterious builders came only on weekdays while the Austins were at work; but many builders did work Saturdays. He wanted to thank them, to make certain they had not made a mistake. He would hate to discover an unaffordable bill in his mailbox from a builder who’d mistaken his barn for someone else’s.

  Tha
t night, Kent slept fitfully, his wife snoring at his left hand and Chloe stealing the covers at his right. The cat had taken to spending the nights in their bed, leaving the kittens quietly snoozing in a pile in their basket. By eight o’clock in the morning, he was up, showered, and dressed. Pulling on his work boots, he rushed out to the barn site, only to find solid walls in place. He stared, incredulous. The previous evening, the skeleton had stood in mute testimony to someone’s kindness. Apparently, whoever had graced them with this miraculous gift chose to work during the night.

  “How?” Kent whispered. He had spent a quarter of the night awake yet had heard nothing of their tools. No loud saws or drills had disrupted the quiet stillness of the night. No pounding had cut short his sleep. No brilliant work lights had changed the night sky enough to attract his attention. The dog had not even barked. Kent fumbled his cell phone from the pouch on his belt and dialed in the home number.

  Judy answered on the second ring. “Hello?”

  “Judy, get out here,” Kent said. “You have to see this.”

  Determined to stay up late the following night, Kent sat with Judy on the family room sofa fully clothed, Chloe purring sweetly in his lap. But by the time the sun went down, Kent Austin drifted off to sleep to the gentle, feline lullaby and his wife’s familiar snores.

  When Kent awakened, the morning sun streamed through the casement windows. He and Judy had spent the night in front of the television. The barn had most of a roof, a door opening, and a place for a window. Markings on the concrete demonstrated where the new stalls would go. Sawdust, dropped nails, and bits of plastic littered the floor. At the rate their benefactors were going, they would have the barn finished in two more sessions.

  Seven nights total, Kent realized with a shock. He had heard of buildings going up that quickly, but only with enormous crews working throughout the day. Seven nights. There was a cadence to the number, a magical significance. Under ordinary circumstances, he would have laughed the thought away. Now it sent a chill through him. His mind conjured images of elves finishing shoes on the cobbler’s bench, working silently through the night while the shoemaker slept. He had not read a fairy tale in years, could not recall how that particular story ended. One thing seemed certain: whatever it took, tonight was the night. Kent Austin was going to find out who was building this barn if it killed him.

  Kent Austin called in sick to work on Monday, spending the entire day in bed. He slept as much as he could, read Grimm’s Fairy Tales, and balanced the checkbook. By the time Judy arrived home that evening, he felt refreshed and ready to face the night. Judy offered to stay up with him, but Kent refused the company. If he found a bunch of friendly elves, he promised, he would call her. She fell asleep shaking her head and smiling at his foolishness.

  As the sky grew darker, Kent tried to rise. Chloe sat on his lap, nestled comfortably in the crooks of his legs, purring contentedly. “Sorry,” he whispered, picking up the cat and depositing her on the couch. Before he could get on his feet, she had returned, circling back into her comfortable spot.

  Kent laughed. “Chloe, I’m sorry. I have to go out.” This time, he set her on the floor and jumped to his feet. She ran after him, pawing at his socks, twining through his legs, tripping him. It took him twice as long as usual to get his work boots on his feet and pull on his coat. As he opened the door, the cat yowled at him. She hissed and spat and growled as he had never heard her before. Rising up, she hooked a claw through his jeans and into his calf.

  “No!” Kent resisted the urge to kick her. He had no intention of hurting her, only of making the pain in his leg stop. He had an image of stooping to pull the claw free, only to find a hissing, howling bundle of needles tearing into his face. Instead, he walked outside, and the movement tore the cat free of his leg. He felt blood trickling down his ankle.

  Stupid cat. What’s her problem?

  As the cold night air hit his face, Kent felt icy wind chill his back. The cat’s reaction suddenly became insanely logical. Something felt strange, like ozone crackling where it did not belong. Kent’s receding hair stood on end, and he could feel the ones at the nape of his neck rising. Quietly, hugging the shadows, he slipped toward the hulking shape of the barn. No noises emerged, but he sensed activity he could not yet see. Then he took a few steps closer, and he saw dark shapes moving around the building, lit only by the moon and stars.

  They appeared human, though strangely sleek and slender. They moved with an animal dexterity, shinnying up the sides of the barn to the rooftop without need for a ladder. Kent moved a bit closer, until he could fully make out the shapes. The heads looked bulbous, with triangular ears jutting from the upper sides.

  Cats? he guessed. And yet, definitely not cats. The heads seemed right, but the bodies all wrong. He drew closer, one tiny step at a time, until they became fully visible.

  They were naked, their bipedal bodies covered in downy fur, a multitude of patches and stripes in yellow, orange, white, black, gray, and brown. Despite the fur, they looked human in shape and size, except for the feline heads and long, whipping tails. Had Kent not prepared himself for something inhuman, he would have run, screaming. They most closely resembled movie wolfmen, but half-human and half-cat instead of wolf. When they opened their mouths, he saw enormous teeth, pointed and hungry. They slashed at boards with their claws, ripping them in pieces with professional ease. And they worked in absolute silence.

  Kent’s heart pounded so loud, he worried they would hear him. Had he not seen them working on the barn, he would never have believed it. Panic shot through him, terrible and aching. He could imagine those same claws tearing apart a human at will, those teeth rending a human head from its shoulders with less effort than a housecat decapitates a mouse.

  Kent took a cautious back step, then another, trying his best not to make any sound. He suspected their hearing was far better than his own, and he wanted nothing more in the world than to find the solace and escape of his own bed. Maybe he could convince himself that he had faced only a nightmare, not the impossible reality of were-cats working diligently on his new barn.

  It felt like an eternity before Kent found himself behind the house. Then he turned and ran back inside, slamming and locking the door behind him. Chloe rubbed against him, once again his best friend. Chilled to the marrow, he scooped her into his arms, where she settled in and purred. Not wanting to awaken Judy, Kent lay down on the couch, pulling three blankets down on top of him. There, with Chloe in his arms, he managed to fall into a fitful asleep.

  Kent awakened to Judy standing over him, a cup of coffee in her hand. He sat up and took it gratefully. “So, what did you find out?”

  Kent shook his head. He was not certain even he believed it. “They’re . . . cats.”

  “Cats?” Judy gave Kent the kind of sympathetic look one reserves for a friend who has just announced a terminal illness. “You’re saying cats are rebuilding our barn?”

  “Of a sort.” Kent took a long drink of his coffee, not caring about the heat. “Cats of the magical variety, it would seem. The kinds of cats who . . . can . . . rebuild a barn.”

  Judy sucked in a deep breath. She seemed uncertain what to do with it. Finally, she let it all out in one long huff. He expected her to demand to see them, to insist that he dreamed it, perhaps to call his sanity into question. Instead, her query went a different direction. “Do you think they’re thanking you for rescuing Chloe’s kittens?”

  No suggestion currently seemed logical, but Judy’s words fit in an odd sort of way. “I suppose they must be.” Kent scratched his chin. He desperately needed a shave before work. “And I would like to thank them.”

  “How?”

  Kent knew only that he had no intention of facing them directly. “Can you pick up some things in town today?”

  Judy nodded. “Make me a list.”

  Kent grabbed a pen and a slip of scratch paper and set to work.

  That night, Kent and Judy Austin hid in the brush near the
barn, watching the huge, bipedal cats put the finishing touches on their work. Most of what remained took place inside, and the humans dared not move near enough to peek through the now-mounted window. Occasionally, a creature would roam outside to assist with the blocking of the door or to inspect the previous work. Each time, Kent felt Judy stiffen and draw in a sudden breath. Like him, she clearly felt fascinated and repelled, grateful and frightened.

  They had left the largest boxes inside the barn itself. As the work became fully internal, they quietly set up a table just outside the door. Swiftly, they unwrapped package after package of fish: mackerel, salmon, tilapia, catfish, leaving the opened parcels on the table. Finally, when they had more fish than table, Kent carefully piled the fish to make one extra place. There, he put a bowl into which he dumped a bag of colorful cat collars. Finished, they crept back to the house and crawled into bed.

  “Thank you,” Kent whispered as he fell asleep, hoping he had made the right decisions. In stories, people took chances all the time that left the audience wondering. How did Hero know whether to go into the light or flee from it? How did Heroine guess leaping through the swirling rainbow would take her to another world rather than incinerate her? In real life, there was no author to reward or punish characters’ intentions, no playwright to determine who lived or died based on the content of their character. Things happened, sometimes extraordinary things, and a man could only try his best based on the knowledge he had.

  Kent rolled over and tried to sleep.

  Two weeks later, Kent found himself roasting hot dogs and hamburgers over the propane grill while Judy prepared every table she could find or create with disposable covers, paper plates, and plastic silverware. Bags of chips in every variety decorated the centers, and an ice-filled cooler held cans of soda and bottles of water. The barn-warming had happened almost by accident. When the fire finally made the newspapers, the area farmers came forward to help, only to learn that the barn had already been rebuilt.