The Case of the Golden Seed

by Cyn Bagley

  In this fight, he bit, punched, and kicked me. I -enraged -

  bit, punched, and kicked back, while hitting him with the "golden seed." In a rush, I pushed him against the side of the building, kicking and punching all the way. I could hear him gasp with exertion. He grabbed my neck, leaving puncture marks in the skin. I scraped him on the side of his flanks, blood oozing. The sight only gave me more energy. I leaped on top of him, my teeth in his neck. I chewed, and chewed, and chewed

  "Mister, mister . . . he's dead."

  I growled.

  "Mister, I'll get the dames."

  My eyes were red with bloodlust. I yelled challenge noises at the rest of the group. Not a one answered me, but quite a few slunk over to Mister Bigteeth, smelled his breath, and slipped away to tell the world that the rats had a new owner -H.R. - the big ratkiller.

  Dena and Dara rushed to me. They licked my whiskers. My hot blood cooled. I surveyed the damage. "Three-paws," I yelled. "Clean up."

  "Yes, sir. H.R., sir."

  "And, put out the garbage," I pointed at Mister Bigteeth's corpse, "put it near the steps. You know the one the primates use?"

  "Yes, sir," said Three-paws.

  When you have such an all powerful enemy like primates, ya know what I'm talking about, it's always good to make them nervous - thinking about nasty germs and viruses. If it can kill us, the rats, it can kill you too.

  So, I got the seed, won the dames, and settled down. My brother-in-law Dan, the little rat, lives two territories down. Someday I'm going to visit him and beat him up. I can only think of one way that Mister Bigteeth figured out my name. The dames keep me occupied with kids and what-not. Talk about those honey-do lists. But, sometimes, I remember those free and single days when I roamed around looking for available ratchicks. I think of Indiana Ratson and wonder if he's enjoying Tahiti.

  Maybe, when I get tired of being the BIG RAT, I might call on Indiana Ratson. Just as soon as I raise the last of this litter. Maybe.

  ###

  About the Author

  Cyn Bagley spent much of her formative years in moving with her family. She continued this obsession by joining the US Navy, and seeing the world: Japan, Panama, and Germany. She was diagnosed with Wegener's Granulomatosis, a Vasculitis disease, in 2003, giving her more time to write. She now lives in Northern Nevada and is an aunt to all the Chihuahuas in her area. Amazon page.

  Discover other books by this author:

  Novels and Novellas

  Billy the Kid

  Conjure Man

  Erika T. Red

  Shira: Hero of Corsindor

  She Called It, Wolf

  The Wooden Seed: Conjure Man #1

  Running to the Sun: Conjure Man #2

  Healing the Rift: Conjure Man #3

  Short Stories and Collections

  The Case of the Golden Seed

  A Desert Rescue

  Firestorm

  Ghostly Glimmers

  Ghostly Glimmers II

  Ghostly Glimmers III

  The Grotto

  Haunted

  Hidden in the Sierras: a were-bear story

  I'm A Flasher

  I'm A Flasher Too

  In the Graveyard

  In the Time of Water

  It's All About Survival

  Living in the Desert: short story collection

  The Rage of Ghosts

  A Restless Spirit

  The Scorpion's Voice

  Seller of New Skins

  Whispers in the Wind

  Biography and Poetry Collections

  In the Shadow of Death: Reflections on a Chronic Illness

  A Reflected Life

  A Reflected Life II

  A Reflected Life III

  A Flicker of Hope: Poems Written by a Wegener's Granulomatosis Survivor

  Sonnet Playground

  Connect with me online

  Twitter

  Helium

  Sierra Sage, WG blog

  Scrambled Sage, CW blog

  Email: Cyn Bagley

  More excerpts by Cyn Bagley:

  I'm a Flasher

  The Aliens Are Here

  The reporters surged around Bud Henderson as he chewed his tobacco and then spit it out on the ground. The reporters scuttled backwards. But each one of them had a gleam in his and her eyes. This report would be the one of the century. This one would make their careers.

  Bud pulled his straw cowboy hat down over his eyes and watched them. They looked like vultures flying around a dead animal. He had told his friends that they wouldn't want to make their entrance so public especially when there were so many nuts out there. He spit again just to watch the reporters scuttle. But his friends insisted.

  He finally decided to at least say something to the folks even though he knew he didn't like any of them. "Folks," he said. "Folks, I have lived near Area 51 my entire life." He paused. "And I have been friends with a lot of strange folks from strange places. Now these folks want to meet you." The cameras went off with a click, click, click.

  "Thisa way," he pointed to a hill. The reporters looked at him as if he were crazy. He wanted them to walk through the dirt, cactus, and weeds to see aliens?

  "I can see aliens on my own time," muttered one reporter. Soon one then two of the reporters left. They reported that it was another hoax by another crazy.

  But the rest who remained followed Bud through the desert about a mile until they reached a tin saucer about 6 inches in diameter. Out popped green aliens less than an inch tall.

  "Them's the aliens." Bud pointed and walked away as the reporters asked question after question from the tiny green aliens. Finally the aliens jumped into the saucer and FLASH. The reporters wandered around asking each other why there were in this desert patch. Soon the small saucer hovered over Bud's head. It blinked a couple of times.

  "I told you, they's crazy," he said. "What do you expect. Them's big city folks."

  Haunts at the edge of town

  At the edge of town is the woods; and if you walk a quarter mile on that narrowed dirt road, you’ll find a house in ruins. It looks like one of those Southern antebellum houses with a balcony crashed to the ground instead of supported on poles next to a large sliding window. Long ago that same window was crushed by thrown stones from young hooligans. The house looks like an old hooker, who at one time was beautiful and sought by all.

  I pulled out my video and audio equipment. While it was light, I wired the house where I could. Some of the floors had already fallen into the main floor. I tiptoed over the wood, and placed a few sensors on the rotten wood of the main staircase. Before night fell, we would have the medium, Ms. Pasteur, check the house out for wayward ghosts. We had found that even though she wasn’t good at finding ghosts, she was good for a little theater and drama.

  The locals had sworn up and down that ghosts walked these ruins. We had heard that one before, too. So when the dusk came, and no one came for the TV show taping, I left my equipment and decided to hike back. But I was too late.

  Eyes, eyes all around me. Eyes. Eyes. And then the film started. I saw him kill her over and over. At one point I even tried to stop it. There was no way I could stop them. It had happened long ago.

  They found me the next day gibbering. No video, no sound, and no recordings. They said I had a breakdown. But, I can only see the ghosts and they can only see me.

  Erika T. Red

  Prologue

  Farbiorn Neilsen leaned against the dark rocks, slicked with light rain. He peered through them to the scene below. An old man with a bandage around his eyes was carefully led to the center of a clearing in front of a small wooden shack. Around him were warriors dressed in leather jerkins. One or two of them carried swords. The rest carried wooden spears.

  He shivered. Farbiorn did not want to go back to that clearing. Just minutes before, he had been forced into the shack. The warriors had held his head so that he was forced to face the old man, eyes to eyes. If the old man had unco
vered his eyes, then Farbiorn would not be the same. He knew it in his gut.

  In a last desperate effort, Farbiorn struggled free. He didn’t know how he had gotten away from the warrior, but he had run as fast as he could into the rocks. He had slid down, listening to the hard beat of his heart, had listened to the harsh breath coming from his mouth. Just a moment and he would slip into the forest before the warriors could find him.

  Only this morning he had been in the fields. This spring had started early. His father, Neil, had gone to the village to get a midwife. His mother was giving birth. His sisters were helping his mother through the pain. He could hear her groans outside as he tried to think of the planting. She was too old for this birthing. He knew she was going to die.

  He had soothed the ox by touching its face and slapping his sides. Then he put his work-hardened hands on both handles of the plough.

  "Get up," he said.

  He had not noticed the warriors as he concentrated on the first row. The ox walked at a slow pace as he held the plough in the soil. When he reached the end of the row, he turned the ox around for the next one. It was then he looked up. It was then that he saw them.

  They had his young sister confined between two of them. "Come with us," one said. "Come with us and we won’t hurt her."

  The soldiers didn’t lie. Not this time. If he didn’t go with them, they would hurt and rape her. Erik would still have been forcibly taken to his doom.

  Farbiorn nodded to them. He unhooked the ox from the plough and led him to the small corral by the cabin. He waited for the warriors to let his sister go. She ran into the cabin. He saw his white-faced young brother watch as the warriors took him away.

  It seemed like a dream. Even to save his family… could he look into that old man’s eyes? Glued to the rock, Farbiorn watched the warriors take the blindfold from the old man’s eyes. One eye had an empty socket. The other eye was a brilliant blue. He shuddered. His whole body became cold. He could feel that eye looking, looking, looking. There. He heard inside his head.

  He is there.

  This time the warriors tied him tightly. He could not move or blink. The old man looked deeply into Farbiorn’s eyes. Farbiorn had light blue eyes, but as the old man stared deep into Farbiorn’s eyes, his eyes changed to one empty socket and a blue eye. When he was finished, the old man had two light blue eyes.

  The old man fell to the floor. His breathing slowed and then stopped. The warriors watched.

  "It is done," no-longer Farbiorn said. "I am Odin,"

  He looked at the old man. "Get rid of this dead meat." He turned and walked into the small cabin.

  Chapter 1

  The wind blew the cottonwood yellow-orange leaves down the driveway. Sometimes the wind would whirl the leaves up into the air and chase the leaves to the brown lawn. It whirled away to play with other leaves.

  Erika T. Red stuck her head out the window to see if she needed a coat this fine Indian summer morning. The temperature was just above 40 degrees. She left the window open as she dried her hair with a blow dryer. Erika's soft hair turned from brown to a strawberry blonde as the water dried from her hair. She gave her hair a swish. She pulled out her eye-liner and began lining her eyes.

  "Ark! Ark!"

  Erika turned toward the window fast. "Ouch" she stuck the eyeliner in her eye. Black smeared across her face.

  "Ark!" It was a very large, very black bird. A raven to be exact. "Ark!"

  The raven flew into the window and landed on the desk near her bed where Erika kept her bling. He grabbed a shiny bracelet and awked with approval.

  She dropped her eyeliner and ran to the bird. "That's my favorite piece of jewelry," she yelled at the bird. She tried to grab the bracelet, but with one flap the bird was above her head. Erika tried to climb her bookshelves, but she couldn't get a grip. And then she fell on the floor, the books fell on top of her.

  Bang! Bang! Bang!

  "What's happened," yelled her mother from the bottom of the stairs. She wasn't really interested in Erika's troubles. It usually involved washing something or repairing something. "You need to get ready or you'll have to find your own way to work."

  When Erika turned back to the raven, it flew out the window with the bracelet. "Ark!" it seemed to be laughing. She jumped, and reached, and missed. A black feather drifted down to her head.

  "I'll be down in a minute," she yelled back to her mother. "A minute."

  Erika knew that her mother would be grumbling as she walked to the kitchen. One of the things she would be saying was "that girl." It was always the same just a new day.

  Now you might ask why a smart adult girl like Erika was still living at home. You might ask why she put up with being treated like a teenager. Well, you might remember that we live in a really really hard economic modern life where it is easier and less expensive to pay rent to the parents. And, you might remember that at 100 dollars a barrel that gas is becoming so expensive that it is better to have a bike than a car.

  Erika was a smart girl and she had added up the math. And Erika was not going to live here much longer. She was working on a small nest egg so that in a few months she could have her own apartment where she could have visitors like her new boyfriend. Yea, baby.

  But, at the moment Erika had her head out the window trying to reach for that bracelet. The raven was sitting on a tree-limb of a fir, happily arking at her.

  And she might have stayed that way, if she hadn't seen her mother get into her car.

  "Wait, wait," she yelled. Her mother waved and then drove away.

  Erika pulled herself back through the window. She closed the window. She sighed. At least the raven hadn't grabbed her cell.

  She flipped it open, "Bessie? Bessie? Can you pick me up? What?" Erika tapped her finger on the desk. She tapped again. "OK."

  Well that was it. She would have to take the bike. She finished up her make-up, but her things into a small purse and ran down the stairs.

  Her father was drinking coffee and reading the newspaper. It was useless to ask him for a ride. He was on his vacation and had told the whole family that part of his vacation was that he would only go where he wanted, when he wanted. She could respect that attitude.

  "I thought you were gone," he said.

  "Dad I gotta go or I'll be late."

  He went back to reading his newspaper. Erika did love her father, but he was so old-fashioned. For instance, why did he read a newspaper when he could get his news (fast and expressed) on the internet. They had all his favorite news outlets. But, he insisted on reading paper. She shook her head.

  Yes, there was the bike where she left it from the last use. Not in very good shape either. It had at least one flat tire. Arg! That was the final straw. Should she go back to Dad or should she start walking?

  The universe seemed to be against her today. She opened the garage door and walked out. It was a beautiful day and not too cold. Her dad would close the door. She needed to get to work.

  Erika worked at the "old folk's home." Well, they had a prettier name for it like senior community center. But, it was full of older folks in various stages of disrepair. She would shudder if she really believed that she would look like them when she hit her 60s and 70s. But, she knew deep in her heart that by the time she reached that age they would have a young pill or surgery… anyway something that would let her keep her youthful looks.

  Even though she had freckles over her nose and arms, she took care that she didn't sun too much. You know how hard it is to deal with white skin and sun? Ever been burned so badly that it hurt for days? Well, after that first time, she was very very careful.

  Erika trotted down the street. She would be late. It was foregone. It would be at least a 30 minute walk and she needed to be there in fifteen. Well, get walking.

  She tried to ignore the raven. It flew from tree to tree and every once in awhile it would ark. It had finally put the bracelet over its head and around its neck like a necklace. It would preen. A gleam in
its eye. Erika tried to ignore it.

  Erika bounced down the sidewalk.

  The raven spread its wings and leaped. It floated down until it landed on Erika's shoulder. She could feel its sharp claws dig into her. "Ouch."

  It nuzzled her throat with its large beak. One eye looked into hers. My name is Hark, she heard in her head.

  She jumped. The raven leaped from her. Erika knew that she had a little spots of blood on her shirt where the ravens claws and broken her skin. She looked. Nope no blood.

  The raven floated back down and landed on her shoulder again. Why did you do that?

  "You talk?" she said aloud. Erika hoped that no one was watching her. It was crazy enough that she was walking down the street with a raven on her shoulder. She would look even worse talking to herself. It was going to be one of those days.

  Of course, I don't talk. I don't need to. If a raven could look smug, this one did.

  "So what do you want?" Erika was beginning to feel churlish. This raven, this it, had stolen her bracelet. And her bracelet was still on his neck. She wondered what the raven would do if she tried to take it back. No better not. The raven's beak looked a little to big and sharp.

  Now this raven, wanted to talk to her. It was enough.

  The raven squawked. Probably laughing at her.

  I'm here to help you. She could hear him giggling through the words. She quit talking and marched down the street. She didn't need this crap. Unfortunately she could hear the raven laughing even more. Hopefully the dang beast (aren't ravens supposed to be tortured souls?) would be gone before she walked into work. They didn't let animals into the kitchen.

  She could only hope.