Old MacDonald
Purdy | Nico Borrelli | acrylic on canvas
Old MacDonald by Phineas Cook
Billy squints as golden sunlight pours over the wide brim of his pale straw hat. The gentle hum of his father’s tractor, accompanied by a cacophony of clucks and scratches from the tall grey barn next to him, leaves Billy unable to hear the wind whistling through the waves of green cornfields in Billy's corner of the Kansas countryside. Billy wicks away a bead of sweat formed on his brow and heaves a sigh. A dull “Moo” sounds from the barn.
The dusty John Deere tractor rolls to a stop just in front of Billy, its large rubber tires leaving sizable divots in the mud path leading up to the farm. Keith, a large man in a faded denim pair of overalls, steps out and greets Billy.
“That finishes up this patch. I’ll move on to the next,” Keith says with a drawl.
“Sounds about right,” Billy replies, then adds “How you been?”
“Could'a been better. I got a nasty migraine this mornin’.”
Billy begins to respond, but is abruptly cut off by a shrill and prolonged scream cutting through the bucolic noise. Keith jumps, unsettled. The clucks and scratches from the barn stop almost as abruptly, and as Billy and Keith try to pinpoint the origin of the sound, the low hum of the tractor sputters to a stop. Even the wind seems to cease its gentle whistling. All was quiet and still except for the high pitched shriek, which falters and dies down. Billy turns to Keith, who looks relieved as everything returns to normal. The tractor stumbles back to life, the clucks and scratches resume, and a gentle breeze blows across Billy’s forehead. A sense of unease still hangs in the air, though the tension is pacified as Billy wills himself to believe all is as it should be. But no. Though Billy can’t put his finger on it, Something is out of place. Something about the farm felt too vibrant, too… happy.
With a start, Billy notices the sign above the entrance to the grey barn. It had always read in faded white paint “Keith and Sons Estate.” But now, in bright bubble letters it bears the phrase “Old MacDonald Had a Farm.” Billy turns to Keith, confused.To his horror, a large smile is plastered across his aged face. Billy stands still, shocked by the expression smothering the man into someone almost unrecognizable. Slowly and quietly, Keith begins with a contorted voice to sing.
“Old MacDonald had a farm.”
The low drone of the tractor begins to twist into a tune, and Keith sings along with an unsettling voice that is not his own. In a horrible unnatural screech, he is joined by a unison of hundreds of chickens squalling from the barn.
“ee i ee i o”.
Billy is now aware that on his own distorted face there is also a large smile. His dry lips begin cracking as they are stretched farther than they were ever meant to be. He tries to run, but instead his legs begin to frolic in a jerky dance. He tries to scream, but instead the warped sound of the nursery rhyme lyrics escapes his smiling lips. He is joined by Keith, whose eyes reflect the panic Billy is sure are in his own. They dance in a large, tortured circle, much too bright sunlight falling onto much too green grass. One by one, out of the now lively red and white barn skip each animal once contained within, blood dripping from where their beaks and mouths had been deformed and buckled into a vigorous smile. Hooves and claws scrape the gravel as each animal sings once more.
“Ee i ee i o.”
A muted cracking of frail bones rings out as pigs and quail begin moving their limbs in ways not naturally possible, all joining Billy and Keith in their circle. Above all rings the chant
“Old MacDonald had a farm.”
End
Safety | Chloe Cumings | Acrylic