The Caretaker of Lorne Field

On the first day of the trial, he whispered to Durkin how they were going on day twenty since spring thaw. “I’ve been out there every day, and nothing’s growing,” he said, his grin strained. There was an edginess to him, a discomfort. Durkin knew that the lawyer had read both the contract and the Book of Aukowies carefully, and as much as he wanted to believe that it was a simple matter of Durkin having a psychotic breakdown, he had his own doubts. He mentioned to Durkin several times over the winter how he couldn’t fathom Durkin cutting off Wolcott’s foot with a single slice of the machete. He told Durkin how he had bought the same brand of machete and tried himself with a watermelon and couldn’t cut it through with one strike. “We’re talking a watermelon, Mr. Durkin. Somehow you were supposed to cut through a leather boot and bone. I don’t see how you did it.” When Durkin found himself thinking about it, he couldn’t see how he could’ve done it, either. But he tried not to think about it. He tried to think that it was a simple matter of that psychiatrist being right. Or maybe somehow burning a field of Aukowies alive ended them forever. Maybe that was it. Except everything in the contract was written for a reason. His pa said so. So did his grandpa. And his great grandpa before him…

Durkin had trouble paying attention to his trial. He was too distracted to understand what people were saying. He was too uneasy. He could tell his lawyer was feeling the same way, but it didn’t stop Goldman from whispering to him that they were going on day twenty-three…

It was on the fourth day of his trial when he heard the screams, along with everybody else in the courtroom. They were short-lived and followed by a weird kind of popping noise-kind of like an amplified bug zapper. People in the courtroom rushed to the windows, then started screaming themselves. Durkin sat where he was. His lawyer just stared at him, his grin folding into a frightened grimace.

It didn’t take long for the Aukowies to bust through the walls. Seconds maybe. They were exactly as in the drawings. Nine feet long with evil horned faces and fangs everywhere. One of them hovered in front of Durkin, its open jaws unhinging inches from his face. It recognized him, and he knew he would be saved for last. Instead it buzzed through Goldman, turning his lawyer into nothing but pink spray. Durkin felt bad seeing it. Over the last several months he had grown to like him. As much as he wanted to kid himself otherwise, he had known all along what had happened. When he burned the Aukowies alive he changed everything. Instead of coming up in Lorne Field, they chose someplace else. Someplace quiet. Maybe it took longer, twenty-three days to be exact, but at least they wouldn’t be burnt alive where they pushed through the ground.

Unless he truly was insane.

He closed his eyes and wished that that was the case. That the screams and popping noises he heard were the sounds that an insane man would hear. That the moist spray hitting his face was just the sensation that someone out of his mind would imagine. He prayed that that was what it was. After he was done praying, he begged for forgiveness.

I’m so sorry, he thought. Lydia, Lester, I’m sorry for what’s going to happen to you. But it wasn’t fair. It just isn’t right to put this kind of burden on one man’s shoulders. You had no right doing it.

With a smile, he realized how crazy that was. A man bitterly complaining to a God he didn’t believe in. It gave him some hope. But under no circumstance was he going to open his eyes.