Weresheep Girlfriend: Mary (special preview)

(Here is what happened when I went back and fixed after discussing with the commissioner! It's so much better and has aready become one of my new favorites for 2021)

Sheep have been going missing all over this land. Considering that most of my village makes their money off of livestock and their produce, it’s a very big deal. Even if it wasn’t, missing sheep is usually a sign of something worse, something evil lurking in the woods. For years now, my family has been to blame for this evil. The stress of it killed my mother, and my father is barely hanging on as it is. I’ve been taking care of things as much as possible, but even I suffer from debilitating anguish.

The Peep Farm has been in my family for generations, and before all the ugliness occurred, we had once been known far and wide as having the best sheep and goats in the world. Our sheep had the whitest and fluffiest pelts, our goats produced sublime cheeses and milks. Our lambs and kids were the cutest in the world, and would sell faster than chicks during Spring Festival. Then, it all came crashing down around us when my brother- No. I refuse to talk about it.

In any case, since then, our family’s reputation has fallen to the wayside. We no longer are known for our product, but rather malicious rumors and hatred. People have come wanting to buy our farm from us, but my father refuses. This is all we know, it’s all we have, and even if we did sell, we would get pennies compared to what this farm is worth. One such buyer is Lady Mary, who owns the biggest sheep farm in this countryside.

Lady Mary and I used to be friends; after all, we were both daughters on a sheep farm, so our experiences were similar even if Mary had grown up a bit richer than me. Our friendship seemingly ended, though, when I became engaged to her brother. Mary didn’t take to the engagement; in fact, she got really angry about it. I figured she was worried I was going to take over and try to make her brother fuse our two farms together, or that I was trying to gold dig. Our friendship deteriorated after that. Then after her brother passed away in the war, it became nonexistent and we were practically strangers.

After what happened with my brother, Henry, I am not surprised I never heard from Mary again. In fact, it felt like it gave her just cause to hate my family and wipe our farm off the map. Like she was getting back at me for ever being engaged to her brother at all. She was the most eager out of all the prospective buyers to get our farm, she came by at least once a month to make an offer. It was starting to feel like an attack each time.

She comes by, dresses so pretty in soft colors that shows off her creamy complexion. Her hair is so perfectly coiffed, and she smells so good. She comes to the front door and barters with my father on the front porch, not even bothering to come inside. One day, she comes when my father isn't home, so I am the one to answer the door.

Mary has always been tall and beautiful. She stands over me, looking statuesque, perfect and polished. She smiles as I open the door, wiping my hands on my apron. “Good morning, Bo,” she says with a smirk. “Is your father home?”

“No,” I sigh. “He’s gone out to try and barter to get his shovel repaired. And no, we are not selling the farm to you.”

Mary tilts her head and lets her eyes wander over me. “Listen, Bo, I know you have fallen on hard times, especially since your mother passed away.” She takes a step closer to me and lifts her hand. “At least let me buy some of the land. I know it’s hard to keep up with so much of it, and with it being only the two of you, it must-”

I stop her hand from touching me, holding it firmly in mine. “We’re doing fine. We’re not selling you any property except maybe the shit on it.”

Mary frowns. “I am not trying to be rude, Bo!”

“Well it sure sounds like it to me.” I let go of her hand and she recoils it. Her fingers flitter through her golden locks and she sighs.

“Tell your father I stopped by and that my offer still stands.” She turns off the porch, going up the path towards her buggy.

It is true, ever since the incident with Henry, and especially when my mother passed away, hard times have basically been all we knew. I try my hardest to keep things going, to keep even the meager money we get flowing. I take care of our sheep, but due to everything, the flock is small and few. People keep stealing them from us, even before sheep started vanishing en masse around the whole countryside. Even still, we were the ones to blame for it. But I swear, our family has nothing to do with this. The Peeps’ good name is innocent, this time.

I was making yarn these days, it was about all I could do, and the only thing that seemed to sell from us. The only reason I think it sells, is because I’ve taken the time to dye it, and I have been able to create unique colors. This keeps the farm running, and father and I fed, at least. Even if it stains my hands and arms, and makes my fingers feel brittle, at least we have that.

I take the sheep out first thing, so they can stretch and run and eat until they are content. I’ve had to take them out farther and between the rocky slopes of the mountains as of late. Around lunch I’ll take them back home, hoping I do not pass anyone along the way. On this day, though, something odd occurred. I had left with my twenty sheep, but when we returned, there were twenty-one, and the extra was one I know was not mine. This extra ewe was pitch black and completely overgrown, her coat looked as though it hadn’t been sheered in ages. I had no idea where she came from or when she might have joined my sheep. It seemed as though she had just appeared out of nowhere.

I wasn’t sure what to do; if she belonged to one of the neighboring farms and they found out, it could spell even more trouble for us. But the poor thing looked abandoned, so I decided to give her a sheer and a wash, and feed her some oats. The black wool she gave would make excellent yarn. I had not been able to find anything to dye the yarn this exquisite of a black, and the color had been requested. The poor ewe was quite small without all that wool, so I gave her the oats to eat while I washed her.

“That one won’t bring us any luck,” my father tells me. “I never wanted black sheep here, nor black goats. They’re a sign of wickedness.”

“Who says?” I scold. “We never had black sheep before and look what has become of us! Sin doesn’t come in through color or breed, Father. Sin exists despite it.” I was going to keep that sheep unless I found out it belonged to somebody. In fact, I was becoming quite attached to her already. She followed me around the farm happily, trotting right beside me as I went about my chores. Even when I took the other sheep out to graze, she stayed close to me.