The Storm

A Story by Kris

Prologue

The ground trembled as the lighting crashed; outlining the old Caddo Indian mounds standing just outside of Bringer, Oklahoma. What the common man didn’t know is that these mounds were here long before man walked the planet. Man was not the first here, cosmic forces greater than anything sane man could guess, in his infinitesimal mind came here long ago; making this world in their image, not mans. Tonight a cosmic force walks the earth once more and man can do little to stop it

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Bringer, Oklahoma November 10^th 1931

Ben was a hard working man; He had stayed in Oklahoma, even after most of his kin had moved on, as the farmland turned to dust. He was tall and thin, his friends called him beanpole, but Ben was always there to help friends and other farmers needing help. Ben had normal family, his wife Molly was good cook and a hard worker, and his two young boys were twins, both turning 7 this year. As of late Ben would think back to the Great War, were he had awaited the whistle to go over the top. He would never tell anyone about the cold sweats, the sitting up in the middle of the night, the visitation’s of long dead friends in his dreams. But now he was a farmer, trying to make a living off land that grows more dust devils than wheat.

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“Come on boys get that mule in the barn” Ben told his boys as he looked over his shoulder at the bellowing clouds of darkness moving in. The crack of thunder would roll over the three as the move more of the farm animals into the barn. “Ben” Molly yelled out to them. “Yeah Molly” Ben replied. “Make sure the chicken coops are locked up good” cupping he hand to her mouth to direct her voice. “Ok sweetie” Ben yelled back. “Boys get in the house I’ll take care of the chickens” Ben told the boys, as they lead the last mule into the barn.

Ben walked to the back of the barn to the coops to make sure the doors would not come open. He picked up an old pick handle and his hammer. He placed the hand next to the door to bar it with his hammer, on his swing down, a loud thunder clap made him jump, he slammed the hammer head into his thumb, “Well son of a” Ben catching himself before he cursed. When he finished securing the door, he turned to head back inside. Looking deep into the tempest, it seemed almost as if it held hate for anything in front of the squall. Ben walked swiftly to his house. Looking back one more time, squinting, he could make out what looked to be a person walking out of the bellowing black maelstrom.

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