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Subject: ASSC Cannibal 4H Chapter 13
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Warning: This narrative is not for everyone or, for that matter, even most
people (although the fact that you’re browsing ASSC suggests it will be to
your taste).  It is a continuation of the classic story “Cannibal 4-H” by
Neuralmancer and takes place after the events described in that story.

This work of fiction is about people being eaten by other people and is for
adults only. It contains sex, violence, death and, of course, cannibalism.
Proceed with caution and, if reading this fable would violate any local laws,
don’t proceed at all.

If you are underage, go find yourself a fairy tale deemed suitable for kids
(Hansel and Gretel; Little Red Riding Hood and Jack and the Beanstalk
immediately come to mind). This is a story for grown-ups.

This story will be posted in instalments, one instalment every Friday until
the story is completed.  Each instalment will contain one or two chapters
depending on size. This is instalment 13.

 Again, my thanks to Neuralmancer for allowing me to be a sharecropper on his
farm.

Eurytion

Our story so far:

In Chapter One: A New Project by Neuralmancer --- we meet Joey who lives on a
human cattle ranch owned by his father. His girlfriend, Linda Sue, uses her
feminine charm to convince Joey's dad to allow Joey to raise and enter a human
cattle in the upcoming judging at the Cannibal 4H fair.

In Chapter Two: The Fair by Neuralmancer --- Joey and Linda Sue take their
human cow to the fair. Watching the activities in the butchering tent leads
them to an afternoon of carnal delight, followed by a repast of medium done
portions of human cattle thigh and rump well covered with barbecue sauce,
onions and mushrooms. Joey envisions Linda Sue rotating about a cooking
flame.

In Chapter Three: The Slaughtering by Eurytion --- we find Joey and Linda Sue
on their way to Japan, reminiscing about their first Cannibal 4H fair. We
meet Al Crenshaw, owner of Crenshaw Superior Meats who has bought Joey's blue
ribbon- winning cow. Joey and Linda Sue lend a hand in the slaughtering.

In Chapter Four: A Maverick's Conversion by Eurytion --- Linda Sue catches
Valerie, Joey's 13 year old neighbour who has a huge crush on Joey without her
identification badge. Under the fair's rules, that makes her a maverick to be
claimed by the first person who finds her. Linda Sue relinquishes her claim to
Joey who reluctantly decides to have the youngster converted by McCains into
livestock for his new human veal venture.

In Chapter Five: A Brother's Visit by Eurytion --- Cow 701's former brother
Billy and Joey patch up a friendship strained by Valerie's conversion. 
Billy, acting on the advice of his grief counsellor, participates in the
feeding of 701 and enjoys his former sister's oral ministrations. We learn
that, to achieve "closure" his entire family has "to be there when they
butcher her and then we have to help eat her."

In Chapter Six: Evaluations and Judgments by Eurytion --- Linda Sue is sized
up by a professional and given a passing grade. Cow 701 passes a father’s
muster as does her owner. And we learn of Joey’s final promise to Valerie.

In Chapter Seven:  At the Fair by Eurytion --- Cow 701 arrives at the fair.
Linda Sue models spits for a special barbecue. And Joey tips his hand.

In Chapter Eight: A Fijian Feast by Eurytion  --- Cow 701 pleases the judges
while Linda Sue pleasures the cook.  Billy learns the true meaning of finger
licking good and a trip to the South Seas is contemplated.

In Chapter Nine: Patty’s Lesson by Eurytion ---Another young girl learns a
valuable lesson and Joey is given an idea for a new branch of the business

In Chapter Ten: Reaching Closure by Eurytion --- Although it’s hard, Joey
keeps his promise to Valerie. Linda Sue  dispatches one adversary only to
meet a more formidable foe.  Despite the recovery of a missing item,Valerie
loses her head. Taking a cue from the rest of the family, Billy advances
relations with his cousin Terri.

In Chapter Eleven: The Sunday Dinner by Eurytion --- The Hewitts say goodbye
to Valerie while Linda Sue suggests a family replacement.

In Chapter Twelve: The Plot Advances by Eurytion --- Joey suggests  Terri and
Linda Sue engage in a game of horse.  A sparkling new friendship is formed
while an almost cow plots revenge.

And now Cannibal 4H Chapter 13: The War Begins By Eurytion

THE AIR INSIDE THE LIVESTOCK EXCHANGE was pleasantly pungent, each breath rich
with the establishment’s history. The yeasty bouquet of beers both past and
present communicated a sense of camaraderie while tobacco smoke fused with the
tang of smoldering hickory in a olfactory imitation of the comfort of the open
hearthside.

For close to 35 years the saloon had been the favourite watering hole for the
area’s ranchers, farmers and hands. Here was a place to bitch to people who
understood what you were bitching about; who lived the same life that you
lived, one of hard work for uncertain results, your future always hostage to
the weather or to some bureaucrat in a cubicle with a pencil for a plough who
thought farming was a pretty easy way to earn a living.

Even when the weather cooperated and the government didn’t get in the way, 
you still had to worry about events occurring thousands of miles away that
could raise the price of your fuel and supplies to ruinous levels or drop the
price of your commodity well below the break even point so that every bushel
or head of livestock you sold cost you money.

The Livestock Exchange wasn’t a private club. Anyone could come in and no one
was ever made to feel unwelcome. But, unless you were a tourist looking for a
bit of local colour, non-ranchers always felt a bit out of place there, subtly
excluded from many of the conversations that swirled around them, not out of
malice or even intent but simply because people who didn’t farm just couldn’t
understand that some days it just seemed easier to take all the seed money,
place it on 22 black and leave it there then to get up before dawn and fire up
the tractor one more time.

The lighting inside was subdued but not by design. It resulted from the
failure of a number of	light bulbs made in Myanmar under the trademark
“Decade Lamps” and sold at Dawson’s Five and Ten. Cavanaugh the bar keep had
refused to replace the bulbs, claiming that Eddie Dawson had sold him the
damn things with a guarantee they’d last for ten years so Eddie Dawson could
just haul his damn skinny old ass up the bar’s rickety ladder and replace ‘em
his own damn self. Anybody who thought it was too dark should stop
complaining to him and start complaining to that crook of a store keeper.

Eddie Dawson’s standard reply was that no one else in town had had a single
Decade Lamp fail. The problem at the Livestock Exchange, he told one and all,
wasn’t with the light bulbs but the faulty wiring that the whole county knows
Cavanaugh had bribed the building inspector to pass years ago. The bulbs were
perfectly fine; they just weren’t getting any juice because of broken wires.

Mark his words, any day now a spark from the faulty wiring would send the
whole place up in flames and the customers would be even more well done than
those hockey pucks that simpleton of a tavern keeper tried to pass off as
hamburgers. And all this tragedy, which could have been avoided, would happen
because Cavanaugh was tighter with money than the bark on a tree.

So the standoff continued, each participant refusing to give way to the
other, preferring to grumble at each other like a couple getting too close to
their 40th anniversary.  Meanwhile the Decade Lamps continued to flicker out
and the bar continued to moved closer to stygian darkness. Joey’s dad, who
could often be found on the premises enjoying a cold Momus lager, joked that
in another year or two customers would have to be given mining helmets just
to find their way to the tables.

Matters electrical were on the minds of several of the saloon’s habitants but
it was unrelated to the illumination or lack thereof in their surroundings.
Instead, the current topic of discussion was the vandalism of Shea’s Butcher
Shop done under the cover of the Friday night’s storm.

Shea’s was a small store out on rural route 27A which didn’t get enough
traffic to stay open on the weekends. They didn’t do their own butchering but
instead bought their meat wholesale from various suppliers, depending on the
price. Their trade was aimed at those who couldn’t afford to shop at either
Crenshaw’s or The Stockyard, the town’s two premier meat markets.

Shea’s had metal security shutters. These operated much like a roll top desk
sliding down from the top of the window on a pair of tracks until they reached
the bottom where they were secured in place with a lock. Being made of glass,
the front door received similar protection.

Jim Wickham, who owned Shea’s, had arrived at the white block building Monday
morning to find that, no matter how hard he turned his key, the lock on the
back door wouldn’t open. When he was unable to open either of the front locks
he called a locksmith.

The stench when the locksmith opened the back door was staggering, rotting
meat reeking like a bad embalming job and at war with the sour smell of
spoiled dairy products to be the first to cause a person to revisit their
breakfast.

The investigation by the sheriff’s office found that little squares of
aluminium foil had been inserted into the keyhole, probably with a toothpick.
 When Wickham had placed the key in the lock he had forced the foil further
back into the cylinder. Turning the key pressed the foil into the tumblers
and jammed the lock.

The main electrical cable to the building had been cut, probably with an axe,
just below the meter box. The telephone line into the store had also been
severed to prevent the alarm indicating an electrical outage from ringing
into the security company. The words “stop the murder” had been stencilled in
red paint in a area underneath the eaves protected from the rain. More than
two days without air conditioning or refrigeration completed the rest of the
sabotage.

“I’m telling you guys it’s that Anneliese Dracon bitch and her bunch of human
cattle rights wackos that did this,” said Dickie Peal pointing to the article
in front of him.  “She said she was going to do something and then this
happened. Mutt, why the hell don’t you just take and toss her ass into jail,”
he asked now pointing over a plate of nachos at Stan Triplett.

The deputy just shook his head.  “Dickie, we don’t know if she did it or not.
There wasn’t any physical evidence at the scene to indicate she was even
there. Wally talked to her and she said she was home during the storm and
that she didn’t know anything about what happened.  We don’t have anybody who
can say otherwise.”

“There’s the letter,” continued the farm hand. “She called us murders and told
people we had to be stopped. Can’t you arrest her for libel or inciting a riot
or something like that?”

“It isn’t a crime to write a letter to the editor. She didn’t call on people
to break the law. She didn’t advocate the armed overthrow of the government.
She told people they should stop raising and eating human cattle. You and I
might thinks she’s nuts but she didn’t do anything illegal.”

“What about having her followed,” interjected Ralph Levitt, who worked on the
same farm as Dickie. “Don’t criminals always return to the scene of the
crime? And even if she doesn’t go back you can follow her and catch her when
she tries to do it again.”

“Jeeze Ralph, you’ve been reading too many of those mysteries from Bowler’s
Book Store,” Triplett replied gesturing toward Cavanaugh with a near empty
beer mug in hopes of snagging a refill. “First off excluding the sheriff, the
dispatchers and the jail attendants,  there are only six of us to patrol the
entire county. That’s two of us each shift. Following people is a lot harder
and a lot more labour intensive in real life than in fiction.  There’s no
microminiature homing transmitter that we can slip in her drink or inject
under her skin to track her with. If we did want to follow her we’d have to
do it with real bodies and we don’t have nearly enough to do the job right.

“Second, we can’t follow a person without a reason and we have no reason to
follow her.

“Third, and here’s where the rubber hits the road, it isn’t worth it. Jim
lost about five thousand dollars worth of meat and dairy products. It’ll cost
him about another $800 to get the store cleaned up and aired out. He’ll lose
about $700 in sales until he can reopen. The locksmith’s bill was $400. The
power and phone companies are reconnecting him at no cost. Add in the dollar
worth of white paint he used to paint over the graffiti and his total costs
are less than seven thousand dollars, all of which is covered by insurance.
The county is just not going to spend the kind of money it would take to
fully investigate what happened. For the time being, it’s just going to be
written off as one of those unfortunate things, you know like when bad things
happen to good people.”

“So that’s it, shit happens and you’re not going to do anything else,” asked
Peal.  “She’s just going to get away with it?”

“Read my lips very carefully,” said the deputy who was beginning to get a
little tired of the continuing questioning. “We don’t have any proof that she
did anything. We can’t do anything without proof, something that you two
ought to be very happy about on occasion. We’re not going to arrest her.
We’re not going to follow her. We’re not even going to question her any more.
This incident is closed.

“Now just so you two pinheads can understand, that doesn’t mean we’re not
doing anything.  The sheriff sent a letter around about what happened and
suggested folks keep a real close eye on things for awhile.  We’re rerouting
our patrols to pay special attention to businesses involved in human cattle
ranching, including ranches. And we’re splitting the patrols up so we can
cover more ground. Wally & I will be driving in separate cars instead of
together. So will the other shifts. It may not seem like much but it’s all we
can do right now. Hell, this might never happen again”

Mutt’s lecture was interrupted, first by the arrival of his third beer of the
evening and then by Evan McAuliffe. The owner of the Rippled Ridge Ranch had
been sitting quietly at the table while the deputy had been peppered with
questions.

“Stan, you don’t believe that any more than I do,” he said dunking a chicken
wing into some extra blue cheese dressing. “Dickie might not be the tallest
tree in the forest but I’m afraid he’s right about Ann. Either she planned
what happened or she did it herself and it’s not going to stop with what
happened at Shea’s.

“You were overseas while you were in the service.  You know about these
zealots, the type that strap a bomb to their bodies or set themselves on
fire.  To them the cause is everything and nothing is going to stand in their
way.  I’m afraid Ann is one of them.

“I knew her Aunt Vi pretty well. Violet was a good woman with a heart as open
as the break of day. She didn’t have to take on the responsibility of raising
her sister’s kid. She could have just left her in that state home. Hell, if
she had even thought about it for a couple of days there wouldn’t have been
any kid to go pick up. But to Vi family obligations meant more than
exchanging birthday cards and getting together at the holidays. She believed
that everything started and ended with family. I don’t think it took her more
than a half hour to load up her car and drive away once she got the call from
Ann’s teacher.

“I used to go over to the house after she brought Ann back. Ann was polite
and friendly but even at that age, she was only about 13 or so, you could
tell the girl was different. Not bad different but different all the same.
The girl always reminded me of a dog that lost its tail, wondering why and
what might be next.

“It got worse when she went away to school. Vi used to worry about her; who
she was hanging around with; what she was learning. When Vi died last year,
just before graduation, well I think the girl’s last link with the rest of us
was cut. Now it’s as though she never lived here, she’s a just a visitor
passing through.”

“Or maybe a missionary to the cannibals,” cracked Ralph. “I say we get the pot
ready.”

 “ Ralph, you might be closer to the truth than you know,” Ev admitted. “I’m
not very philosophical and I don’t think much off all this psychiatric stuff
but whether its because of how her parents died and what happened to her
afterwards or when Vi died or just something that happened while she was at
school, Ann has given herself over to stopping human cattle ranching.”

“OK Ev, let’s say you’re right,” said the deputy. “Let’s say Dracon is the
Moriarty of this county, ‘the power behind the malefactor ... the Napoleon of
crime’ and that at this very minute she’s ‘sitting motionless like a spider in
its web’ sending her underlings to do her bidding, what am I supposed to do
about it?”

“Just don’t fool yourself into thinking what happened at Shea’s is an
isolated incident. And don’t waste your time looking for other suspects.  Ann
is behind this and these things aren’t going to stop until she’s stopped. I’d
like to see her stopped before things go too far. I don’t want to see
anything happen to her.”

“So go and talk to her. Maybe she’d listen to you, you being an old boyfriend
of her aunt’s and everything.”

“Don’t you think I tried that?  She stared at me like I was the fallen
archangel.  I’m a cancer on society and she’s the surgeon that needs to cut me
out before I metastasize though the rest of the community.”

“If she treats you like a turd on the heel of her shoe why do you care what
happens to her?”

“Maybe because Vi was almost family to me and I feel I owe her something.
Maybe because I remember that little girl with the long brown pigtails who
loved to help her aunt in the flower bed and brought me a handful of daisies
and some lemonade every time I stopped by in the summer. Maybe because
somebody needs to care about what happens to her, because it might make a
difference somehow. Hell, Stan I don’t know why.

“What I do know is that when I looked into Ann’s eyes at the funeral they
were as empty as the fair grounds after Labour Day. The idea of dying for a
cause is attracting her the way bread crumbs attract pigeons. I don’t want to
see that happen.”

Dickie banged his beer mug on the table splashing a foaming cascade over the
few nachos left on the plate in front of him.

“And you say  I’m not the tallest tree in the forest. I think you’re the one
who’s playing piano in the marching band.  Ev, didn’t you read her letter or
those handbills she’s always putting under the windscreen wiper? You’re an
evil cattle rancher. Old Scratch his own self couldn’t be worse than you are.
This girl, who by the way is as crazy as a shithouse rat, wants you and me
and Ralph and every other mother’s child that make their living from cattle
run out of the county on a rail and if a rail isn’t available I’m sure she’d
be glad to loan everyone her broomstick.

“But just because she used to bring you milk and cookies when she was a
little girl we’re supposed to ignore all this and feel sorry for her,” the
lanky farm hand continued.  “Well I don’t feel sorry for her at all. I feel
sorry for Joey and his dad because of that letter and I feel sorry for Jim
because she trashed his store. But I don’t feel sorry for her. And if I ever
catch her pulling any of her stunts she’s the one who’s going to be sorry,
not me.”

McAuliffe took a deep sip of his beer. Count to ten he told himself and then
count backwards from ten.

“Let me tell you something Dickie,” said Mutt while Ev was regaining his
composure. “I don’t care that we went to school together. I don’t  care that
you had your sister gave me my first blow job behind your barn.  I don’t even
care how good of friends we are. None of that cuts any slack right now,” the
coolness in his voice mounting.

“I don’t want to see you or anybody else in this county pulling any vigilante
crap. This isn’t Gotham City and you’re not Batman. And that goes for you too
Ralph.	Spread the word around that if anyone sees anything they call us,
they don’t try to handle it themselves.  And don’t even give me that citizens
arrest nonsense,” he said forestalling another outburst from the farm hand.
“Anybody and I mean anybody who takes the law into their own hands is going
to have problems with me and you sure as hell don’t want that.”

“Sure thing Mutt. Hey, we were just talking here you know, blowing off a
little steam,” replied Dickie apologetically,  taken aback by Mutt’s
attitude. Maybe he had gone a little too far and shot his mouth off when he
should have kept quiet. His mom always told him to think before he talked.
Now look what happened when he didn’t listen to her.

“Ev, I didn’t mean to insult you, you know that don’t you”, asked the abashed
hand repentantly. “ I’m sorry if it seemed that way.”

“I know Dickie. Don’t worry about it. I’m sorry if I seem a little sensitive
but this whole thing has got me spooked.”

“Yeh, that goes for all of us,” said Ralph. “Hey, you know why the women in
the Ladies League don’t like to have group sex,” he continued trying to
lighten the mood.  “Because they hate writing out all the thank you cards
afterwards.”

After a couple more beers and about a half hour of desultory conversion, Ev
was walking toward his SUV when he felt a tap on his shoulder.	Turning, he
found himself eye to eye with Stan Triplett.

“Ev, I got the feeling back there that you know more than you’re letting on.
Care to fill me in?”

“Stan, there’s not much more I can tell you.  Something happened when Ann was
at college. I don’t know what, Vi never told me. But sometime during those
last few days when Vi was in hospital, Ann said she didn’t care what it took,
didn’t care who got hurt; she was going to end human cattle ranching in the
county or die trying.”

“And that’s what’s got you worried, that Ann is going to die trying?”

“It’s not just that.”

“What else then?”

“I’m worrying about how many others she’s going to take with her.”

Tune in next Friday, August 21 for Cannibal 4H Chapter 14: The Eyes Have It.

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