The Iron Bull

Earth Angel by The Penguins was playing on the radio.

It was the perfect song for my picnic preparations. I was going to propose to her today and I needed everything to be perfect. I’d made her favorite sandwich, roast beef on pumpernickel with just a dollop of brown mustard and a bunch of havarti cheese. I had an assortment of crudité prepared, all of her favorite vegetables and fruits: cherry tomatoes, bell peppers, radish, strawberries, pomegranate.

I placed it all in the picnic basket along with a bottle of her favorite brut and two champagne glasses. On top I placed the red plaid blanket that my mother’s grandmother had made in the old way that had been lost to history. Everything was going to be great. I was truly happy for the first time in recent memory.

I carefully checked that the engagement ring that my father had betrothed to me was still safe in it’s box. I put it in my right trouser pocket and scrutinized my reflection in a mirror to be sure that it did not betray itself with a suspicious bulge. Satisfied, I donned my coat and bid goodbye to my nephew through his closed bedroom door. I turned off the radio on my way out the door.

In my sangria colored sedan I made my way in the direction of the perfect meadow that I’d chosen to propose to her. It was located about an hour inland from Innsmouth, on the far side of the boggy swampland that stunk of dead fish that surrounded the entire town. I had spoken to her on the phone three days prior and given her careful directions to get to the place that I’d planned for the picnic.

I drifted away into my thoughts as I drove. I thought about how I'd met her. We were both at a fancy party at the home of an old acquaintance in Wellesley. Frankly, I could not stand the sanctimonious prick who owned the home, but we had co-authored some papers together several years back and, even though I knew that he could not stand me either, he still invited me out of a sense of decorum. I would usually politely decline his invitations, but this time I had nothing else going on and it seemed like I had nothing to lose by joining them and potentially doing a little networking.

A lot of people who liked to hear themselves talk were present. I tried to keep myself together as long as I could but there was only so much that I could take. I excused myself to the garden to have a smoke. That’s where I met her standing in the fading evening light in the garden. She asked me if I had a light, and I provided her one.

That’s when an auspicious portent took place, a bluebird soared down from the sky and landed on her hand as lightly as if it had been a branch. It sang a few notes and looked right at me before it flitted away just as quickly as it had appeared. She was just as stunned as I was. I told her that the bluebird was my favorite bird, and she agreed that it was her favorite too.

She was one of the most striking young women I’d ever met. She was perhaps not physically the most stunning, but in intellect she was unsurpassed and greatly my equal. We ended up talking till well into the night about all manner of subjects. She had read my work and had some very intelligent questions to ask me; she challenged me, I was immediately smitten with her.

I asked her if she’d like to join me for dinner at my estate in a week's time and she had agreed. That was the first of many deep conversations and enjoyable adventures that we’d taken. She had a bottomless appetite for knowledge and every day, I fell more and more in love with her.

I arrived at the planned location of the picnic, parked my car and walked a short way into the meadow. Luckily, I had arrived before her so I had time to make everything perfect. I laid out the blanket in just the perfect spot, I put out the two glasses and the bottle of brut. I looked the scene over and everything was perfect.

Then, I waited, and waited, and waited, then waited some more. She was running very late, I checked my watch, she was over an hour late. I needed to relax. I laid back on the blanket and stared at the shapes in the clouds and before I knew it, I was asleep.

I found myself in a dimly lit volcanic dreamscape, hellish really, it was hot and ashes floated in the air. I called out and only heard the echo of my own voice return to me. Every which way I turned I could not find my way out of this place.

The ground rumbled and from the red earth rose a terrible figure. A bull made entirely of living rusting iron came up from the ground, its wicked horns and sharp hooves were as smooth and black as obsidian, it’s eyes blazed like smoldering embers.

It’s voice was like ripping metal. It told me that I was a failure. My promise to him had taken too long and he found a new steward to place his hopes in.

My punishment was to be death and my soul would belong to him as had been promised all those years ago. I spat a curse at him, but I had never learned his name and so had no power over him.

He brought one of his midnight hooves down on me and I felt a crunch inside myself. I collapsed to the ground as he rounded on me. The ground rumbled and I regretted my entire life.

As hooves rained down upon me, my final thought was of her.

This piece was written for the "Raging Bull" challenge. Both this story and the one that preceded it were written in one night. This is the fifth part in an eight part series. You can read them in order here on Vocal.

In order: "The Barn", "Dinner and Diary", "The Package on the Table", and "The Field Where They Found Him".

Look forward to part six, "One Wrong Turn" in a few days.