The old ass was found dead early that fall morning, before the light of dawn. Even before the crow of the rooster awoke the rest of the farm. Patrick McSwan turned fifty-six years old back in July of 1909, and lived it all on the farm that was his family's land for two generations before him. He had always been a light sleeper, waking up before everyone else. He made it a habit to go out and let the horses and the donkey go loose to freely feed in the pasture. He thought that it made them easier to work with during the day and save on feed. And so that morning, hardly bothering to brush his fur and tail and only grabbing a couple coffee beans to chew on, he went outside to do just that. Just like any other morning. His morning, day, and life was forever changed upon leaving the house.

He had found Ole Cooter lying on her side, just a few feet from the open air shelter that the rest of the horses stood under. She was originally called Missus Shooter, Shooter for short. After about five years, she was called Old Shooter. Then Patrick's youngest grandson, Jules, referred to her as Ole Cooter. For over a month, the family tried to correct him. However, it was young Jules who corrected the family. For they soon referred to Shooter as Cooter. The shaggy, dirty beast was over ten years old, but Patrick could not remember when exactly they had acquired the dumb thing. He only assumed it was near ten years ago. Could have been fifteen. Seeing the creature lying there was unusual but not unheard of. And it seemed Ole Cooter was still breathing. The shine of the oil fueled lantern revealed the truth of this illusion. The movement and rising Patrick mistook for breathing was due to the rats that had burrowed into the dead animal.

The entire community, possibly the whole county, was infested with vermin. The plague started the previous year. There had been reports of feral wolves in the region, with a number of chickens and a few sheep being found dead in the mornings. And then a week later, a child had turned up missing. All assumed it had to be the wolves, and hunts were formed to cull the beasts. That culling soon became a massacre as farmers made bets as to who can retrieve the most tails. And it was not just wolf tails being added as fox tails and even some stray dog tails were being added. It was all fun to them at the time. Only a few, one include Patrick, knew that was what caused the plague of vermin they had to deal with now. With the majority of the rodents prime predators missing, they now bred out of control.

Ole Cooter's abdomen was nearly gone. It was replaced with a grotesque display of hundreds of vermin crawling and eating their way around the insides of the dead donkey. Thinking of it now, as he slowly rode his horse out of town, nearly made Patrick vomit. But at the time of the incident, it outraged him instead of horrifying him. The moment he observed the demise of Ole Cooter, of the hundreds of mice and rats taking advantage of the feast they had found, Mister McSwan hurled the oil fueled lantern at the corpse. The blaze was fast to catch, and the sound of the all the tiny bodies screaming in pain within the body of the larger animal pleased Patrick immensely. The farmer's ear perked on end, wanting to catch all the painful squeaks. However, as he was turning to run and grab a bucket of water and ring the emergency bell to awaken his sons to come help put the fire out, the one thing he did not expect to happen in his anger fueled judgment, tiny balls of flame were leaping from the fiery remains of Ole Cooter and zipping along the straw covered ground and towards the barn.

The rats were running away while on fire and spreading it about the farm!

The napalm rodents had successfully set fire to the barn and the nearby cotton field by the time the family had been awoken and were hurrying to get the cattle from inside the burning building and put the fires out. It was four hours, nearly two hundred buckets of water, and fifty yards of dug up soil later that they had finally put the remaining embers out. Patrick spent all of breakfast by himself on the porch, tears rolling into his grits while his sons and daughters tallied up what was lost. Just grits for breakfast. Most of the chickens were now dead, and the rats ate the eggs of the few that still lived.

Thankfully, no cow or steer was lost. But the feed and shelter for those animals were now gone.

Five acres of cotton burned. Two acres of corn charred.

Patrick listened to these estimates while outside in a turmoil of his emotions. Was he to blame for this? Or was it the plague of rodents that had cursed the land.

One of his boys, Joseph it sounded like whom they all called Jojo, commented on hearing all the rats in the corn field being burned alive. Jojo and some others took comfort in knowing a number of the vermin were taken out in the blaze. Patrick felt more tears form and got up to walk away from the porch for he had thought the same thing as he heard the rats burn within Ole Cooter.

Patrick had taken a final look over to the charred remains of the dead animal. Animals. It was a truly horrifying sight. The body of the ass was burned all over and looked like a pig that had been in the furnace for a day too long. And all around and inside of that were the tiny blackened skeletal bodies of all the rats and mice that had died in the fire. A macabre of small bones, charred flesh and muscle and pink gore. Patrick still could not get the image of all the tiny dead white eyes out of his mind. Eyes that were once pitch black, now white and frozen in pain and terror. And maybe even hate.

While he stared out at the death before him, Patrick McSwan gave his face a hard slap. A slap that like his father and grandfathers would have given him, and any other around them, if it was required to make them come to their senses when work was to be done. No time to cry and bitch and moan when their were chores to be done. And this was quite the chore Patrick and his family had.

The head of the house and farm stormed into the kitchen and dining area, his face still red under his fur from the slap he had given himself. He walk over and leaned on the table without a word as he scanned over the papers his sons had laid out and made hurried mental notes and calculated the numbers within only a few eye blinks.

"Harvest season has come early," Patrick declared in a tone of authority and dread.

The declaration had brought gasps from those who knew what this meant. A few spoke to question this plan, which Patrick allowed for they had as much to lose as he did and had their own wives and kids to worry for. They were young and could only think of the now. Also a bit selfish to only think of their most immediate family. They had their families, but to Patrick, all of them were of his kin. All of them was his family. And he had to do what had to be done, do what would save all of them and allow the farm to survive.

"I will head into Bridgeton this afternoon, as soon as we get an estimate of what we can sale," he explained. "While I'm gone, have the equipment brought out and ready for work. Once that is done..."

Patrick paused as he thought over the last part of his instructions one last time to ensure himself that it was the best thing to do.

"While I am gone and all the harvest tools are set and ready, write to our kin in New York, Chicago, and specially Ocala. Request for stay of your immediate family and to work for the winter and the next year."

Another gasp was brought by this, but Patrick did not allow his family time to speak up this time.

"Tiss only for the year and I expect you all back in time for the fall plowing and seeding," McSwan said in a loud yet assuring voice. "Besides the crops, we will sell all the cattle and livestock. All that is sellable. In order to pay for a new barn, I can't afford to feed and shelter everyone here. One son and his family will stay here, and together we'll burn what remains of the fields. Destroy it all. I don't want a seed to remain for the rats to eat. Hopefully a year of nothing to eat will be enough for the lil bastards to leave our farm."

Saying 'bastards' got some giggles from the children in the relaxing area of the large open room, and some shocked expressions from the older who were not used to hearing their father use such language.

After a moment, they all agreed that this was likely the best course to follow and had set out to retrieve the plows and harvesting tools form the large shed as Patrick rode his favorite horse, ShadyOak, out through the remains of the burnt field and toward the small town of Bridgeton. He already knew that most of his children will write letters to their relatives in Ocala, Florida. That would be where they would be of most help for that was a cattle and horse ranching community. They could also find work for the orange harvest in the early next year and the ladies could possibly even take a weekend and ride out to a beach and let the little ones see the ocean for the first and possibly last time ever in their lives. The families in New York and Chicago were mostly in laws, and most likely never lifted more than fifty pounds in their entire life. What they lacked in hard labor, they made up in business and wealth. Most were the McSwan farm's connection for trades and sales outside of their state of Kansas. They already knew of the rat plague that had struck the region for it was in all the newspapers across the country. But those relatives would happily offer shelter to some and will gladly have a real farmer by their side to look over the other markets for advice and insider info. Patrick honestly hoped that some of his sons and daughters would come home the next fall with a small fortune from the stock market. For that was all they had at this moment. Hope.

The trip to Bridgeton, formerly called Bridge Town for the bridge that ran over a small creek in the middle of the town, did not go well. Patrick supposed it could have gone worse considering what he was having to do. The McSwan farm was one of the biggest in the county, and was one that helped support the town's economy. Patrick smartly tried to keep the early sales secret as he spoke to the marketers and sent out a wire to the families in Chicago and New York for the prices he could get. He also had to do things fast before word of mouth spread of what he was doing. Word spread fast. By dusk, nearly all of the farmers and ranchers had come into town to try to make presales as well. This would cause the prices to drop further than they already were, and there would soon be auctions and bidding wars. He was being verbally assaulted by those he would normally have called friends as he placed his orders in the town store. The farm was likely to get telegrams in the morning from the marketers to change the offers they had made prior, as well as visitors who will want to fight him for what he had done. All of the county will be in chaos by the end of the week while they all tried to make sales over month before any store or market needed or wanted it. Selling goods that were not even fully ripe. Patrick McSwan was sure he had likely destroyed more than a few of the younger, smaller farms. As much as he felt guilt for it, he was already wondering if he might be able to expand his land in a couple years because of this.

And in the long run, Patrick knew that he would not be to blame. In only two months time, most will know that he was just the first to be smart enough to sale before the rats and mice destroyed it all. For it will not be Patrick McSwan who had start what would be known as the farmer's market crash of 1909, it was the rats.

Patrick rode ShadyOak with nothing but the moonlight to guide them as they left Bridgton. He could still hear yelling and cussing behind him. He was not happy with the amount he was able to finalize, but he figured it be enough to get him and the farm through the year as they repaired and replenished their losses. He guessed that all of the children would have to leave and only have a couple sons stay now in order for this to work. And the new barn will have to be small. And they will still likely be in debt due to loans by the second year. They will manage some how though.

A mile down the road, the lights and noise of Bridgton had been replaced with the sounds Patrick hated most. The surrounding fields on either side of him were slightly moving with no wind, and the sound of thousands of tiny mouths could be heard gnawing and defiling the crops. Patrick made note that this was Farmer Mayfield's property and that Mayberry had stepped on his tail and called him a 'New York City faggot' in the town store.

ShadyOak stopped by the large dead oak of the crossroads of what most called Bridgton Main Street and County Highway 11. A few called it the 'Hangman's Crossroad' since the tree was where a number of people got lynched during the war. The horse always stopped here to take a few bites of grass from the side of the dirt road. Patrick was about to force ShadyOak to move along for the sound of the vermin along the way to the tree was maddening, when he realized there was nothing to make him insane now. It was quiet. Patrick looked over the fields, being practically in the middle of four different crops now. The pale light of the full moon shined over the different fields, the dead limbs of the oak by him casting eerily dark boney fingers over the corn to his left. He was not sure why all the vermin had gone quiet, and it made him shiver to think of what could have caused that. However, he was also enjoying the peacefulness that he had been longing for for months.

SCREEE chplunkplooPOP~♫

The sudden loud notes of a violin made Patrick startle. The musical chord and the rider's reaction caused ShadyOak to neigh and rear in surprise as well, causing the farmer to lose his balance and fall off. Patrick quickly rolled over from his back, and looked up on his aching hands and knees to see his horse galloping off in the moonlight towards his home, which was still three miles away.

There was laughter now. Someone, likely the one that made the musical noise, was near and was laughing at him. Patrick stood up and looked for the troublemaker. Sounded like a child. Maybe the son of one of the angry farmers. The laughter sounded like it was above him. Patrick looked up and gasped at the strange sight that stood over him.

On a large limb of the dead tree was a young fox. Not even in his early teen years, likely about ten or eleven Patrik figured. The boy held a violin in his left hand and a fiddler's bow in his right. The violin was of polished black oak with white ivory inlaid along the sides, with its strings glittering in the light of the moon. Besides the wide grinning smile, the child wore small framed colored lens glasses on his face and a black over sized top hat upon his head. The actual color of the glasses, Patrick was uncertain of. One moment, they appeared green. Then they seemed to be pink. Then blue. The boy had on a puffy white shirt of some fine material, the top unlaced and the puff of white of the child's chest fur shown out. The fox wore a nicely oiled black leather rider's coat that shined in the moonlight and had matching boots on his feet. This was no local farmer's son. McSwan would have to sale all his land to afford such a violin and clothes.

The most shocking thing was that there was nothing else on the young fox's body. The young boy was bottomless, with his young thighs and pelvic region on full display. And he had an erection!

Patrick just stared in surprise as the laughing child put the fiddle to his chin and after a lewd shake of his hips that caused the small cock to sway like a conductor's baton, he began to play a small ditty on the musical instrument. The lad turned and strutted on the branch without any problems with balance, and seemed at ease as he walked along the ever thinning stage, the penis leading the way. The music he played was beautiful. Patrick was appalled by the child's lewd display, but was thoroughly enjoying the playful country ballad being played. It was then that Patrick began to notice that the branch was not lowering to the fox's weight. The boy walked further out onto the branch as if he was weightless. Before the farmer could think over this realization, the music ended and the boy hopped off the branch and landed in front of him just a few feet away.

The cub made a grand bow with his arms outstretched, the fiddle in one hand and bow in the other and looking like he was holding a small sword. Without lifting his body back up from this pose, his head lifted to look up at Patrick with the smile never leaving his face.

"Greeting sir McSwan, the richest man of Bridge Town," the boy said in a voice as musical as the fine fiddle in his outstretched hands.
"I am the the fiddler Ty of the Clouds,
and I have come to bring thee entertainment.
I come to save the lands of you and all within,
from the dreadful plague you all have brought upon yourselves.
To save you from all the vermin."

Patrick's heart skipped a beat, and he was sure he was going to pass from life at that very moment as dawning struck him. All had heard the tales and fables of deals made in the crossroads on a moonlit night. Deals made with the Devil. The child, this Ty of the Clouds, could see this realization upon the farmer's face as he quickly continued to sing his offer.

"Do not have any fear," Ty continued.
"For I gain so little and you and all regain your all,
so please do not run my dear.
I can rid you of the rats and the mice.
From all the farms and county,
will that not be so nice?
Oh ho, your face shines with doubt.
Let me prove to you that I can do such a thing,
while you stand there in a pout."

With a neck hurting whip, the fox snapped his back up straight from his low bow and the violin was at his chin once more. He began to play a slow, quiet tune, a melody that Patrick McSwan thought he had heard before. It was like the music he heard on the radio some years ago during the Christmas holiday. Music with a title that had something to do with a nutcracker, and ironically, involved rats. The music got louder and there was movement all around them now from the fields. Then to Patrick's horror, all of the rodents swarmed out of the crops. In the crossroads, McSwan was certain there had to have been over a thousand rats and mice running all about him. He wanted to run for the tree, but none of the rodents touched him. He quickly observed that they were all running in a line. Nose to tail. They were moving with the music!

The fox with his fiddle began to speed up the rhythm. The tiny mice separated from the larger rats and formed their own circle and ran in the opposite direction. It was like seeing a fine tuned machine at work. Only the gears of this were made of living mice and rats. As Ty played his fiddle, that obscene cock still pointing out at Patrick like an accusing finger, the rats started to tighten their formation and the mice all hopped in unison onto the larger bodies of their larger vile relatives. Patrick watched as the circling bodies around his feet ran atop of each other in amazement. He had to stop himself from clapping. And then the violin's music became grander, and all the rats turned for the center of the circle and ran towards each other. In the most coordinated process Patrick had ever seen, one that even a Russian ballet teacher would have been enthralled by, all the rats and mice formed a tower reaching into the sky. It breathed with the fiddle's music as it must have reached over fifteen feet into the air. Then, with a flourish of climatic chords, the rodents dispersed back down and ran out into the fields. Not a single creature except for the farmer and the half naked boy stood in the crossroads as the song ended.

Patrick was both astonished and frightened at what had just occurred all around him. He nearly allowed himself to clap his hands, and the fox in front of him seemed to be expecting it.The boy's smile was still upon his face, and Patrick was starting to like it. As lewd and terrifying the situation was, that smile reminded him of a child's innocence.

Then he looked at Ty of the Clouds' eyes, and the idea of any innocence in the boy was lost. There was something burning in the fox's eyes now. Was like an actual fire burned within the cub's skull. Maybe there was. Patrick then realized that the display of power and the show was not yet over. Just as he realized this, the musical instrument was up to the fox's chin once more.

It was a more sombre tune, but still similar to that of the nutcracker musical number he had heard before. Patrick wondered if Ty knew that he was familiar with that music, and was using it as a basis for that reason. The farmer looked around for the mice to come back out to do more tricks, but he saw none. No, there was one. A single field mouse came dancing out.

The small brown mouse was actually dancing!

Patrick bent over in shock and amazement once more as he leaned in to see better as the lone mouse spun out of the crops on two legs, its fore legs stretched out over its head like arms. It sprang into the air and landed in a bow, similar to the one Ty made earlier. As the mouse came back up from the bow, the music had changed to something a tad more upbeat but...

Patrick was not sure how to describe the tune. He quickly thought the music as obscene and lewd as he watched how the mouse responded to the change in the music. The mouse came up and seemed to thrust its chest out, and shake it like it had breasts to show off. It started to strut, purposely shaking its hips and tail like some city street floozy. It then bent over, tail raised, and thighs and knees bending and shaking as it showed of its feminine sex to the now disgusted man. The fiddles music remained erotic as an underlying chord sprang in that sounded of suspense. Like one was in danger.

Four large rats came out of the fields. These did not dance. They instead moved in from all directions in beat of the violin's rhythm. They moved like cats stalking prey, comically having their fronts lowered and tails raised. It was obvious due to this pose that all the rats were male. The mouse conitued to lewdly dance, seeming to not see the others coming towards her as she thrusted her crotch in the air like a nasty whore.

Patrick did not want to watch. He wanted to yell at Ty of the Clouds to stop. But fear of the child stopped him, and he could not stop watching the oddity of animals commit sins before him. The rats all pounced on the mouse at the same time. The music lewdly and savagely played on as the rats fought over the screaming mouse, who seemed truly surprised by this. The fiddle did not tell the poor dumb animal that it was in any danger.

The rat's sex could be seen clearly in the light of the moon. As clearly as the fiddler's own erection, which was now standing straight up in pure excitement now. The rat's scratched, bit, and pulled at the much smaller mouse as they all tried to penetrate her. With a loud squeak, one found its target. However, Patrick saw that the rat was not in the female's sex but in her asshole. Not only was he seeing rats rape a mouse, he was seeing one commit the vile act of sodomy! With the mouse's sex still open, another rat plowed its penis into her. The mouse's squeaks of pain were loud. No, they were actual screams of pain. Then a third rat pushed in beside his fellow rapist and squeezed in a second hard pink dick into the small brown mouse. The mouse's sex stretch painfully. Patrick could see tears in the female's eyes as the fourth rat did the unthinkable. The fourth went over to the mouse's head and plunged his rodent cock into theopen mouth and down her throat. The loud painful squeaks ended in an audible gurgling, choking sound. All Patrick could hear now was the fiddle lewdly play on and the sounds the rats panting and thrusting sloppily into the mouse.

Then on a final musical note that sounded way too merry for what was happening, the rats thrust all at once and went still. After some seconds, the rats slowly crawled away, no longer being controlled by the violin but obviously still in a good mood from having had sex. All that remained was the mouse. She laid on her side breathing fast, hard breathes and her eyes wide opened. She seemed both in pain and confused. Her tiny holes near her tail gaped and twitched, and it seemed painful for her to close her legs. Her brown fur was matted with dirt and semen.

Patrick was not sure how to feel. He felt bad for the mouse. A mouse he would have happily stepped on just an hour earlier. To his dismay and disgust, the fiddler picked up the mouse by the tail and gave it an absent minded flick. Patrick's eyes followed the tiny body fly through the air and vanish in the the field of wheat.

Patrick gave a start as a poke to his shoulder from the fox child's bow was felt. As soon as the pantsless vulpine had the farmer's attention, he began to speak again in his singing voice.

"So now you have seen the power I have,
their minds I can ensnare.
I can be rid of them in under an hour,
and they can't fight back, it is truly unfair.
If we can't make a deal,
I will continue on my way.
I will go just over the fields to where I had originally planned to play.
You and your neighbor's plight has made me feel bad.
So if a deal is made, I will alter my old plans.
With a single, simple payment,
the rest of your years will be grand."

Patrick tried his best to follow what the offensively dressed boy was saying. In conclusion, he was not pleased at all.

"Aye, don't think I am blind to you and to who you are. Angel of Sin! Lord of the Lies!" Patrick could not help but raise his voice. The fact that this demon, possibly Satan himself, was before him as nothing more than a child helped the farmer find his bravery. If this evil being wanted to be a cub, then it will be treated as one. "You gave an impressive show, surely you have. And it is quite the offer you make for me and this whole town. But you have yet to give your price, and I already know what it is you seek and I say 'No'!"

"Oh hohoho!" Ty laughed, his hands going to his chest as his head leaned back to do so.
"You say 'No' before you are even in the know.
Now stop and listen before you declare,
and keep in mind that you decide for all the people.
So do, please, think fair."

"Aye, I not forgotten that you chose me to be the one to decide for the whole town," the old farmer answered. "Go on, make your offer. But remember that you shall never have my, or any of my family, soul."

"Oh hohoHO!" Ty laughed once more, this time much louder and more genuine.

To Patrick, it sounded as how he imagined a feral hyena from the Richard Kipling stories must have sounded. He took a step back feeling as if the half dressed boy might suddenly leap at him like one of the hyenas of those books.

"You think I want your souls?" the fox chortled as he began to give a small dance, his hips and tail swaying with each beat of his rhyming speech.
"What I seek are holes!
Behold my prick,
it is screaming to be tamed.
It wants something soft,
Something moist.
It wants a good fuck without any of the shame!"

Patrick could not help but look back down at the small erection pointing out from the fox as it was mentioned. It bounced from side to side as the lad moved about, slapping the inside of his thighs and then swing back to stand at attention as soon as Ty stopped. Patrick shook his head away in disgust.

"Now pay attention for here is my deal." Ty went on, seeming more serious now.
"Do not interrupt or speak and till I have ended my spiel.
To rid this land of its vermin,
I seek pleasure of the flesh.
And I don't want a sheep or a horse.
A full blooded person is what I want to caress.
I have already thought over who it is I want.
For just an hour of play,
I want to have your youngest grandson's cunt."

"NO!" Patrick's fist was swinging before he even screamed. The farmer, who had broken up plenty of fights and disciplined many of his children, never once punched another being in his life. And he still had not as the large fist hit nothing but air. He felt the boot of the fox plant itself gently on his own rear and tail, helping the momentum to lead him face first into the dirt of the crossroads. He turned around on his hands and knees, hearing a 'tsk tsk tsk' from behind. He was now at face level to the fox's everlasting hard cock, and for a moment, Patrick feared the boy might force it into his mouth.

Ty spoke with his hands behind his back and a smirk on his lips.

"I shall forgive you for interrupting,
for I had not finished making my deal.
If you do that again, however,
it be a lot more than my boot you will feel."

Ty took a few steps past the farmer, idly petting the man behind his lowered ear as if he were a pet. And to Patrick's disgust, the fox's bare butt sat upon his back. He was about to stand back up, and knock the fox to the ground, but he figured this Ty of the Clouds would dance away without ever losing balance, and likely consider it another interruption. So he stayed on his hands and knees with the fox's rear upon his back.

"I know you find it offensive and disgusting that it’s Jules that I lust for," Ty went on, leaning towards Patrick's ear as he finalized the offer.
"But I so love the taste and feel of young boys,
and Julie is who I want to go with fur to fur.
I will add to this deal,
so to give you some solace.
Young Jules will not remember any of it,
and his ass will be tighter than a walrus.
Even after an hour of play,
an hour of me filling his holes,
He will come back thinking he been to the circus.
He will thank you from head to toe!
Only you will know the truth,
and that is the thing you will bare.
Everyone will know you had gotten rid of the rats,
and only you will know that it was Julie's ass that you shared."

Ty leaped off of Patrick's back and spun around him as he spoke until he was once more facing the farmer.

"That is my offer.
That is my deal.
No one's soul is on the line.
Just an hour with you grandson on the other side of your hill.
He will come back happy,
with no harm or gaping.
No one else will know.
and on these farmlands,
everyone will go on living."

Ty stuck out his hand and waited for Patrick to take it.

Patrick's first instinct was to slap the hand away. Instead, he leaned back till he was on his knees and facing the fox face to face. Even though he felt like he would be damned for it, he thought over the offer. Ty's smile grew as if he could tell that Patrick was actually considering it. No. The farmer knew this musical fox can tell that the fish had taken the bait and was now nibbling. This disgusting boy was now just waiting to pull the line to sink in the hook. Ty's out stretched hand never wavered the whole time.

Patrick Mswan thought he might burst to tears for even thinking of this. He was actually thinking about whoring out his youngest grandson to this demon! Ty had said no one's souls was on the line, but would this deal not still damn him? But the benefits from such a deal can not only save his family's future, but the entire community. For just one hour. An hour that Ty swore that little Jules would not remember and no one else will know about. All the rats and mice will be taken away and everyone's lives will go on.

"Not even in his dreams," Patrick demanded, as tears rolled down his face. "Jules won't even remember as he sleeps of any of it. He will-"

"Only dream of clowns and popcorn," Ty sang in confirmation.
"He will dream of cheering for the tigers and elephants,
and of the people of the trapeze swinging to the sound of musical horns."

"And God will not know," the fox said with a wink.

Surprising Patrick McSwan and making him start to rethink this, Ty of the Clouds spoke without rhyme and without song.

Patrick thought he would fall over and die from the panic that this flooding through him. To his shame, he was more worried for his own soul than the rectum of his grandchild. Patrick would have even felt better of the deal if it had been his nine year old grand daughter. Least then it would be a less sinful coupling.

Then the farmer thought of the future. He clearly saw his farm. No, it was no longer his farm. He was no longer there and was buried beside his long dead wife and parents. Buried in the family graveyard on the other side of the hill on the east side of their land. The farm now belonged to Jules. Patrick could see his grandson feeding the cows. Hundreds of cows. He had a wife and kids. He even had grandchildren. There was a massive barn, and the house had more rooms added on to it. It was as big as a mansion, with a lovely flower garden that the children and younger ladies took care of. And they were all happy.

As this mental image clearly showed itself in Patrick's mind, he realized that the hill Ty spoke of must have been the same as where their family cemetery was. This did not surprise him at all, for where else would a demon want to commit sodomy on a child.

"And no necrophilia!" Patrick demanded after that realization. The deal was bad enough, but he sure as hell will not allow his family graves to be defiled, least of all with his grandson.

Once more, Ty of the Clouds laughed with his head flung back. His hand still not moving a wee bit. And his rhyming, singing speak returned.

"Oh I shall never do such a thing,
So please calm your cries.
The only bone young Julie shall have,
is the one between my thighs."

Patrick winced at the reassurance that no dead bodies were to be involved. The fox's swollen glans were harder and taller now in hope. It twitched eagerly to get the job with the rats and mice over with so it can have its hour of fun. While looking at the dirt at his knees, Patrick McSwan grabbed the fox's hand weakly and shook. That weak shake soon became a hard and vigor shake as Ty added his own grip to it.

"Yes!"

Ty shouted out into the night and he gave a spin and then leapt back into the limbs of the large dead oak tree.

"The deal is made and now I have work to be done.
You walk on home,
catch up to your horse,
and have Julie awake and ready before dawn."

And with that final word, the fiddle of ebony and ivory was back to Ty's chin and the bow struck the strings. Patrick watched as he saw the hand and fingers move so fast that it was just a blur in the dark shadows of the tree's limbs. The music was like that of a fast children mellody. Like a tune the young would sing while playing Follow the Leader. Patrick turned toward his home and began to walk down the road that ShadyOak had ran.

As he walked further away, he realized that he could still hear the violin clearly. It did not sound like it was that loud, but he was a quarter mile away from the crossroads and could still hear every note as if he was still looking up into the tree and seeing the fox boy play the violin with that nasty hard penis jutting out in front of him. He was sure that he would still hear it when he got home. What he was not sure of was if everyone else in the county could hear it. He was also aware of the sound of movement all around him. How could anyone miss this? He could see the motion of the crops as if it were a lake and someone had dropped a large rock on the other side. He could hear the thousands, possibly millions, of rats and mice running towards the lovely music of the demon's fiddle. If anyone else was awake, Patrick was certain that they would see and hear this. How could anyone not notice a legion of rats running in the same direction.

Patrick came across ShadyOak a half mile away his farm's front gate. The horse was just resting in the middle of the road. By this time, there were no more sounds coming from the fields. He could still hear the violin though. It continued to play as clearly in his ears like he was at a concert. And played as a reminder of what he was to do when he got home.

Riding up to the house on the horse, McSwan saw there were no lights on in any of the windows. This seemed odd since he was sure more than a few of his children would wait for him to get home and hear the news of the sales he made. He led ShadyOak to the leaning shack that was hastily built to shelter the animals now that the barn was gone and tied the horse to the rail with the rest. Patrick then went to the remaining bag of feed and opened it. Nothing but meal and some trace remains of rat shit. Nothing bolted or ran as they all had come to expect for the past months. Nothing scurried away from his feet.

The rats were all gone.

Ty of the Clouds had really gotten rid of all the rats and mice. And just as Patrick realized he really was going have to pay the fox, the music of the fiddle had stopped. Whatever Ty had done to the swarm of vermin, it was done. A week later, newspapers from far south will have a headline preaching of a possible apocalypse as millions of dead mice and rats washed ashore along the mouth of the Mississippi river. It'd be over a year before a few researchers connected it to the rodent plague in the small town of Bridgeton, Kansas.

Patrick walked up onto his porch and found one of his sons, Joseph, lying in the swing asleep. He thought about waking Jojo up, then decided it best to let him slumber. Best no one be awake to see what was to be done now. Inside the house, McSwan could see more of his family asleep in the meeting room on the couch and chairs. A daughter-in-law laid at the dining room table. It dawned on Patrick that Ty's music must have been heard by them too. And it had put them all asleep. The same must be true for the entire region. Everyone will awake and discover all the rats gone. It will be a miracle. And they will somehow realize that Patrick McSwan had done something to do it. He will be a hero.

Looking at the clock on the kitchen wall, Patrick saw that it was a quarter past four. With a sigh of deep sorrow, he walked to the children bedroom. The old man walked into the room and looked over all the small beds. The larger beds were on the far side, which was where the eldest of the kids slept. The youngest slept near the door. Was easier for them to run to the out house that way. And right by the door, to Patrick's left hand side, was the small bed with Jules. Patrick looked over the child, who had apparently flung the blanket off due to the heat. Wearing just a white shift, the boy slept deeply while lying on his back. Patrick looked over his grandchild. Looked over Jule's fluffy ears and tail, over the boy's damp nose. The boy's hair had grown long, and the grandfather realized with some vile that the boy looked more pretty than handsome. He now saw possibly why Ty had chosen this boy, and why he kept referring to him with the more girly name of Julie.

Without delaying further to think over such things, Patrick bent over and carefully picked Jules up into his arms. The child never gave a hint of waking up as the man hurriedly, but quietly, moved back through the kitchen and out the back door. The moon was now nearly gone and Patrick did not bother grabbing a lantern. He moved carefully in the dark along the path that lead towards the small hill. Towards the family cemetery.

Screech pop pop~

The fiddle played just as Patrick made it to the base of the hill. Looking up, he could see Ty of the Clouds standing halfway up the path. Even in the dark, the grandfather could tell that the fox was giddy with anticipation.

"Oh me oh my," Ty of the Clouds sang as he walked over towards the man holding the child.

"He is more lovely than I could anticipate.
Just look at my cock,
look at how much more it inflates!"

Then Patrick felt Jules stir. He had hoped the boy would sleep throughout this dealing. Tears ran down Patrick's cheek as the child looked around sleepily and yawned.

"Grampa?" Jules spoke with tired confusion, "Why we outside?"

Then the boy looked over and saw the weirdly dressed fox without pants.

"Who's dat boy?" Jules asked his grandfather. Then with a giggle, he asked "Why does he've no pants? Why's 'es pickle like dat."

Ty gave his hips a playful shake, making the obscene object at his crotch swing back and forth which drew out a laugh from Jules and a groan from Patrick.

"I am to be your friend," Ty sang in greeting.

"For an hour we will play,
and you will bend.
Now give him to me,
and to the other side of the hill we will flee.
I must taste his cock.
I must spread his ass.
I must give him a good fu-"

"NO!" Patrick cried out with tears rolling on his face. "No! The deal is off! You can't have him!"

The fox stepped back from this outcry, seeming to be truly startled.

"Oh, Mister McSwan.
You must not take back what you promised.
You must let me play with the child before the dawn."

Patrick could feel Jules cower into his shoulder. He knew the boy had no idea what was going on, but his grandfather's emotions would tell him everything he needed to know. The child would talk of this, and Patrick will have to explain why they were out here with a naked boy with a hard dick.

"You will NOT have him," Patrick answered. "Not before the dawn or ever. You can do whatever to me as you wish, but you will not touch any of my family."

The fox just stood there with his hands behind his back. And once more, the singing and rhyming had been replaced with a fine speaking voice that was more like a city lawyer's.

"This is what you want?" Ty of the Clouds asked. "Remember that we shook. We made a deal. A deal that I will stop what I was doing to help you and everyone in the region from the plague of rats. And what was I to get. Just ONE hour. An hour with the boy who will not remember any of it. Now you want to renege on the deal? After I did exactly as I promised?"

Patrick was amazed that there was no emotion in those questions. The boy did not seem upset at all. He seemed to just want to make sure that this was final. And for Patrick, it was.

"Yes," Patrick McSwan said. He felt like he might have actually won this. This demon seemed to have just given up. "I am sorry, but I can't allow you to do anything to my family. Even if they were to never remember it, I will know and I just can't live knowing this had happened."

The fox turned around and started to walk up the path. He stopped at the top just as a rooster crowed from the house behind them. Patrick was surprised that the sun was already rising and the first beam of pale red light silhouetted the fox now. It was both an eery and lovely image.

"Never?" Ty called out, looking over his shoulder

"Never!" Patrick shouted. He realized then that he had just damned himself and everyone he loved.

"THANK YOU!" Ty of the Clouds sang out.

The voice was like that of an entire church choir. Patrick could hear Jules gasp at the sound, and the farmer knew that all his family and likely every being for fifty miles had been awakened by it.

The fox's boot stamped down with a beat. Every stamp shook the ground and sounded like that of a large drum as the fox sang out.

"I told you!
I told you,
oh you old fool!
I already made plans for this night,
and now for this day!
The rats were just annoying me,
for I was already planning a roll in the hay.
I was offering to have just one child,
now ALL SHALL PLAY!"

The violin was up and the bow sliced across it. The strings no longer sounded natural. It gave out an evil musical hiss. It sounded like Satan had trapped lightening inside of a tin bucket and was shaking it like a tambourine. And as he listened to the maddening fast solo being performed, Patrick was letting Jules down to the ground. He had not known he was doing this until he saw his grandchild walk away from his grandfather and up the hill towards the vulpine fiddler.

Patrick tried to run after and call for his grandson to stop, but found he could not. His arm barely lifted and his feet felt numb and glued to the ground. His mouth was gaped but nothing came out. Tears ran into his mouth and he could taste the saltiness. Saltiness similar to that Jules was tasting now as the five year old engulfed Ty's erection like a whore to a newly arrived sailor in port.

Patrick suddenly saw another child run by him towards the two on top of the hill. Then another. Then one of his daughters, Maryline, ran up to join her kids. He watched as his daughter, mother of two, joined her children and put her face right under Ty's fluffy tail without any hesitation and eagerly lick. Patrick wanted to scream, but he could not. He tried to turn his head so not to look, but was unable to. He could not even close his eyes as all his grandchildren and daughters went up the hill like obsessed harpies of Sodom and Gomorrah to join their kin in pleasuring this evil fiddler.

Not a single man over the age of fifteen went up. The thundering music was picky of whom joined in the small oral orgy on the hill. Patrick's older sons and male kin stood by him, all watching their wives, daughters, and young sons sexually kiss this stranger they never seen before. They were all enthralled with the music. Music that no one will hear until after another deal was made in another crossroads years later in another state. And to Patrick's horror, he could tell that they all wanted this to end. They were all crying at the sight. And worst of all, they all knew that their father had something to do with all of this.

Time seemed to no longer act the same for there was suddenly more people joining them that were not of the McSwan family. It could not have been no more than five minutes since Ty began his evil and magnificent ballad of lust, yet the neighbors from miles away were arriving. Unlike Patrick's family, none of the ladies or children went up the hill. They instead started to dance and strip from their clothes along the hill while all the men gathered around the base. They all just seemed to keep appearing until there was easily over a hundred people at the hill, and more still arriving.

Then the music paused with a plunking sound.

Ty was facing and looking at Patrick. There were a number of his grandchildren slobbering all over Ty's cock and balls. More were trying to get their tongues over and in his asshole as their mothers, his daughters and daughter in-laws, sat to the side to watch. Another plunk of the fiddle string and all the children and women that had been dancing stopped and looked around in confusion. Like they had just realized where they were.

Plunk plunk-plunk~♪♫

All the men, except Patrick himself, got a sudden gleam in their eyes. Patrick could hear his sons breath deeper and faster.

Ty of the Clouds gave another drumming stomp and started into a new fury of a lightning cracking ballad. And to the horror of Patrick and all the newly awaken females in front of him, all the men charged forward, grabbing any child or woman they can. The old farmer watched as the men got out of their pants as fast as they could. He could hear all the screams of fright, and as women and children were thrown about, all the pleas turned into screams as the first hard penis entered a random orifice of a young one. A ten year old goat boy named Henry to be exact.

Patrick found he could now turn his head, but still could not close his eyes. And all he could see around him was all the men of Bridgeton fighting and raping every woman and child they could get their hands on. All except those up at the top of the hill with Ty of the Clouds. In one direction, he saw farmer Larson plunge his rabbit cock into little Suzy Greyhorn's wolf cunt as she yelped out for her father to help. And her father was just beside Suzy, who ignored her cries for help as he was too busy forcing his dick into Jenny Weaver's sheep ass. Jenny was bleating out in shock and pain, and grabbing onto the only thing she could find, which was her mom's' hand. The lamb's mom was buried under the bodies of four bulls and Jenny could no longer hear her mom's screams.

Turning his head just greeted Patrick to the sight of his own son, Jojo, sodomize the mayor's own grandson. The Mayor himself, a huge black bear, was tugging hard at the legs of a six year old raccoon boy as a buck deer tugged on the boy's arms, both wanting to his asshole's cherry. McSwan was afraid the boy would rip in half. The bear roared and punched the other man hard in the throat. The deer fell to his knees while grasping at the wound as the mayor did not hesitate as he plowed his erection into the poor boy's ass as soon as the buck had let go.

Patrick decided it best to just watch Ty, for none of the violence was near him it seemed. But as he looked up, he saw Mrs Beatrix. The thick thighed squirrel who taught all the kids at the schoolhouse had a wolf cub no older than three between her legs, stuffing the kid’s snout up her wet snatch while another male wolf, maybe the child's dad, slammed his dick into the teacher's asshole. A teenaged horse was lining up his frighteningly huge cock to enter the small wolf girl, and soon slammed his length as deep as he could. The smothered tot screamed up into the squirrel's womb, which caused her to yell in pleasure.

"YES! Give me more! Fuck me and all these brats with your hard cocks!"

Patrick cringed knowing that she was not under a spell and was doing this on her own accord.

All around him was sweat, sex, blood, and the evil magic of the fiddler. The screams of the women and children was deafening, but nothing could interrupt the glorious sounds of the fiddle. Ty looked down at Patrick with a wide smile. The fox's tongue rolled out his mouth as a shot of cum entered the six year old mouth of his grand daughter, Lizzy. Patrick now knew that this was the last time he will see those around the young fox’s feet. Ty of the Clouds was going to take all the children and females he liked of the McSwan family with him to his home. They were to become his harem and to do anything he told them to. He was going to penetrate every part of their body for his own pleasure. That was why he was only allowing them to orally please him now. He was saving them all for later. Ty had more than an hour now. He all the time he wanted. And he was going to make sure none of them forgot a single thing.

The screams were starting to end, being replaced with the sounds of sobbing and breathing. With the sounds of men in final moments of multiple orgasms. Some were even patting the shoulder of another man as they forced their victims to clean their cocks. Then all the men moved onto Patrick. All wanting to feel McSwan's cock and feel the inside of his ass.

The last thing Patrick saw was Ty give another plunk of the violin's string, Ty having made sure that the mental knowledge of what was to become of those with him now was known to the farmer. Ty, still playing the evil fiddle, turned and began to walk towards the graveyard. Patrick watched as the mothers stood to follow as all the kids formed a line. A line starting with the fox's anus as a young mouth engulfed it, and another would put their mouth under the tail of that child, and so on. They formed a long analigus line as they crawled on their hands and knees, vanishing behind the hill.

Ty of the Clouds, and all the women and children of the McSwan family were gone by the time everyone was done with Patrick. Gone through a door none knew existed and will ever see. The magnificent music that no one had ever heard before was now gone. All that was left were the cries of many, and the confusion and terror of what they all had done.

Patrick lied on the now muddy ground. The soil churned by all the scuffling and fighting, and dampened by all the body fluids. All the sweat and tears, semen and blood. The fifty-six year old man could not think. He was broken both mentally and physically. Red spots popped in and out of his eye sight as he heard a woman yell that he was to blame.

"McSwan had caused all of this!" yelled the school teacher, pointing an accusing finger at the naked raped man on the ground. "He made a deal with the devil for all of this! He possessed me, and all of you, to do this!"

"It was him!" Joseph McSwan cried out in pure hate. The remaining men of the McSwan family agreed for they all knew he was to blame.

Patrick past out.

He awoke, still naked, in the familiar area where the main road of Bridgeton crossed with the County 11 highway. Patrick felt something itchy around his neck. And he felt something underneath him get kicked away. In the short amount of time as he was conscious again, he could not see anything but the light of the sun. But he could hear. He could hear all of Bridgetown and further yelling for his death. And over that chant was the most beautiful thing he had heard. 

Patrick could hear the sound of a violin welcome him to his new home.