the secret shed

“What’s in that shed?”

“Oh, an old car.”

“No, not that one. That one over there.”

“On the other side of the driveway?” I said. “I don’t know.”

“You mean you’ve never looked?”


I like to ration out my explorations in the country. No sense trying to check out everything at once. This way, you’ve got something to look forward to.

Today I’d been wandering at random through the fields. I went all the way up and around and over and back down the driveway, and I came to a stop right in front of the shed. So I thought, why not.

An old flap of rubber covered the handle. I lifted it up. An unlocked padlock hung there, rusted. Probably hadn’t been touched in years.

I pulled open the shed door. It looked to be full of old-fashioned farm tools. There were a couple of old axes there, a broken scythe, a couple of saws. Some shovels and hoes leaned up against the wall in the back corner. Some of the stuff, I didn’t even know what it was.

There was a musty smell in the shed. I picked up an old handsaw and went out on the grass. I tested the saw with my finger. Still pretty sharp. I used the saw to saw off the top of my head.

Back and forth, back and forth, only took a few strokes. I dropped the saw on the ground and carefully twisted off the top of my skull. It came off in my hand like a bottle cap.

The fresh air felt nice blowing around in the space over my head. I carried the top of my head inside to the kitchen and placed it, hair side down, on top of the refrigerator.

I pointed at it, saying to myself, don’t forget that’s there.

Then I rummaged around in a drawer until I found a clean spoon. I scooped out some of my brains and put them in a bowl.

I carried the bowl into the dining room and set it down beside the water dish on the furry little green mat. Vickers the cat was already sitting there on the mat, waiting.

Vickers was hungry and he went straight for the bowl. I returned to the kitchen where I picked up the top of my head, flipped it up and twisted it back onto my skull.

I was lying around reading in the sunporch when Vickers came jogging in. He gave a little squeak and jumped up on my lap and licked his lips.

“So,” I said over the top of my book, “wha’d you think?”

“Not as good as Special Dinner,” said Vickers. “But sometimes it’s nice to have a little change.”

2 thoughts on “the secret shed

  1. and I was really rooting for a ’46 v-twin indian chief in road-ready condition, but hey, a sharp head-slicing saw is fun too philip. maybe you can cut off some other parts and mail them for shits and giggles.

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