Hide And Seek

It was one of the first hot days of spring at the Blackshears’ farmstead.

It had been a long and dreary winter this year and, for a while, spring seemed like it would never come. Just last month, it had rained for forty days straight. Only the trees had been thankful for that, while people and animals had grown bored and fidgety. When the sun finally came out, the woods around the farmstead erupted with a green so lush it almost hurt the eyes.

Now, the walls of the old farmstead gleamed ochre in the late afternoon light against the bright green of the trees that embraced it on two sides.

Winter had left his mark on the old facade, wedging in some more cracks and peeling the paint off the edges. The once beautiful wrought iron balcony balustrade now hung bare in the stark light. The dark wood panels that adorned its many frames had rotted away a few years ago and had never been replaced. In their place, rust boils had blossomed all through the length of the opaque dark metal.

The cheap coat of corrugated aluminum sheets covering the stables, instead, gleamed bright in the sunlight, stained by the juices of rotting leaves. Each year, the woods shed their winter coat right onto the roof, strewing leaves that gathered in brown heaps and choked its gutters.

Obstacles lay scattered in the same patterns down in the large gray sand school that spread in front of the house. The repetitive hits of horse’s hooves had scarred many of the rails, shaving away the paint down to the raw wood. Like tree rings, the naked layers of superimposed color mercilessly showed the age of each pole that had served in the school through the years.

There was no movement on the property under the afternoon sun.

The school and the paddock lay silent. Even the shelters of the farm animals looked deserted. The only two things moving were a horse and a boy, who looked like they were playing hide and seek.

The horse’s name was Acorn. He was a handsome three year old appaloosa, curious and intelligent. His coat was a deep and shaded bay with a bright white dotted blanket over his hips and buttocks. His wet, dark eyes were searching the place, eagerly but cautiously looking for something or someone.

His hooves clipped clopped on the concrete pavement in front of the stables. As he passed by, the other horses stared at him with a mix of envy and curiosity. Apparently, Acorn was the only one who had been granted the luxury of walking around on his own. By the looks of them, many of the older horses were not too pleased by such blatant favoritism toward the youngster. Others, maybe more lenient, or less unhappy about spending most of their time in a box, looked like they had made peace with such state of affairs and were just asking themselves what was going on.

Sandwiched between the stables and two wood sheds, Acorn advanced warily.

The rickety structures bore the signs of a hasty construction and lay crooked on the bare earth. The thin skeleton of iron that held them up was red and flaked with rust. Wood planks of uneven lengths were wedged into the structure. More scraps of wood than proper lumber, they came together to form very approximate walls.

Through the many slits between the planks, Acorn could make out dark, vague shapes. His ears twitched as he listened to the sounds of the first shed. All he heard were the whispers of pail shifting, and the sighs of sheep dozing off. A few feet later, Acorn stretched his ears again. From the shed next to him, a wet, spooky snort resounded through the wood. Acorn shied away instinctively as he recognized the presence of Brunga, the dangerously unpredictable Blackshears’ bull.

In his preoccupation to put as much distance as he could from Brunga, Acorn did not realize he had stepped at bite’s length from the other horses.

Melinda, a white old school mare, bared her teeth and snapped at him, hoping to nip his shoulder. Acorn heard her neigh viciously and wheeled around. He pulled his ears back and wriggled away from her bite just in time. He glowered at her and slid away.

The opening between the hedge that blocked the view in front of him and the sheds on his side was now a few paces away. The paddock and the school lay right beyond. Acorn resumed his search�"he still had not found what he was looking for.

Meanwhile, the only other thing moving on the premises, the boy, was running stealthily toward a drinking trough in the paddock. His name was Granger and he was the only son of the Blackshears. He was a skinny, bright eleven-years-old with restless green eyes. His ash brown hair had not been cut for a while and it was starting to look like an afro, or a giant mushroom head�"as Granger referred to it�"as it always did when left on its own. His hair did not really grow; it was more like it sprang out of his head, reaching out for the stars. Granger had tried many times to tame it, but other than cutting it, there was no way around it.

The patch on his faded jeans flapped as he ran, while his shapeless T-shirt rippled like a sail. Those clothes looked well passed their prime and not exactly his size. They were in fact not his. They were a hand-me-downs from his well off cousins. His parents could not afford buying new clothes�"they were poor. Mr. Blackshear charged too little for the riding school and was too fond of showing off his generosity to his clients, who he liked to call friends, to make enough money. He liked nothing better than being grand to everybody around him, apart from his family. In fact, he suffered a clenched fist when it came to his wife or son. Money barely escaped his fingers when it was time to buy even the most basic items for the household�"like food�"though he was always seen with new shoes and perfect clothes. So, Granger had not been allowed to buy a new pair of snickers or jeans in years and had to content himself with hand-me-downs.

On his part, Granger was keenly aware that his family was poor, so he never asked for new clothes or toys and gave up whatever he could when they needed him to. He did not care too much about stuff. His true joy were the outdoors and animals. One animal in particular was dear to him above all others: his horse Acorn�"the very bay horse that was now intently looking for him, unaware of what Granger was scheming.

Winter had left its mark on Granger too. Its long and dreary days had caged him inside, cooking his frustration slowly to critical mass. Now that the sun was out, a kind of frenzy possessed him: a crazed desire to make every moment spent outside memorable run through him like an army of hungry ants. 

He had just had a marvelous idea for a prank to Acorn that required skill and daring and he was beside himself to make it happen as soon as possible. The moment the idea struck, his brain had positively exploded with delight. He was in the back of the house, climbing a tree, while Acorn watched him perplexed or possibly envious. On a hunch, he had plunged his hand in his pocket and got hold of his menthos. Acorn loved menthos, so Granger had scattered a handful onto the ground as a diversion. As soon as Acorn had lunged for them, Granger had jumped down the tree and sneaked out, heading like a thunderbolt toward the paddock.

Now, it was time to do justice to his brilliant idea. Granger reached the edge of the paddock and stopped in front of the trough. The wooden basin stood in the shade at the edge of the woods, filled with water and a few dead leaves. Granger cast another quick glance back, then sat down on the brim of the trough. He hesitated a second, then he propped himself up and sank his feet into the water. A chilling stream gushed through the holes in his soles and soaked his socks almost instantly. Goosebumps ran from his legs all the way up to his arms. Granger shivered, breathing quickly�"it was just March, after all, and the trough stood all day in the shade. The water was still winter cold. There was no time to waste on second thoughts. Granger resolutely willed himself to stand the cold. He slowly lowered his body into the trough, taking care not to ripple and spill any water�"it would give away his whereabouts too easily. He winced, as the chilly water licked the whole length of his back, shooting prickling shivers up to his ears. His heart was beating fast. It was awesome!

Granger took two big breaths, pinched his nose shut between his fingers, then sank his head underwater. It almost felt like entombing himself in ice.

He propped his feet and hands against the inner walls of the trough and kept himself from floating up. Inside this shell of wood and water, the calm was eerie. Despite the cold and the effort of holding his breath, Granger felt his mind instinctively relax. It was cozy in there. Maybe that’s how babies feel, he pondered. Apart for the cold, of course. Above him, through the settling water, the branches of the trees swayed dreamily in the breeze. Cast against the bright sky, they looked like giant feelers carefully searching the air.

Granger snapped out of his reverie and stretched his ears, listening for any signs of Acorn approaching. Holding his breath underwater in the trough, still as a statue, he looked like a weird submarine stick bug ready to pounce. His ash brown hair fanned out around his face like wild thoughts, while his grass green eyes stared attentively through the water, gleaming with anticipation. His hiding spot was perfect! Acorn would never think of that. Granger really wanted to burst into an evil chuckle�"he felt like an evil genius�"but he was not going to blow his cover, so he willed himself to a straight face.

A sliver of froth drifted lazily on the surface. Granger pondered whether it was Acorn’s saliva or the sheep’s. He was probably lying in a bed of spit. He grinned and thought himself daring, even though he knew that most kids at school would likely just consider him disgusting. Well, who cared what they thought. They did not know anything about adventure. Adventure was not handed to you on a silver plate. You had to earn it. Spit, you just washed away, but adventure, that staid for the days to come. Parry nodded silently to himself and noticed his head was starting to feel light. A constricting sensation, like a belt around his chest, was tightening steadily. His lungs started screaming for air, but Granger was resolute to stay put.

He fidgeted at the bottom of the trough, worried that maybe Acorn would not show up. Where the heck was that knucklehead? What if he did not show up and ruined his awesome ambush? A wave of fretting panic seized Granger. Maybe, he should have left a string of Menthos leading to the trough. Damn! That’s exactly what he should have done. Why didn’t he think about that before? Why would Acorn come straight to the trough? He could easily walk into the school instead. He had not thought this thing properly. That was going to be his downfall.

Dark thoughts of failure clouded Granger’s brain as the air in his lungs quickly expired. He reckoned he had no more than a dozen seconds left in him, then he would have to take a breath, or die in his watery tomb. Another five seconds elapsed. It was over. Damn! He had been so close.

Presently, a shadow draped itself across the trough. The temperature suddenly dropped a couple of degrees. Granger wondered how on earth he could feel colder than he already was, but apparently he could. A chilling shiver crept through the water, freezing him to the bone.

The shadow moved in a little more. Granger saw the darkness break up at the fringes, roughly drawing the outline of a mane. Acorn had finally come over.

Excitement fired through Granger’s skin�"it was showtime!

He let go of his supports, kicked hard toward the surface.

He exploded out of the water in a huge splash, flailing his arms around like a madman.

“Raaaaugh!!” he roared in Acorn’s face.

Acorn bolted back, flaring his nostrils in shock.

“Got you! I got you!” Granger taunted. “Spoooky!”

Acorn bared his teeth and snapped at him, outraged.

Granger plunged his hand into the frigid water and splashed him treacherously.

Acorn let out a grunt and bucked away, kicking and neighing wildly. He shook his head violently around, as if to show his disapproval for the scandalous treatment.

Granger watched him with satisfaction, overjoyed by the result of his ambush. Best-prank-ever! He jumped out of the trough and joined Acorn romping around the paddock.

With his head and tail high, Acorn was trotting about jerkily, wheeling his head in quick bursts, flaring his nostrils loudly at anything he lay his eyes on, as if purposefully looking for something else to get scared by. It looked like he was actually enjoying the rush of adrenaline still running wild in his veins.

Granger ran beside him, roaring and laughing, his sneakers squeaking and sloshing loudly.

At the ruckus, a few sheep poked their heads out of their shed, while the horses in the stables pricked their ears, wondering what on earth was that all about.

Acorn and Granger kept on playing off each other for a few minutes, enjoying themselves madly. Then, another mischievous idea lit up Granger’s brain like a firecracker.

Granger stopped dead in his tracks and raised his hand up to command attention, meanwhile splashing and dripping water everywhere.

Acorn pricked his ears, an expectant expression widening his crazed eyes.

“To the pen!” shouted Granger triumphantly.

Acorn knew that command very well. He bucked his approval and rushed forward out of the paddock. Granger followed suit.

Since he was a yearling, Acorn had displayed a strong shepherding instinct, the same that cutting horses and shepherd dogs have. From then on, one of their favorite pastimes had been to break into the sheep pen and see how long Acorn could hold one away from the rest. Acorn loved it and Granger loved watching him. Granger could swear that even the sheep had grown to it, because they got better at every round. He could picture them in the barn at night keeping score and bragging about their last moves.

It was not clear whether the sheep agreed with Granger. In fact, they all quickly cowered inside as the pair of rogues blundered toward their shelter.

Acorn skidded to a halt and started surveying his victims, looking for the best candidate.

Meanwhile, Granger got hold of the swiveling fences attached to the sheep’s pen and pulled them to the shed. He fastened them to their latches, creating a corridor between the shed and the pen.

With a sinister chuckle, Granger jumped in. He opened the gate of the shed and drove the sheep out of their safety without ceremony. Suddenly roused from their cozy sleep, the sheep scattered around, baaing in confusion.

Acorn watched as the sheep filed in front of him, his eyes flashing from one to the other, as if counting them.

The sheep gathered in a heap at the farthest corner of the pen, now wide-awake and alert.

Granger unlatched one of the fences and let Acorn in. 

Acorn stormed into the pen. Terrified, the sheep broke ranks and hurtled in every direction. Acorn pulled his ears back, bared his teeth and with a couple of well placed lunges quickly gathered them back together.

Granger pulled the pen shut behind Acorn and climbed onto the fence to get a better view of the match.

Acorn surveyed the herd cooly�"his wet, dark eyes searching through the mass of wooly creatures. He apparently found what he was looking for and aimed ahead.

Granger followed Acorn’s gaze; his eyes landed on Pillow, a fluffy ram that was studying Acorn with apprehension. Despite the name and the appearance, Pillow was one of the most athletic sheep in the herd, and one of the shrewdest ones. More than once, he had proved a worthy challenge for Acorn.

“Good choice, buddy!” called out Granger.

Acorn twitched his ears in Granger’s direction, but did not look away from the sheep. He studied the herd for one more second, then bolted forward, cutting through them decisively. The sheep broke ranks again. This time, Acorn let them trickle away and zeroed in on Pillow. He spread his forelegs wide, dropped his head low until his nose skimmed the dust on the ground, and crouched down in an almost feline chasing pose. He looked like a hunting animal ready to pounce, or a runner ready to sprint from the blocks. 

Cornered, Pillow broke out in a frenzy. 

All gathered up underneath himself and perfectly balanced, Acorn responded lightning fast to Pillow’s erratic jolts. With his head low and his eyes locked on him, Acorn pressed on Pillow, drawing closer, pushing Pillow’s and his own reflexes to the limit. Acorn’s huge body seemed to glide in the air, despite its impressive mass. Like a defensive basketball player, he marked Pillow closely, following his every move like a shadow, anticipating him and sealing any escape route the sheep was trying to force through.

Granger watched mesmerized. Acorn muscles gleamed in the late afternoon light; Pillow’s coat billowed and swayed with his every move; their hooves thundered, scraped and slid on the ground. It was a superb match, all shrouded in a mystic cloud of dust that glittered against the light. It was like watching an ever-changing, unpredictable dance. The speed and reflexes of both animals were almost blinding.

Suddenly, Acorn pulled back to take a breath. Pillow retreated, relieved by the momentary break. The two animals went to their corners, studying each other. With his back against the fence, Pillow’s eyes darted around, taking in the whole pen, looking for a chink in Acorn’s defenses. It seemed he could not find one. Pillow’s eyes stared hungrily at the other sheep huddled up behind Acorn. The herd instinct was building up inside him. Away from his mates, he felt weak, alone, vulnerable. In a matter of seconds he was going to break.

Acorn watched him cooly, puffing lightly.

Granger counted under his breath. “Three… Two… One.”

Acorn nudged forward.

As if a spark had ignited under his hooves, Pillow jolted forward, thrusting himself at Acorn’s left. Acorn pulled back almost instantly. He coiled himself up, then lunged, baring his teeth. Pillow stopped cold in his tracks, then wheeled around blindly. He threw himself back in an attempt to outrun Acorn in the other direction, but misjudged and instead crashed against the pen. One of the rickety bars of the fence gave way under his weight. The rusty nail popped out of the rotten wood like a cork from the bottle. A gap suddenly opened in front of Pillow. The sheep seized his chance and squeezed himself through, running for his life.

“Hey!” shouted Granger.

In response, Pillow baaed loudly and bolted forward. It was not clear whether Pillow was bleating in terror or triumph. Nonetheless, he was making a magnificent escape.

Granger meant to be angry at the sheep, but could not keep an admiring smile from spreading on his cheek. Damn, he thought, that sheep was good! 

Acorn was not as pleased. Snorting angrily, he galloped up to Granger, demanding he open the gate. The sheep around him scattered, noticed the gap in the pen, then started squeezing through, filing out into the open.

Granger jumped off the fence. He rushed to open the gate, while Acorn fretted on the other side. He flung the corridor’s fence open. Acorn bolted past him, in hot pursuit.

“Wait up!” Granger shouted.

He sprinted after Acorn, his soaked shoes squeaking loudly as he ran at the top of his lungs. In a second, he and Acorn flashed around the corner of the house. 

As he emerged, Granger had a feint impression of the herd of sheep parting like the Red Sea, then he recognized his mom with Mrs. Roeg. Too late.

“Granger!” yelled Granger’s mother through the stampede.

Granger and Acorn froze in the face of authority.

Authority, as impersonated by Maddie Blackshear, looked rather diminutive, yet quite intimidating nonetheless. Even though she was shorter than her son, Maddie managed to stare down at Granger. Her black eyes gleamed with threat, crowned by a mane of wild, curly black hair that resembled her son’s, but looked even more untamable. As if charged with electricity, those locks curled in the air and gave her the uncanny resemblance of the fabled monster Medusa.

“I didn’t do it,” blurted out Granger, “Acorn did it, I swear!”

Maddie raised her black brows in utter disbelief, as she glanced at the walking skeins of wool straggling through her garden.

Acorn’s gaze drifted onto Pillow, now grazing happily around a blue and violet hydrangea. 

“Don’t you even think of that!” yelled Maddie at him, raising the sleeves of her jacket to reinforce her message.

Acorn startled and looked away.

Maddie raised her finger, pointing at his son and his accomplice, then growled, “You two stay away from the sheep, before I throw you both in Brunga’s stall!”

That was mom’s standard threat. Never put into effect, yet still pretty effective. Brunga was not known for his good manners�"he had broken a couple of dad’s ribs once and mom’s wrist another, so a trip to his stall would probably entail some kind of physical damage.

Mrs. Roeg giggled, amused. 

Granger turned to her, exploiting the chance to take immediate evasive action. 

Mrs. Roeg was one of mom’s few friends, and Granger liked her. She was a willowy, auburn hair woman with lady-like manners. Whenever he looked at her, Granger could not help thinking of honey. He could not explain why�"maybe it was the gold in her skin, or her warm smile. Granger did not know, but he found her very pleasant and pretty. He smiled at her politely. 

“Hello Mrs. Roeg.”

“Hello dear,” she replied, beaming at him, then she turned to Maddie and winked, “looks like Captain Chaos and Helper are on a new mission.”

Maddie glared at his son’s drenched clothes and shook her head. 

Granger made to open his mouth and explain.

Maddie waved her hand impatiently. “I don’t even want to know.”

Granger grinned. He was going to tell her anyway later. He was sure, mom would shake her head, but find his adventure very amusing. She liked it when he came up with one of his wild plans. At least, he hoped he could get a laugh out of her. He liked it when mom laughed.

Granger turned expectantly to Mrs. Roeg. If she was here, maybe… 

“Is Holly here?” he asked in one breath.

Mrs. Roeg’s eyes shifted slightly; something like a shadow passed over her smile. 

“No, she had to stay home. She said she was behind in Math.”

Granger’s grin died away. Of course, he thought. 

Mrs. Roeg threw Granger a strange glance. It looked maybe like pity, sympathy, and possibly something else too.

“Sorry, dear.”

Granger shrugged unconvincingly. These days, Holly did not come to visit him anymore. It sucked. He liked Holly and did not understand why she was always so busy.

Granger was mulling over these thoughts, when he felt his mom’s hand running through his hair. The warmth of her skin made him feel a little better.

“Dry out your clothes,” said Maddie gently, “or you’ll catch a cold.” 

Granger nodded obediently.

Maddie bent down and gave his son a peck on the cheek. 

Granger felt the warmth from her kiss spread to his chest. Oh well, maybe Holly was really busy, after all. He would ask her to come play with him and Acorn next time. He was still having a grand day out. 

“Good bye, Mrs. Roeg!”

She grinned back, apparently relieved he was again in a good mood.

“Good bye, Captain!”

Granger’s smile flashed back on his lips. He saluted militarily and ran off with Acorn.

“Granger,” yelled Maddie after him, “get those sheep back into the shed!”

Granger stopped in his tracks, flustered. “Oh, right, right!”

He waved at Acorn to follow him and together they herded the sheep back.

Acorn was very pleased with the task. As retribution for having outsmarted him, He nipped Pillow twice, quite unnecessarily, as he hurried him along. Pillow, on his part, stood the mistreatment in a very dignified way, almost like a gentleman who was quite above that kind of rudeness. Underneath all that dignity, though, he looked rather pleased with himself.

Fortunately, Acorn did not notice. By the time they had put all the sheep back into the shed, he had forgotten all about his grudge and was trotting around sprightly.