E-I-E-I-O

Lightning dances through the sky, as thunder applauds its performance. The rain moves sideways, as the wind bullies each droplet. The dirt road softening with each watery blow. A terrible night for Tom to take his motorcycle out for a ride across the countryside. Worse still that it breaks down. The sputtering of the once roaring engine sends Tom into a panic. The spinning of mud, kicked up from the tires, begins to slow as Tom brings his metal steed to a halt. He attempts to look over the bike with flashlight in hand, while muttering profanities, but the storm proves too formidable an opponent. He searches for shelter to wait out the rain, pointing his light around frantically. A rickety barn stands illuminated by the faint glow of Tom's flashlight, before it dims out. Tom runs straight to the big barn doors, paying no mind to the now dead flashlight. He feels around for the latch and opens one door to make his way inside. The smell and sound of animals in the barn play orchestra with the smell and sound of the storm. The wind whistles between the wooden planks that make up the walls of the barn. Not the greatest of shelters, but a dry one, so it will have to do. The wind comes ferociously with a gust that swings the barn door open and shut, open and shut. He didn't think to close it in his scurry. The wild clanging of the giant door frightens a horse, as it runs into Tom, knocking him over and out.

Tom is woken by a kick to his boots. He opens his eyes slowly, wincing from his horse-induced headache. He sees an older man standing over him. "You let one of my horses run loose," said the old man. Tom sits up, reeling from his migraine, "ugh sorry." "Sorry doesn't do any good here, boy. You'll have to repay me. Maybe even fill in for the horse," the old man laughs. "What? I can't pay for a-- look, my motorcycle broke down and I needed shelter from the rain," Tom responds. "And I need a new horse," the old man retorts, as he extends a hand to Tom. Tom looks up and grabs it, getting to his feet and dusting the hay off him. "Hard work will have to do, I reckon," the old man says as he walks out the door, "you'll have the time after all," he adds as he points to the charred bike. Tom throws up his hands over his head then slides them down his face, "great. Just great." "The storm got to it," the old man remarks. Tom sneering, "yeah, I got that, thanks." Tom checks his phone to see if there's reception. There's not, and the phone's screen flickers wildly. Tom grows more frustrated and baffled the more he's here. "No use for technology in these parts," the old man says oddly. Tom looks at him questioningly. The old man answers the gaze, "area's like the Bermuda Triangle. Machines come here to die." Tom gets answers that lead into other questions. Questions, he feels, the old man has no intention of answering. Maybe he'll answer this one, "what's your name?" "MacDonald," the old man answers. "You can't be serious," Tom jokes. "That's the name, just like the song. I know," MacDonald says as he makes his way down a trail to a house, a little further down, "come." "I wish I was able to see that last night," Tom says, regretting entering the barn.

They enter the house and an old lady greets them, "oh, you've brought another stray," she jokes. "Ms. MacDonald, I presume," said Tom. "Yes, dear," she answers. Tom looks around, "nice house. Cozy. It's probably stupid to ask if you have a phone, right?" "Right, my boy. I'll ride into town tomorrow to get you on your way." "Tomorrow? The day just started. Why can't we go now," Tom quickly questioned. "Are you deaf? There's work to be done today. I told you outside," MacDonald snaps back as he gets work gloves from a drawer to toss to Tom. Tom catches the gloves but almost fumbles them, "you were serious?" "You take this old man for a liar, do you," MacDonald inquires. Tom stares at him for a moment, "alright, let's go."

They make their way to the barn as MacDonald goes down a list of tasks to be done within, "stack the hay, feed the animals, clean up their.. post-food givings..." He goes on, but Tom stops listening. He'll start with the hay and take it from there. He can't believe he's doing this or that people like this exist, for that matter. They begin their duties and it takes them through the day and into the evening. Tom thinks MacDonald kept adding tasks to get the most out of him. He doubts this is a daily routine, since it took the both of them almost the entire day to tend to these duties. He'd have to work around the clock then. Through the monotony, Tom checked out to see if MacDonald had all the animals that are in the children's song. Horses, cows, pigs, chickens, ducks, the list goes on. It's amazing really, Tom thinks to himself. MacDonald throws Tom a handkerchief, "wipe your brow, my boy. Don't want to be dirty for supper." Tom wipes his face and opens his eyes to an eerie glowing light encapsulating his vision and then him. He ceases.

MacDonald puts reins on a horse and leads him to the trough of food, "come now, Tom. It's time for supper."