Hmm...This -is- an odd piece. I seem to be straying outside of my "comfort zone" greatly recently. It's not a bad thing, but this piece makes me cock an eyebrow. I rarely write anything like this. I'm not a fan of horror, and am not good at writing it, and i don't know much about what all the story means.

Altogether, i hope you enjoy, but just know that the piece itself has me cocking an eyebrow.

Quick Read:

Cracked

“Well, now you’ve done, it George.” Sam huffed, puffing his small chest out.

“Weren’t me fault, oh most respected sir.” The bulldog bowed low.

Sam sighed. “Just….Pick it up, else we’ll have hell to pay.”

“Right away, m’lud.” The bulldog leaned down with his dustpan and small broom to sweep up the cracked pieces of shell, as well as the still-moist scraps of yolk that were spilled upon the flagstones.

Sam scurried off, as fast as his mouse legs would carry him, up through the castle, to the highest culvert of the farthest spire. He came to it at last, panting. After taking a moment to compose himself, he knocked lightly on the door.

“Get in here, Sam. You’re far too formal.” A voice called from within.

The mouse slowly peeked in, the usual fear of this room returning to him. It wasn’t an intimidating place, very much. Just a small library, with a single window on one side. Modernized, but not very frightening. In the center sat a large mahogany desk, adorned with an array of writing utensils and stacks of paper.

No, the fear always came from the man who presided over the castle, their employer, Shepherd. He never went by any other name, and none of the serving staff knew him by anything else. Even the large wolf’s “family” didn’t know his real name. Or, at least, they didn’t call him by it.

“Come, come, what is it, Sam? Stop your gawking.” Shepherd said from the window, which he was staring out of idly.

The little mouse walked in, wringing his hands worriedly. “Er…M’lud…George…He…He dropped it, m’lud.” Sam cowered slightly at this, not daring to look at the wolf.

Shepherd was silent for a few moments, and when he spoke, there was a dangerous edge to his voice. “I see. I take it that this was the final one?”

“Y-you know yourself it was. You sent it for that very reason.” Sam stuttered, worried.

“Yes, yes…So I did.” Shepherd paced slowly, one hand scratching at his chin, the other behind his back.

Sam waited for a few moments before quietly asking, “M’lud…What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know, Sam. I just don’t know…” He sighed and plopped into a chair behind the desk.

Sam stood for a while, watching his employer slump on his desk. Eventually he got the courage to ask, “M’lud, if it’s not overstepping my boundaries…What is their significance? The eggs, I mean.”

Shepherd sighed, and for a while, did not stir. At length, he spoke. “Have you ever heard why I am called Shepherd, Samuel Gastinburgen?”

Sam shook his head, not daring to interrupt with words.

“I am called such, because I am a shepherd, Samuel,” he got up, pacing to the window slowly, and resting his hands upon its sill, “I guide the flocks that none see. The eggs, had little purpose, except for symbolism. But now that that symbolism is gone, who knows what may go awry?” He bowed his head.

“Samuel, I am old, old beyond your knowledge. I have guided the flocks for centuries unending, and none that know my name yet live.” He glanced at the mouse, sorrow in his eyes. “None either, know why I am here.”

Sam blinked, his eyes going wide, he looked at the door, but he couldn’t move, paralyzed by fright.

“None know I am the shepherd, hidden as I am as one. The eggs…The eggs, Samuel Gastinburgen, are those who know. Without any left, the flocks will die. I cannot let that happen. As Thendren Shepherden, I will not let that happen.” He advanced towards Sam. “I am sorry, Sam. You served me well.”

The mouse tried to turn, to run, to do anything. But he was too slow.

Shepherd’s hands closed around his throat, and he knew no more.