The Goat Came Back

 The goat came back,

It wouldn’t stay away.

The goat was on the doorstep the very next day.

It was a nursery rhyme from Stephen’s childhood. One that his mother had sung to him about an evil man the day after New Year’s Eve. The goat that the villagers had burdened with their years’ sins and then chased out of the village with rocks and sticks, returned to that evil man who hadn’t confessed all his sins and no matter what he did the goat returned to his doorstep every day until the man died of shame.

It was a nursery rhyme. It was a myth. And yet the goat was at this doorstep this morning, idly chewing on a nearby thistle. Its long fleece matted with dirt and blood from yesterday’s beating. The ear, that Stephen himself had grabbed and twisted, hung damaged over its face as it leaned down and cropped another prickly leaf from the plant. It looked at him as it chewed.

He waved his arms at it and ordered it to go away. He stamped his foot and shouted. It didn’t move and ate another leaf. Nervously Stephen looked up and down the street. It was early morning, light, but the sun had not yet cleared the mountains. No one in the village was stirring yet, last night’s party had lasted well into the morning hours. No one was around to see the goat and the shame it would bring him.

Getting desperate Stephen kneeled in front of the goat and said.

“Okay, I confess I didn’t confess all my sins last night, but you understand right. Chad was right beside me and so was Felicity. I couldn’t tell you that I had slept with Chad’s wife while he was right there. The whole village was there, how was I to confess that. It was only the once.” The goat continued to eat. “Okay, you know now. I slept with another man’s lawful wife. I had carnal relations with her and yes, I enjoyed it. But it’s done okay. I confessed you can go. I won’t even hit you. No rocks. Okay?” Stephen stood up and went back inside. He looked back at the grazing goat as he shut his door and prayed it would be gone when he returned.

It was gone when he checked later in the morning and feeling incredibly relieved he went about his daily tasks feeling less burdened like the other villagers, a jaunty skip to his step.

When he came home that night the goat was grazing in his kitchen, chewing on a pair of his pants.

Stephen stared at it dumbly and then swallowed hard. He edged his way past the goat, not taking his eyes from it and checked his back door. It was still secure, the locking bar he had dropped in place earlier this morning was still there. The elaborate and expensive lock he had bought from the city for his front door had been locked, he still held the key in his hand. Slowly Stephen lifted the bar on the back door and opened it up. He walked back into the kitchen and up to the goat lifting a frying pan from a hook as he did. With a mighty swing he bought the pan down on the goat’s rump. The goat bleated in alarm and bolted around the house smashing plates and ornaments before leaping out the open back door. Stephen raced to the door and slammed it dropping the bar firmly in place.

The next morning dawned fine and clear and Stephen lay in his bed half asleep as the sunlight touched his windows. He bought to full wakefulness by an awful smell that seemed to be right beside him. He opened his eyes and there in the bed next to him was the goat, asleep on his sheets. Stephen jumped out of bed with a cry of alarm. He ran out of the room and slammed the door behind him. He chewed a knuckle while thinking and then slowly opened the door again; the goat was still asleep. He crept into the room and quietly got dressed and then left shutting and locking the door behind him again.

Outside a young boy walked past his house whistling softly to himself. An idea formed in Stephen’s head and he quickly penned a letter and raced outside.

“Young man.” He called for the boy who was now two houses down. “Do you know Farley, the Furner?” the boy looked alarmed but nodded. “A penny for you if you fetch this letter to him immediately.” Stephen help out the coin with the letter. “Farley will have another for you when you deliver it.”

The boy eagerly grabbed the coin and letter and raced off down the street. Stephen returned inside his house and waited.

Farley arrived at the top of the next hour. Stephen ushered him in and quickly closed the door behind him.

“You owe me a penny, Stephen.” Farley announced as he entered.

“Blast your damn penny, Farley. We have a problem.” Stephen took his arm and led him to the bedroom door. He opened it without flourish and stepped aside.

Farley looked in and commented. “You have a goat in your room.”

“Damn your eyes, you fool. I know there’s a bloody goat in there. Look at the goat.”

Farley sighed and looked closely at the animal. “Is that the scapegoat?” He said astonished. His look turned to horror. “What have you done? You bloody fool!”

Stephen stalked back into the foyer. “You know these blasted country superstitions, man. What people do when the goat returns. My mother, bless her soul, told me the rhyme as a child but by the devil, I can’t remember what happened to the fool afterwards. I told the damned goat my sin yesterday morning and send it on its way hoping to be rid of the beast.” He waved his arm at the bedroom door.

Farley paced, running his hands through his grey hair. “Not in my time has the goat ever returned. Not in my time. We must be rid of the beast.”

“Across the heath and into the woods, the old clearing where we played. Pray some damned wolf gets it or the devil does drag it down to hell. Dammit, Farley I left London to remove myself from scandal and now due to some pagan nonsense I find myself embedded in it again.”

Farley walked to the lounge room followed by Stephen. “We have to wait til night.” The baker said sitting on the couch. “Has anyone seen it?”

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

“Of course I’m bloody sure.” Stephen snapped. “I’d have the mob at my door if any fool had.”

“And you confessed everything you not told it the other night?”

“Yes. Everything about Chad’s harlot wife. I told you, I came to rid myself of the scandal in London. I only came here because it was where I was born.” Stephen sighed loudly and started to relax. “If not for your help Farley I’d still be lost. I’m sorry for being so curt.”

“You’re forgiven lad, your pants were always loosely tied. You’re only trying to do the right thing now after all we’ve done together. We’ll tether the goat at dusk and lead it into the forest. For good measure we’ll slit the beast’s throat and bury it deep. You can handle a shovel still? London didn’t make you soft did it, boy?”

Stephen smiled. “You know I’ve dug my fair share of pits,” he looked at his hands. “A blister never hurt anyone.”

The goat came back,

It wouldn’t stay away

The goat knows your thoughts when you go astray.

They waited until a few hours after dark to enter the bedroom and tether the goat. It accepted the rope without trouble and followed them sedately as they left the house out the back way and entered the laneway that led to the heath and the forest beyond.

At midnight they entered the trees and walked for an hour more so be sure they could not be seen from across the heath. They were being overly cautious but Stephen didn’t care. He walked confidently to a clearing he knew well and tied the goat to a fallen branch. Farley had bought a large knife from the kitchen and carried the spades that they would use to bury the animal.

Stephen put down his lantern and sat on the log near the tethered goat. Farley stabbed the spades into the ground and then sat next to him. He drew several deep, steadying breaths and then stood again and looked at the goat.

“Let’s get this done.” He said. “Take a spade. You hit it and I’ll cut its throat.”

Stephen nodded and stood up. He retrieved a spade and walked to the goat that looked at him with uninterested eyes. He lifted the spade up and as he swung down the goat bleated once and snapped the tether and ran into the forest. Stephens’ swing hit the log with a crash and the vibration shuddered up his arm forcing him to drop the spade and knocking him off his feet. Farley rushed up to him.

“Go after the goat.” Stephen ordered, rubbing his numb arms. Farley took off into the dark forest, following the trail of the goat. Stephen shook his arms and cursed and damned luck. “What else could go wrong?” He muttered, then laughed to himself. “Not much space left around here.” He said looking around the clearing.

He knelt to pick up the spade when a shriek echoed through the trees. “Farley?” Stephen laughed. “Was that you? You squeak like a little mouse.” It was followed by a louder scream filled with pain. “F…Farley?” Stephen whispered, trying to look into the dark trees. “Farley, you prankster. Playing tricks on me? You know this place Farley, the games we played here when we were younger.” There was only silence from the woods. “Farley, no games now.” Stephen took a step towards the trees. He swallowed hard and took another step. There was silence from the woods so he picked up his courage and walked slowly under the moon shadowed branches. 

Stephen could find no sign of Farley in the immediate area.

“Farley, where are you, you bloody fool? If you’re hiding and playing at some silly game I’ll bury in the clearing with all the other bastards whom we played with.”

At first the word was so soft that Stephen didn’t even hear it over his own footfalls. Then it came louder so he had to strain his ears to make out the noise and then clearer still.

“Stephen.” It was whispered on the wind, carried through the trees and on the rustle of leaves.

Stephen turned to the sound of his name. Again, the soft echo of his name whispered through the pines and oaks and now a horrid smell assailed his senses. When he turned again he saw Farley on his knees and a horned devil holding him by the hair. Stephen screamed and stumbled backwards, tripping over his feet and colliding with the ground. He cleared his vision with a shake of his head and looked up. Farley was still there but the beast was not.

“Farley, you fat fool. You scared me half to death.” Stephen sat up. Farley was shuddering, his hands over his face. “Think that’s funny do you?”

Farley removed his hands and faced him. Stephen reeled, scrambling backwards. Farley, had no eyes. Stephen could see that Farley’s hands were dripping blood and his face was covered in it. Farley moaned and blood gushed from his mouth, stained his clothes and pooled between his legs. He vomited more blood than Stephen thought a man had and then coughed up more.

Stephen edged closer to his friend. “Farley, you fool. I will get help.”

“Farley is doomed.” The voice was behind Stephen, deep and the words bleated out like a goat.

Stephen froze.

“But you. You.” There was footfalls on the soft loam. “Don’t you see.” Whatever it was reached its hand around Stephen. It was three fingered, furred and cloven in appearance, but all Stephen saw was the eyes in the palm of the hand. Farley’s eyes.

Stephen felt hot, fetid breath on his ear as the thing leaned close to him. He felt the soft tickle of its fur as it brushed his cheek and then it moved away and stepped in front of him. Behind the beast Farley softly cried.

Stephen screwed his eyes shut. He shivered in the frigid air as sweat rolled down his forehead. There was no noise for some time and slowly Stephen opened his eyes. Patient as a goat, the beast was there. Covered in fine fleece, stained with blood and dirt, the beast regarded him with cocked head. The horns on its head curved backwards and from its snout it breathed slowly, the nostrils flaring with each breath.

It was the goat. The scapegoat. Now some twisted man shape and come to seek its vengeance. It regarded Stephen with dull eyes.

“I confessed.” Stephen managed to say, tremors shaking his voice. “I told you everything.”

“Did you now?” The Scapegoat looked towards the clearing. “Everything?”

Stephen turned is head in that direction. The clearing was where he and Farley used to play. “No.” Stephen shook his head. “That was just games. Farley did it all. He was always crazy like that.”

The Scapegoat regarded him with those vacant eyes.

“Farley always went first. Always had his fun first. He liked to hurt. He liked it when they cried.”

“Really?” The word was spoken slowly.

“I liked it to.” Stephen said softly. “I laughed when they cried. I liked to humiliate them first.” Stephen grew angrier. “I wanted them to beg. Beg me for their miserable lives. I wanted them dead! I did everything to take pain from their bodies as they begged for their useless existence.”

“Truth,” the beast said. “At last.” The scapegoat dropped Farley’s eyes and took Stephen’s head in both hands.

Stephen started to weep. “What are you?”

“Justice.” The Scapegoat said as Stephen’s screams echoed through the still, midwinter air.

The goat came back,

It wouldn’t stay away.

The goat waits in the forest to drag your soul away