Chapter 6: The Sheep Must Walk Upright

"Next year he might be valedictorian."

His words hung in the air, bitter and sharp. Mom stiffened beside me, her hand finding mine under the table.

Grandpa handed him the new cleaver, snorted, and grinned:

"You don’t get it. Chewing slow, you get more out of it."

He slid the knife across the table, never breaking eye contact.

Uncle snatched it up, nodding once before turning on his heel.

Uncle took the knife, laughed, and walked toward the front gate.

His laughter was hollow, echoing off the barn.

I watched him disappear into the snow, the blade glinting at his side.

Suddenly, I had a bad feeling. I couldn’t help but ask, voice trembling:

"Uncle, is Aunt Lisa at home? She said she’d show me how to plant flowers today."

The words tumbled out before I could stop them. My heart thudded in my chest, and I twisted the bone in my pocket, waiting for his answer.

Uncle turned around, looking at me funny:

"Your aunt should be at Maple Crossing by now."

His eyes lingered on me, cold and empty.

I felt a shiver run down my spine, and I knew I’d never see Aunt Lisa again.

As soon as he finished, a cold wind swept through the yard, blowing snowflakes that stung my face.

The door rattled on its hinges, and the world outside seemed to howl.

I pressed my face to the glass, searching for something—anything—to hold on to.

Grandpa’s voice came:

"A good snow means a good harvest!"

His tone was almost giddy.

He clapped his hands, rubbing them together, eyes shining with excitement.

The rest of us just stared at our plates, the food growing cold.

My brother, face greasy, danced around, even making up an old rhyme.

He skipped through the kitchen, boots tracking mud across the linoleum.

His song was nonsense, but it made Grandpa laugh—a hard, barking sound that didn’t reach his eyes.

Everyone was stunned. Grandpa was so happy he lifted Eli up, kissing and hugging him, shouting:

"My grandson’s finally gonna make something of himself!"

He spun Eli around, nearly knocking over the lamp.

Mom flinched, and I turned away, not wanting to see their joy.

But I couldn’t shake this dread.

It crawled up my spine, cold and sharp.

The bumps on my head throbbed, and I pressed my scarf tighter, wishing I could disappear.

The bumps on my head still seemed to be growing. Afraid of being called a freak, I covered them with my hair and wrapped a scarf around my head, saying it was just cold.

Every time I caught my reflection, I flinched.

The scarf itched, but I couldn’t take it off. Not yet.

What did it mean for the sheep to walk upright? Was it a blessing or a curse?

I turned the question over and over in my mind, searching for answers in the patterns of frost on the window.

The only thing I knew for sure was that nothing would ever be the same.

Until midnight, when I still hadn’t figured it out, something even scarier happened...

The house creaked and groaned in the wind, and I lay awake, clutching the chicken bone in my hand.

The darkness pressed in from all sides, thick and heavy. Somewhere deep inside, I knew the worst was yet to come. And I wasn’t sure I’d be strong enough to face it.