Independence: Views from the Farm on the Hill, Part 1

In the countryside, around Gatesville rests the House of the Chickens. The house is a bit shabby, it sags in the way most uncared for houses sag, but the neighbors maintain it to appease its occupants, a flock of magical chickens.

I'm sorry to use the word “magical,” but there's no better way to describe them. For a handful of corn, the chickens will tell you your fortune. For help patching the roof, they'll tell you your future. Upset them, and only he sky will weep for you.

It's not easy to tell if your chickens are magic, but it should come as no surprise that Farmer Sly realized. Once you are blessed with the birth of a two-headed cow, you start to pay attention to the weird parts of the Earth. Pay enough attention to the weird parts of the Earth, and you'll develop a gamboling addictions. To settle a bet, Sly had to buy an old farmhouse and fill it with chickens To the surprise of everyone in the neighborhood, The chickens adapted to their lodging better than expected, They soon got power established, doors functional and the old well pump back in order. By they, I mean the chickens. Farmer Sly was sleeping under six feet of dirt by the time this happened.

While owning a wondrous house where chickens live like people was a neat thing to have, Farmer Sly's son (hereby known as Farmer Sly) had other plans for the property. He envisioned a fancy farm mansion sitting proudly where the Chicken House stood, and as he was a bit of a gambler too, happened to have the money to build this palace of the prairie. However something strange happened every time Farmer Sly visited the Chicken house...

Numbers appeared scratched in the dirt. Every day, the same numbers. Soon, Sly started to notice that the hens were laying eggs in a similar pattern... the same as the numbers repeating over and over.

A normal man might have reached for the whiskey under the sink, and called up either a psychiatrist or a priest. Nor Farmer Sly. He used the numbers for the Power Ball.

Once he collected his millions, Farmer Sly tore his own house down and build his mansion on that. A couple months later though he got loose on the bottle, and spilled his secrets at the tavern. A legend was born that night, and proved true in the morning.

The children who live behind the gravestones though, sing a different song. The gist of it is that the Chickens of Death are stinky. When their mother heard it, she dropped her plate. No one had told the children of the Death Chicken., When she found out that I had not taught the children about the beast either, she grew very quiet. I can understand. It's hard to live in a place like Independence when your children pay attention to the weird parts of the Earth.