Cooper's Circle

Lost, dark and cold - Cooper stumbled out of the trees and down to the road. Knowing that all roads must lead somewhere he had hope. Standing finally on solid ground, he stretched out his aching joints and wiped the debris from his clothes. Looking left and right he wondered which direction was home. Headlights in the distance caught his attention. He breathed a sigh of relief and started to wave his arms. An old, red, battered Ford pickup pulled alongside him. The passenger window descended. Finally, a break; Cooper felt like he was saved.

“You look lost, my friend,” said the driver.

“Oh, you wouldn’t believe the night I’m having.”

“Where are ya headed?”

“Civilisation — anywhere but here.”

“I can do that. Hop in.”

Cooper grabbed the handle and opened the door.

Climbing into the cab, he picked up a red children’s book, with the image of a matador on the cover and a separate plastic cow off the seat.

“Where do you want me to put these?” asked Cooper.

The driver hesitated. Cooper took the pause to get a look at him. In his late fifties at least, the man wore a trucker’s cap and sported a prominent black handlebar moustache flecked with silver near its ends. The pause extended into an uncomfortable silence. Snapping back into focus the driver said,

“Just put ‘em on the backseat.”

With that the driver smiled. The strange awkwardness that had stood between them vanished in a blink. Following the instructions Cooper did as he was told, he got comfortable in his seat and fastened his seatbelt.

“You are an absolute lifesaver.”

“Think nothing of it.”

The driver smiled at Cooper again, this time he did not feel at ease. Cooper stared out at the road as the car snaked along, the headlights illuminating the towering trees on either side of them.

“So, you have kids?” Cooper attempting to break the ice.

“What makes you ask that?”

“The kid’s book and the cow.”

“It’s not a cow.”

“What?”

“It’s not a cow.”

“Okay.”

“It’s a bull.”

Silence. The tension in the cab had returned and this time it was almost unbearable.

“I’m sorry. Have I said somethin’ wrong?”

Like a switch, the driver’s eyes lit up, his face softened, and the mood inside the cab relaxed.

“No, not at all! They're my sons.”

The driver reached over and rubbed Cooper’s shoulder reassuringly. The innocuous gesture sent a cold shiver down the now weary passenger’s back.

“In fact, I need to pick him up before we get out of these woods.”

Cooper looked over at the driver’s face for reassurance, but his eyes were like bottomless pits: void of all light and emotion. Then, as if he didn't have a care in the world, the driver smiled, and continued.

“You’re goin’ to have scootch up a little and share ya space.”

“…Yeah, alright, no worries., But, he’s only a kid; how big can he be?”

“Oh, he’s big.”

Without warning the pickup quickly turned off the road. The unpaved terrain was rocky and the vehicle was swallowed into the woods. After the longest time, the pickup stopped. Flicking a lever, the driver extinguished the headlights, consuming everything in darkness.

“Where are we?” asked Cooper.

“Here.”

“Where’s here?”

“Before you meet my son, I should tell you he is slightly touched.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s a fuckin’ retard.”

Cooper’s jaw hit the floor replying,

“I’m not sure if that’s correct….”

“That’s what his school friends called him. Don ya like that?”

“Well it’s not what we say now...”

“How about half wit. They called him that too. Do ya like half wit?”

The driver was shouting at Cooper now. Cooper recoiled and held his hands up in defence.

“Hey mister—”

Before Cooper could finish his thought, the driver interrupted him. Calmly, the driver looked out the windshield and dropped his tone,

“It’s okay he’s here now.”

Flicking on the headlights, the sight that greeted Cooper, gripped his mind and crippled him with fear.

Three meters in front of the car was a gigantic male figure. Completely naked apart from a gimp bull’s-head mask, the beast stood stock still with tree trunks for arms and legs. Not toned, but solid with menace. His legs were spread slightly apart, the beam of the headlight illuminating his horse-sized, flaccid cock.

Cooper's mind was frozen; he lost his voice. He turned to the driver and was alarmed to see the driver’s seat empty and the door open.

A voice came out of the trees: it was the driver’s.

“I’m gonna give ya a thirty second head start. Then I’m gonna let him fuck you up.”

Staring back out of the windshield, he watched as the minotaur bent down into a sprinter’s stance. The clock had started.

Cooper wasted no time and leapt into the driver’s seat. He reached for the keys and turned them, but the engine stalled. The car was so old it had a manual choke! Cooper did not understand that and was flooding the engine. He looked back at the dash then saw the lever. Reaching out to pull it the whole car just jumped. Staring out the windshield he could see that the minotaur had launched himself into the front of the pickup. He must have set off early. Clearly, using the pickup as a means of escape was against the rules. Seeing the minotaur with its shoulder against the grill, Cooper was mesmerised by the steam bellowing out of the mask. The beast was breathing heavily. The car was being manually pushed into reverse, the wheels skidding in the mud. He reached for the keys again but accidentally knocked them out of the ignition. Then, with a Herculean effort, the minotaur stood, lifting the whole front of the pickup into the air. Cooper barrelled out of the open driver’s door, turned and ran. He heard the sound of the pickup crashing back onto the ground, but he refused to look back.

Cooper knew how to run; it was his thing. When he was younger he joked he could catch the wind. But running in the woods at night is a completely different skill. Being scared shitless will give you that extra push, but it is never going to be smooth sailing. Cooper made his first mistake when he did not pay attention to the dirt road. Bending sharply to the left, he missed the turn. Stumbling over a divot, he went off the side of the road and tumbled head over heels down a steep embankment. As he fell, he felt a rib crack on impact and with it all the wind was knocked out of him.

Lying at the bottom of a ravine, he stared up at the crest, marvelling at how far he had fallen. The slope was insane, illuminated by the moonlight and he was surprised he had not broken his neck. He watched in horror as the pale figure of his naked behemoth pursuer emerged into the light. The minotaur glared down the slope and roared. The sound terrified everything in the woods. It felt as though the very leaves and branches retreated at the call. Cooper went to stand, but his legs gave way, and he slumped onto the earth. From the ground, he stared up the impassable slope and locked eyes with his nemesis.

To Cooper’s shock, the minotaur jumped off the edge. It landed a couple of meters down, nimbly like a mountain goat. Its huge frame stepped and traversed across the slope as sure-footed as a dancer. Its immense body twisting and turning but never slipping or tumbling. He watched the minotaur descend towards him with the grace of a swan.

The minotaur reached the bottom. In the moonlight, Cooper could see the steam coming from the mask. Cooper thought if that steam ever came in contact with him he would surely die. He tried to scurry backwards, but fear overtook his instincts. In four quick strides, the beast was over him. Reaching out with one arm, the brute grabbed the man by the neck and hoisted him into the air. Panic stations were sounding throughout Cooper's body. Cooper reached out with his arms instinctively, defencelessly, hopelessly. He grabbed hold of the mask, yanking it away and came face to face with his pursuer. The true identity of his assailant was revealed - he gasped. Cooper knew that face! Everything started to come flashing back.

Cooper knew the monster from school, years ago. It was Ferdinand MacDonald: big, stupid Ferdie. We all called him ‘Ferdinand the Bull’, after that stupid children’s book about the enormous bull who refused to fight the matador and stayed in the pasture sniffing flowers. It fit: Ferdie was big, gentle and touched. Living on a farm with his father and his Mexican mother, he also got a fair bit of ‘Old McDonald had a farm’... The book in the pickup! It was the same story about the Bull... Suddenly, everything made sense. Cooper had made this kid’s life hell from the age of five to seventeen. It had progressed to meaner taunts as they got older: half breed, halfwit and fuckin’ reta… the man in the car was not calling Ferdie that word! He had been reminding Cooper of what Cooper had called his son. The man in the car was old-man McDonald. Cooper had seen him on the television with the police. Wait, why was he with the police? The recollection hit Cooper like a lightning bolt. It was after Ferdie went missing! Then a second lightning bolt hit him. It was before they found the body! Everything could be traced back to his own actions. Cooper was the quarterback. They had just lost a big game and were driving through the woods looking for a place to get drunk and party. There were three car loads of them. They saw Ferdie on the road and got him to climb in and join them. Later, Cooper got two of the cheerleaders to undress him in the car, promising something he must have thought impossible. Then they dragged him out started to enact the cruellest plan. First they scared him, then they chased him, then they hurt him, and finally, they chose to do some unspeakable things to him…

Cooper snapped back into his predicament. He deserved everything that was about to happen and more. Ferdinand the Bull pulled him closer. Cooper gave up all resistance. His bladder emptied. Cooper felt the steam of Ferdinand’s breath. The fire in the monster's eyes was red and burnt with a hypnotic ferocity. Then, just as Cooper’s fear was hitting its crescendo the light in the minotaur’s eyes extinguished. The minotaur’s frame crumbled to dust and Cooper slumped to the floor while crying like a baby. The supernatural dust and remains of Ferdinand McDonald swirled and dissipated in the wind.

At that precise moment, Cooper was absent, not geographically, but mentally. He could not tell you how old he was, where he lived or even his shoe size. He struggled to his feet after crying in the dirt for what must have been an age. Disorientated and emotionally ravaged, he stumbled onwards and forwards.

Lost, dark and cold, Cooper stumbled out of the trees and down to the road. Knowing that all roads must lead somewhere he had hope. Standing finally on solid ground, he stretched out his aching joints and wiped the debris from his clothes. Looking left and right he wondered which direction was home. Headlights in the distance caught his attention. He breathed a sigh of relief and started to wave his arms. An old, red, battered Ford pickup pulled up alongside him and the passenger window descended. Finally, a break; Cooper felt like he was saved.

Hell hath no limits, nor is circumscribed in one self place, for where we are is hell, And where hell is there must we ever be.

Christopher Marlowe