The Chicken War

This is a little story, which is actually tied in in part with a few other very short stories that I wrote when I was in school. I will post it in two parts.

Part 1 of 2

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There was a time, which was quite a long time ago, that the elders called “the wonderful times.”  In those days, their world was at complete peace and there was, as far as they remembered, prosperity for all that lived in the world.  

Some of the oldest hens found it hard to remember the great and terrifying conflicts that took place in their younger days. Even Scratch the Elder could scarcely remember a quarrel or slight disagreement in their world. 

Despite the current peaceful days, the elders would say that it still could not compare to their time.

The chicks liked to listen about those peaceful times; they liked to listen to the stories told by their elders. 

But those days were long gone.  

These days, Barley Farm was a good place to live, and that included the sparse forest across the road, and quite assuredly, any of the other feeding grounds in their known world. 

Beside the occasional alarm from chicken hawks and foxes, it was their world, and life was very good. 

It was said that Barley Farm boasted of having the fattest and more robust chickens in the world, and they were just that.  

The farm up the road, called Henson Farm, claimed to have the best roosters, and as a result, one could say that together they produced the best chicks that money could buy.  

But despite all of that, it seems that peaceful times aren’t always long lasting, as far as the inhabitants enjoying them are concerned.

Which is where our story begins.

There once was an old wolf. He wasn’t a really bad wolf as wolves go, although if you would ask his childhood friends that question, they might say otherwise.

As a youth, he was given the name: Bad.

Now, that name must have contributed to his reputation, that and certain events that took place, certain life altering events for his brothers, and  the group of his youth.

One day, Bad, the old wolf, who was quite the hunter by trade, was walking along the old dirt road that runs along Pallor, which was what that area was called by humans, as such had heard it called by a human once.  

He happened to come by the neighborhood, and remembering that neighborhood from his youth, he took a left at the fork that lies at the base of the hills on the right, and the prairie farms on the left. Although things had changed, he still reminisced.

Old Bad walked along, led by his memories, when he noticed and remembered Old Barley’s Farm in the distance.  

“When I was younger,” he thought to himself, “I remember eating the best tasting chickens from that behind that fence.  Oh, how it would be so nice to eat one again.”  

Old Bad snuck into the small forest across the way, and for a time, spied on Barley Farm from between the trees, which lay just before the old hill overlooking it.  

Soon enough, he noticed chickens moving around behind the fence, and smacked his lips at the thought of a good chicken dinner for himself.  

“Maybe I’ll take a couple of white ones, and a brown and spotted one for today.  They were always so nice and fat and plump and so easy to catch, and no enemies around.”  

As the day waned, the long shadows began to stretch across the farm, as they always did.  

Old Bad snuck his way down out of the sparse forest, which was just across the old dirt road, and hid amongst the long grass, next to the farm, making quite sure that old man Barley wasn’t in sight. 

He looked around, to his right, glancing through the trees, and then behind himself, back up the old dirt road, where he had come from earlier that day.

He looked to his left, trying to catch a glimpse of any enemies that night be about, with the same idea as his.

Red was a small fox, and was as crafty as any fox can get, and he was famous amongst his people for it.  


He thought of himself as the best chicken catcher of the old times. In those long-ago days, Red, along with the others of his group, made the small forest their home and had the best pickings from the surrounding farms.  

Plucking hens in the middle of the night and sneaking them back into the forest amongst the scrub and the fir trees was just a bit of heaven to him.  

Eventually, the farmers discovered him and his kind as they always did, and sent the hounds into the forest to drive him and his people away.  

“Those old hounds are long gone.  No doubt having found finer lands elsewhere.”  He thought to himself as he lay in the cool darkness of tall grass far behind Barley Farm.  

Red crept across a field of scrub and straight into Barley’s corn field, as he made his way towards the farm, and the chicken coop.

The chickens had all of the corn that they could eat and comfortable houses to sleep in.  

Lime liked corn very much, and more so than Scratch, the old rooster.  

He would often be the first at the grassy place where Mr. Barley’s daughter would spread the corn and seeds for them.  Being a very youthful chick, Lime would often beat the others to the corn and seeds, and as a result, would usually get the best kernels for himself.  

Because of this, he wasn’t very popular with the other chicks, who were slower than he was. 

But now, it was late in the day, and time to sleep.  That day was just like any other day, and Lime settled down with the others in the house.  

In his days, Bad was a famous wolf.  In his youth, his old friends enjoyed his company because they know that if he was around, chicken dinners were in their immediate futures.  

He was very popular with the pack, and as a result, Bad was often showered with gifts from his grateful pack-mates; a piece of bone, part of a catch, fish from the stream or roots during the bleak times.  

He thought back at the trouble that they would get into not only at Barley’s but also at Henson Farm and all over the neighborhood (which consisted of the land that the humans called Pallor, the woods and parts of the old hills to the West.  

But those days were long gone and so was the pack.  

Bad quietly made his way into the farm, sneaking under a worn fence,  creeping past a water bucket, across the front of the human house and towards the chicken coop.

Old man Barley was a great wolf catcher in his youth.  

He could bull’s-eye a wolf or something as small and fleeting as a fox with his shiny carbine fifty feet away in the dark and with his eyes closed.  

These days, old man Barley was content with leaving that sort of thing to his daughter, who, as a fact, had inherited his skills in that department although she couldn’t care for it.  

Caroline was afraid of wolves and foxes as a child.  

She would often see them sleazing around the chicken coops late at night looking for something good to eat.  It wasn’t until years later after she had returned from school that her father had bought home a set of hounds.  

It wasn’t long before they grew and made short work of the wolves and foxes and even brought down a bear that had wandered down from the mountains in those days.

Red snuck under the fence and across the grounds.  He reached the shadows of Barley’s house and smiled to himself, having had been chased there long ago by Mrs. Barley and her broom.  

Blame the Aliens...

“If humans were descended from monkeys, then why are there still monkeys?”

Yes, that is my question, and I am still waiting for an acceptable answer.

Recently, some friends and I were sitting around, talking about several topics that came to mind. One of those topics being about the origin of humans on earth. Why are humans here, what is their purpose, what was their origin. 

We decided that we would stay away from Intelligent Design this time, and focus on any other possibilities. As we went on, most of us agreed on certain specifics, such as the reason why humans are here, and well as how humans came about.

After a while, and just for the heck of it, we started writing down our agreed points about the subject. In the end, we had decided that aliens were the cause of it all. Of course, this was all just foolishness as we waited for our pay-per-view to begin. The following is what we came up with:

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Blame the Aliens...

In ancient times, aliens came to Earth. The purpose for it was to mine the planet for valuable materials as well as for scientific study. One of the reasons that they might have wanted gold for, was because for one, it reflects infrared radiation, and for another, it does not corrode. They must have needed vast amounts of it for whatever purposes that they needed it for.

We also agreed that at one time, gold must have been a very abundant metal on this planet.

We decided that the aliens eliminated the dinosaurs. They did so, in order to avoid the problems of large, dangerous animals walking around while the alien worker populations mined the planet. Of course, they tagged and bagged some of them for future reference.

Over time, we agreed that the alien workers eventually decided that they did not want to mine anymore. We also thought that their biology may not have been fully compatible with the planet, which caused the problem of having to wear protective suits while working.

This led the scientists to come up with the idea of developing a worker species.

Because the various native species on the planet that had survived the extermination of most of the dinosaurs weren’t decent options, the aliens decided to develop a new species.

They needed a worker species that had the strength and intelligence to perform all of the mining for the aliens, and that were fully compatible with the planet.

So, the aliens collected some genetics from primates, which by then, primates had emerged on the planet, and applied some of their own genetics to them.

After some time, humans were developed.

The aliens taught the humans how to mine for gold, silver and other materials, as well as gave them other skills, and put the humans to work. The aliens themselves became overseers.

Over time, the aliens introduced newer and more complex technologies to the humans, seeing that the humans were becoming quite intelligent.

After some time, resources on the planet became more scarce, especially resources like gold, surface diamonds and silver. With the levels of collected resources falling, the aliens could no longer justify the expense of continuing the mining of the planet.

The aliens decided to abandon mining activities and move on.

Soon after, the aliens realized that humans had become much more intelligent, and were also developing their own complex societies.

Eventually, the aliens left the planet in order to search for resources elsewhere.

After they were done with the planet, and seeing that the humans had established their own civilizations, the aliens decided to leave the humans behind rather than eliminate them.

The scientific communities amongst the aliens decided to keep track of the human’s progress, which they had done to this day. They still collect human genetics as humanity progresses.

That is why...

Humans regard gold as so precious, even as gold is nothing more than a weak metal, it was useless to ancient humans for weapons or armor, but considered it highly valuable because it was “something desired by the gods.”

So many ancient cave painting have extraterrestrial references because early humans considered the aliens as gods.

Many ancient stories from all over the world have many similarities regardless of distance or culture.

Civilizations like the Aztecs and Egyptians adorned their most important religious artifacts out of gold and precious gems as a devotion to their “gods”.

Ancient civilizations such as in Mesoamerica, Egypt, and China, build their pyramids according to astrological alignments.

Other civilizations like the Nazca, who go back more than 3000 years, went to great lengths to build gigantic images on stone plateaus that can only be seen from far above the surface of the planet.

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OK, this was just crazy stuff, and we stopped talking about it after our pay-per-view began. Afterwards, I collected our pizza-stained notes, and stashed them in a drawer. 

And now, after some time, I found them again, and here you go. Go ahead and laugh about it.

But when the aliens come back, and see what we have done with our portion of the genetics that they gave us, they might just want to take them back.

The Honey Pie

I wrote this story some time ago. It was inspired by an English student who had asked me to write a story with a moral to it. I suppose that the moral to this story could be: Keep your hands to yourself.

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One bright and sunny morning, a kind little granny decided to make a honey pie for her grandchildren, who were coming to her cottage for a visit.  “I shall go out into the forest and collect the honey for the pie.” She happily said to herself.  

So she took one of her copper pots and a spoon, for collecting the honey with. 

Off she went, to the forest to collect honey for her pie that she wanted to bake for her grandchildren that were visiting that day. 

As she was walking along the way, a small number of flies happened to be flying by.  

Being rather curious flies, they decided to follow her into the forest to see what she was up to. 

While the granny was collecting the most appetizing honey to be found in that forest, one of the flies said to the others; “I wonder what she’ll do with all of that delicious honey? Let us stick around and see.”  The others agreed.

When the granny had filled the pot half way with the delicious honey, she started on her way back to her cottage.  The curious flies followed her all of the way back.  

The granny went into her kitchen, and began to roll out the dough, as the flies sat at the window sill.  She kneaded and formed the pie, and all of the while the flies were sitting on the window sill, drooling as little flies do, at the thought of eating whatever delicious thing that the granny was making.   

When the pie was complete, the little granny placed it in the oven.

“Soon my precious grandchildren and I will eat this delicious pie that is now baking in the oven.” the granny said to herself as she left the kitchen to allow the pie to bake.

Some time after, the scent of baking pie filled the kitchen. The curious flies, who had been sitting at the window sill all of the time, realized that the granny was baking a pie.  

They breathed deep and agreed that it was the finest scent of baking pie that they had ever smelled in their little fly lives.

“Wouldn’t it be nice to taste some of that sweet and delicious honey pie?” said one of the flies to the others. “Yes it would,” said one, “yes it would,” said another.  Pretty soon their little fly mouths began to water and drool, as the smell of baking honey pie filled the cottage.  

They began to rub their little fly hands together, as flies like to do.

“Let us get a little closer so that we can smell our pie better,” said one of them.  

So they left the window sill, and flew into the cottage and stood on the back of a chair, that was by the table, which was next to the oven.

Time went on, and the little flies began to become restless.

They wiped their little fly mouths in anticipation of finally tasting the golden treasure baking in the oven.

Some moments later one of the smaller flies said: 

“Let us get closer. undoubtedly, we would be able to smell the pie better at a closer distance.” it said.

The other flies agreed, and soon they all flew down and stood in the center of the table that was next to the oven where the delicious honey pie was baking.

Minutes passed, and the curious little flies were becoming quite restless.

Then one of the flies had an idea.

“Why don’t we wait here until the old granny takes our delicious honey pie out of the oven, then we can snatch it from her and carry it away and devour it ourselves in the forest.”

Being very foolish flies, they all agreed.  

When the granny returned to take the honey pie out of the oven, the flies were waiting in anticipation.  They watched as she put on her oven mitts, and then open the oven.  

The smell of the pie out of the oven was intoxicating, and the greedy flies stood there, on the table, licking their little fly lips, as flies like to do.

“Let us prepare ourselves, here on the table and wait for her to bring the delicious pie to us.” said one of the flies.  “When she tries to place the pie on the table, we will catch it up and fly out of the window!”  

The other flies agreed.

So the foolish flies stood on the table, holding their little fly arms up to catch the pie when the granny put it down.  

Quite carefully, the little granny took the honey pie out of the oven and placed it on the table, as she did so she heard a crunch.  

“My, my,” she said to herself, “I really have to get this old table fixed.”

Uncle Burnaby's Ghost Story

Part 4 of 4

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I could do it, and maybe the three siblings could find peace.

I had to do it.” he said.

“Then I noticed that the two spirits moved toward the fireplace. When there, they went through a darkened doorway, one which I had not seen.

Only the light from the fireplace led me to see the wispy shades in the dark.

I realized that they wanted me to follow.” he said excitedly.

“I collected myself, and with a deep breath, followed the shadows through the doorway.

I entered a hallway not used for many decades. The musty smell of mold and earth filled the air. Across the wide hall, I noticed the spirits through the doorway to another much larger room.

I followed.

They stood at the bottom of a stairway, waiting for me to follow. 

I walked towards them.

Silently, the spirits moved up the curved stairway, and in an instant, stood at the top of the stairs. I followed. The smell of mold and rotting wood was heavy in the air.

When I reached the top of the creaky stairs, I looked to the right. 

Darkness.

I turned and looked to the left. There within thin rays of moonlight from breaks in the ceiling and walls, I noticed the two phantoms.

Only in the light, could I see the wretched spectres.

I turned left, and followed them. Beside the ghosts, the creaky floorboards and my own breath kept me company.

When I reached the moonbeams streaming down from a broken wall, I peered through and noticed a break in the ceiling far within that darkened room. The faint sound of raindrops in the distance.

I turned back to where the phantoms had been, and noticed a small light under a door at the end of the hallway.

Walking to it, I opened the door with a creak. The lock that held the door closed for so many years, broke away as the rotting door swung open and fell to the floor.

Behind the door, I could see that part of the outer wall had fallen in, the rain-soaked room, carpeted with leaves and branches, nearly covering the richly decorated and shadowed bed and other wooden furniture.

Near the far corner of the room, I noticed one of the spectres. It stood near an iron box, set on an iron base. It had to be the one that left the room where they had first manifested themselves to him.” Burnaby said

“I... I am... Lula...” the spectre said. “Take my treasure... give... give it... to the children... of the... village...” Lula’s ghost said. “Let... let them... benefit from it...”

I watched as Lula’s ghost moved away from the iron box.

“I weep... for I caused... much... hunger and cold to those... who were young...” it said sadly.

I realized that the safe box was where Lula hid away her fortune. It was one third of the fortune that had been gleaned from the inhabitants of that region so many years before.

The spectres watched as I dragged the heavy box out of the room, down the long stairway, through the other rooms, and out of the door. 

I left the heavy box just outside of the mansion amongst the weeds.

After I returned to the second floor, I was led to another locked room.

Like the previous door, it also broke away. It’s lock falling to the wooden floor.

Again I found a heavy iron box, containing a great fortune within the richly decorated, but now moldy room.

A richly carved bed lying in the shadows of a silent corner.

The second spectre stood near its treasure box, and spoke to me;

“I am... Mavis,” the spectre said.

“I used lawyers... to cheat farmers and others... out of their properties...” Mavis’ ghost said sadly.

“I paid judges... and lawyers to see... that judgements were... made in my... in my false favor...” the lamenting spirit said.

“Oh..., how much... pain I caused... How much loss... and sorrow... they suffered... because of... my need for... gold...”

Mavis’ ghost moved away from it’s treasure.

“Give it... to the parents..., to the heads of their... households..., so that... they can provide... for their... families... and that... they may know... that none... may take their... homes... by evil and... devious means... again...” Mavis ghost said.

“Like the first, I dragged that box out of the room, down the curved stairs, and outside, to sit next to the first. Then I returned again into the mansion.

For the third time, I was led to another locked room. Again, the door and it’s lock gave way and crumbled to the floor, revealing a third richly decorated room, now ruined by the weather coming in through broken windows. 

The great bed lying silent in the far dark corner.

Here is where I found a third iron box. 

There in the third room, I saw Jacob’s spectre, standing next to it’s iron treasure box.” Burnaby said.

“Thisss... was my... treasure... I gained it... by cheating the... businesses... of the village...” Jacob’s spirit said.

“I used faulty... contractsss... and false documentsss... to cheat and steal... by manipulation... those who struggled... and sacrificed... to run a family business... I watched... and waited until... they saw profits... before I... manipulated to take their... livelihoods... away from them... And... I laughed as... I... did it...” Jacob’s spirit said lamenting.

“Take my... ill-gotten treasure... and give it... to those... who struggle... struggle to own... businesses in... the village... That they may... find... relief... and know... that no one... will steal their hard work...and their sacrifice... ever again...” Jacob’s spirit said.

“Then Jacob’s ghost moved away from it’s treasure box.

Like the other two, I dragged the third and last iron treasure box out of the mansion, so that it lay next to the other two.” he said.

“There I sat on one of the iron boxes exhausted. I enjoyed the rain falling onto me from the dark clouds above. I must have sat there for several minutes, until regaining my strength, and then looked over at the doors of the mansion.

I noticed that the three spectres stood at the threshold of the mansion, and realized that they had been unable to leave it. They were trapped in that house for the last near-hundred years.

I stood and walked halfway to the doors of the mansion where the spectres were waiting.” Burnaby said.

“I’ll take the treasure, and give it to the people of the village. They will use it to help their families. They will use it to send their children to school and repair their homes. They will use it to build the first hospital, and marketplaces and other things that will make their lives better.

I promise that the descendants of those who were wronged will benefit from this gold. Know that the farms will be prosperous, and the fields will shine gold again with acres of wheat, alfalfa and corn. Their flocks and herds will prosper and feed on the grasslands of this land." I said to them..

"Businesses will grow, and others will come from other places to the village and expand it. It will become a town, and one day, may become a city.” I said to the spirits.

“Now you can rest in peace, knowing that this treasure will make the lives of so many much safer and prosperous, for many generations to come,” I said.

“Thank... you... friend...” Jacob’s spirit said peacefully.

With that, I noticed that the other two spirits began to move forward, out into the front of the mansion, maybe for the first time in over a hundred years. I noticed that they began to dissipate. In an instant, the two spirits were gone.

“Thank... you... for freeing ussss...” Jacob’s spirit said. “Now we can... rest... After all of... thisss... time..., we can finally... rest...”

I watched Jacob’s spirit advance from the threshold of the mansion, the spirit walked out in front of the mansion, amongst the overgrown weeds and soon disappeared.

From where I stood, I look in through the doorway of the decaying mansion, catching a glimpse of the fire in the fireplace. Then I noticed that the fire waned, and in moments, it was out." he said.

“I realized that the house was finally empty. The spirits of the Milburn siblings were finally at rest, and maybe somewhere, someplace, they will finally reconcile with their family.” Burnaby said finally.

“So the story that you told the people of the growing town, about finding the treasure hidden in the ground, revealed by that mudslide, was really just a tale?” asked Timothy.

“Yes it was,” Martha said, “Had your uncle Burnaby told them the truth, do you think that they would have believed him?”

“It’s best this way.” She said.

“Well, some people still believe the witch story, and others believe that the Milburns were done in by a mysterious disease that they had brought with them from the east.” Lawrence said, “That’s a reason why nobody ever goes there.”

“Some people still believe that it was goblins or other supernatural creatures that hide in the dark forest.” James said.

Cousin Timothy stood and stretched.

“That was a strange story, uncle Burnaby, very strange. I don’t know if I believe it myself. But if it meant that the people of the new town benefitted from the treasure, then that’s the best part.” Timothy said.

Burnaby looked at his pipe, a very richly carved pipe.

“Well nephew Timothy, the world isn’t only made up from the things that you can see. And in the end, it doesn’t really matter what people believe, or have suspicions about. The people have benefitted just as I promised, and the Milburns are finally at peace.” Burnaby said as he stretched.

The others agreed.

The following season, while checking and setting his traps, Burnaby visited the Milburn mansion which was quickly being reclaimed by time and the woods. 

It was the old decaying building that lay deep in the woods, covered by vine and overgrown weed that nobody, other than his friend Lawrence and nephew James ever dared to visit, or dared to place traps within a mile of.

And that was just fine with him.

“They’re at peace now, and let them rest.” Burnaby said to himself as he signaled to Fit, his hunting dog.

Late in the evening, and after setting his last trap, Burnaby and Fit stood at the edge of a cliff which overlooked the wide forest and the distant town. He noticed smoke coming from the chimneys of several new homes and smiled. 

After a time, Burnaby took a deep breath and sighed, as he and his faithful dog walked down a trail that led to town, and disappeared from sight.