It Could’ve Been Worse
written by: Gabriella Balcom
Reaching for his water bottle, Fred opened it and gulped down water, grimacing to discover it was as hot as he was. It tasted nothing short of awful, too. But at least he was done for the day.
After parking his tractor in the barn, he turned it off and mopped the sweat from his face with his handkerchief. That didn’t make much difference, and more trickled down his forehead, running into his eyes. He blinked like crazy, but that didn’t stop the stinging. Splashing some water on them helped, but only slightly.
Today had been way hotter and muggier than usual for this time of year, but that wasn’t the only thing bothering him. His workday had ended up being much longer than usual. It had been harder than most, too, what with the strange holes he’d discovered on the very acreage he’d plowed and readied for planting just yesterday.
Priding himself on his down-to-earth, no-nonsense approach to life, he knew he hadn’t imagined them. He hadn’t overlooked them the prior day, either, and holes couldn’t just appear out of nowhere or create themselves, but there they’d been. Strangely, they reminded him of pictures he’d seen of craters on the moon.
Over the past few months, other farmers in town had discovered the same thing here and there on their lands. They’d even gotten together to discuss it and try to come up with a game plan. Some of them had suggested falling asteroids were the culprits, but Fred had snorted at that idea. Anything that fell would surely leave traces behind, but the holes hadn’t contained any bits of anything.
He’d thought long and hard and had come up with a different, more logical theory. He suspected pesky neighborhood kids were to blame, merely finding a new way to pull pranks. Given their past antics, he wouldn’t put anything past them.
They’d certainly cost him valuable time today, forcing him to till the same ground once more. He’d worried that loose pockets of earth might exist deep down, or something equally bad which he couldn’t see, so he’d chosen to go over the same area several times before leveling it back out.
Exhausted and longing for both a nice shower and a great meal, Fred stepped down from his tractor and felt something move under his feet. He wobbled, lost his balance, and fell, landing on a rake he hadn’t noticed lying there.
As the tines punctured his skin, he felt a sudden pain in his stomach, and yelled. Stumbling to his feet, he felt light-headed and swayed, trying not to topple over a second time. He raised his shirt to take a look at the damage, winced to see the wounds, gingerly touched them, and his fingertips came away red.
“Dangit all,” he muttered. “Well, I guess I should be grateful since it could’ve been worse.”
Fog rolled into the barn, a fairly common occurrence, given the nearby lake. Wafting past him, it reached the rake and hovered, drifting back and forth above the bloody tines.
The movement reminded the watching man of a cat rubbing against a scratching post, or luxuriating in a patch of catnip or sunny spot on the ground. But he snorted at his own whimsy and turned his attention back to his belly.
Focusing on his injuries, Fred dabbed at them with his handkerchief, and didn’t notice the fog changing color from a translucent gray to a faint reddish tinge.
He trod heavily toward the open doorway, but gasped and stopped short in his tracks. Eyes widening in shock, he reached behind himself to touch his back. A scythe was embedded directly between his shoulder blades, and his sweaty, light-green shirt was darkening.
Tools and farm equipment covered the wall to his left, some hanging from hooks or pegs, others lying on shelves. The entire expanse shimmered faintly, and a machete left its spot, flew toward Fred, and struck his right shoulder with an audible thunk.
A hoe moved from where it leaned against a pile of pallets, rising into the air and flipping blade-side up. It soared in the man’s direction, the blade impaling his forehead, and blood ran down his face.
More implements left the wall, striking and slashing his body. A pair of shears pierced his neck, going straight through to the other side.
Fred’s mouth gaped open in a scream, but no sounds came out. All he could manage was a faint gurgle. He reached toward his tractor but collapsed on the ground, blood pooling around him.
One by one, the items that struck him dropped beside his body, landing in the blood, and the red pool grew smaller and smaller until no trace of it remained.
A thump signaled a door shutting somewhere close by.
“Where are you, Fred?” a man called from outside the barn. “You big lug, you haven’t forgotten our plans, have you? We brought the ribs to be barbecued, chicken, steaks, corn, and everything else we could think of.”
“You ready for a nice, cold beer?” another man asked. “We are, and we got extra.”
All the tools rose from the ground together. Soaring through the air, they positioned themselves on the wall where they’d previously been. Seconds later, Fred’s buddies walked into the barn.
The End
- It Could’ve Been Worse - August 8, 2026
- Treasures - April 18, 2026
- Where Could She Be? - December 22, 2025
