First Posted: Oct 25th, 2022
Last Updated: Oct 25th, 2022
Farmer Roland Watkins set the swather rolling forward, the blades slicing through the alfalfa with a satisfying snick, snick. The sweet scent of fresh cut hay filled the cabin, bringing a smile to the old man’s face. This was a good day. It would have been better, if this were the beginning of it not the end. Most of the day had been spent tinkering with the large piece of equipment, trying to get it to run. At last, it’d fired up, ready to make its trip up and down the field.
In the west, the sun was sinking lower into the mountains, its rays casting gold across the peaks. In the valley, Roland sipped coffee from his travel mug and made another round.
Had the swather not conked out, he would have finished this hours ago and he’d be belly up to the table enjoying his wife’s cooking and the chatter of his grandkids. As it were, he’d missed the entire first day of the impromptu family reunion, his grown children having returned for a visit with their spouses and offspring in tow. Thankfully, they’d leaped at the chance to show the little ones how to slop the hogs, hay the horses, and pen the goats, taking a huge chunk of the workload from Roland’s back. If he hadn’t had to fix the damned swather… Well, no sense in wallowing in what couldn’t be helped.
The sun dropped belong the mountain peaks, bathing the valley in shadow. Roland switched on the swather’s overhead lights and made another round. The day had been blazing hot. Sweat trickled down his face from his hairline despite the cool air blowing on him from the A/C. It didn’t cool the whole cab, but it kept him from heat exhaustion. That was good enough.
He wiped a shaky hand over his face, clearing away some of the sweat. The shakes disturbed him. Probably too much coffee on an empty stomach combined with the soaring temperatures of the day, he told himself, but a part of him disagreed. He wasn’t feeling well, at all. It wasn’t just the sweats or the sick feeling in his stomach, his shoulder was hurting, and his chest felt tight. Some late summer bug, he assured himself.
Another circuit through the alfalfa and he was halfway done. The job was quick and easy when things went right, unfortunately things rarely went right. Too many things to slow him down; sometimes hay got stuck in the swather blades and he’d have to climb down and clear them out, a dangerous job if he wasn’t exceedingly careful, or the wheels could get stuck in a badger hole. Last time that happened, he’d had to use the tractor to pull the swather from the opening. So far, it’d been clear sailing. Mentally, he crossed his fingers that it remained so.
He was halfway through another round when he pulled up short. Something was moving up ahead. It had flashed in the lights then moved further away out of view, but it had looked very much like a human. Roland slowed to a near crawl, worried it was one of his kids or grandkids out to check on him. They should have more sense than that, but if not, he didn’t want to swathe over them. Setting the large piece of equipment to idle, he opened the door and searched the area bathed in light.
“Hello?” He called out, straining to hear an answer over the rumble of the swather’s motor. He heard nothing beyond the slow clicking of the swather blades and the tapping of the exhaust stack’s rain cap as the diesel engine idled.
“Anyone out there?” Roland called again, his eyes searching for any movement in the rows. The alfalfa was tall, but not so tall that he wouldn’t be able to see a grown person walking through it. Maybe not a child, especially if they crouched, but anyone taller than his knee would be visible even in the gathering darkness. A half-hour from now, not so much.
“Look,” he said, raising his voice even more, “I don’t want to hurt you, so if you’re hiding in the rows, come out so I don’t swathe over you.”
When no one emerged or answered him, he stepped back into the cab and pulled the door tightly closed. Sipping at his coffee, he let a minute tick away before setting the machine in motion again. A grimace tightened his face, the pain in his stomach climbing up a notch as he swallowed. Making a face, he set the cup aside and rubbed at the spot just below his sternum, hoping to relieve the pain. Massaging it helped some, enough he felt he could finish up the job, but he knew if he didn’t get some food in his stomach soon, he’d be reactivating his ulcer, if he hadn’t already.
Another round under his belt, and he began to relax into the flow again no longer searching for a hidden person among the green rows. The sun had set completely leaving him with only the overhead lights to see by. The lights gave him a bright circle to travel in, illuminating several feet ahead and a couple feet to either side, enough to see if a deer or coyote suddenly leaped out in front of him. An entire herd of buffalo could be following him, and he wouldn’t see them in the inky darkness behind him.
He’d just rounded for another go down the field, when he the figure of a man appeared just beyond the circle of light, standing stalk-still. Roland thought for a wild moment, someone had stuck a scarecrow in his field. Then it moved.
“What the Hell?” Roland crunched down hard on the brake. His left foot trailed a second behind, nearly missing the clutch altogether. The swather lurched, and the engine sputtered for a second before smoothing into an idle.
The figure rose another two feet as if he’d been kneeling amongst the alfalfa plants when Roland first spotted him. At his full height, if this was his true height, he was well over six feet tall. Taller than Roland, but not by much. A dark hood was over the man’s face, but Roland had the distinct impression the man’s eyes were looking not just at him but deep inside him. It made his skin crawl.
Staring into the darkness beyond the lights, Roland’s eyes were drawn to the man’s hand where the light glinted on something metallic. From his spot in the cabin of the swather, Roland couldn’t be sure what the man was holding. He was holding it low to the ground, too low for it to be a knife blade. Maybe a machete or an ax? Either way, Roland wasn’t crazy enough to confront the man on level ground. Slipping the machine into neutral, Roland slid the door open and stepped out onto the steps leading to the ground.
“Hey!” Roland yelled, trying to ignore the painful way his heart was hammering in his chest. “Who’s out there? Show yourself!”
The figure tilted his head up to look at Roland. Eyes the color of glowing embers, smoldered beneath the hood. Roland felt his jaw drop open. Shaking his head in disbelief, he stepped back inside the cabin and closed the door, wishing silently that it had a lock. Before him, the figure stepped into the brightened area in front of the swather. Draped from head-to-toe in a black hooded cloak, the light seeming to be absorbed into it, the figure raised the object he held in his hand until it was high enough for him to rest the handle on the ground.
Roland gaped at the image before him.
“No way,” he whispered, rubbing at the ache in his arm. Sweat slicked his body, the cool air from the A/C raising goosebumps on his flesh. Unsure whether he was flashing hot and cold because of the competing temperatures in the cab or from who stood staring at him, scythe in hand.
“No way,” he said again, more firmly this time.
The Reaper raised a hand to point at Roland. The gaping sleeve of the cloak fell away revealing polished, ivory-colored bone. Roland shivered. Suddenly, it all made sense. The ache in his stomach, the pain in his left arm that had now gone numb, the hot and cold flashes: his heart had given out.
Up at the house, his family waited for him. Had waited for him all day. To be more specific, most of their lives had been spent waiting for him to finish plowing, to finish haying, to finish mending fences, and feeding the animals and now it was over. All the years he’d spent putting everything else first, telling himself it was all for them, all for his family. Someday, he’d always said, I’ll throw in the towel and travel with the wife, visit the kids and grandkids, and stop being a slave to his property. The money was there, they didn’t need more. Why hadn’t he found a way to balance this life with his family life?
The Grim Reaper continued to hold him in his gaze. The burning, ember eyes boring into his soul. Roland could feel his life leaking away. In that moment, he grew enraged. Angry about the time he’d wasted. Furious about the Reaper showing up now when he was almost finished with his job.
Gritting his teeth, he forced his foot onto the clutch. It took every ounce of energy he could muster, to raise his hand to the gearshift.
Shoving the it forward, he dropped his foot from the clutch. The swather jerked forward then began slicing through the alfalfa, gaining speed as it went.
With his last exhalation, he gasped out, “I’m not going alone!”
The Grim Reaper stood his ground. If he could have smiled, one would have stretched across his face. Without hesitation, he lifted his scythe and struck.