One sheep

Two sheep

Three sheep

Four sheep.

I count the pink painted sheep on the walls, pretending they are hopping over the fence. Where they go I do not know, but I hope it’s a good place. Like a land where the grass never ends, and no pests disturb them. Or maybe a sheep’s dream is to live like humans, with wooden houses and their own farm animals. I’m not a sheep, so I cant tell for certain.

Mom tells me the best way to fall asleep is to count the sheep until the task becomes so mind numbingly dull I drift off. But contrary to what she says, I quiete enjoy counting sheep. My mind often ends up wandering, thinking of all the journeys the four little sheep embark in. And then before I realize I’ve spent the whole night awake staring at the walls, the sun peeks in and wakes the world. Its a cruel cycle, like a curse from a story. The boy that never sleeps, with dark circles that make him look like a corpse.

Tonight though, my heavy breath isn’t the only sound echoing through the room.

Dad has been trying to get a local brownie to do things around the farm for weeks. Thats all he even talks about during supper.

He told mom that he’s been leaving out food for the brownie, but the “stubborn bastard” refuses to help. I told him to try being nice to the brownie. He told me to shut up.

I know how dad can be, and I feel bad for any creature that has to deal with his persistence. So I left out my leftovers for dinner, hoping he wont place a bad omen in the farm or burn down the place because of dads behavior. And I think it worked.

Just outside the window, the sound of shuffling feet draw my attention.

I get out of bed, careful not to make any loud noises.

My feet press against the cold floor, as I tip toe over to the window and pull up the tattered blinds. Just outside the house where the sheep rest caged in fence, a small creatures stares back at me. A brownie.

The hairy humanoid creature is not enchanting to look at like pixies or elves. But he looks just as menacing.

I take a step back, and the brownie grins.

He grabs the plate of food and devours it in the blink of an eye, then chugs it all down with a glass of milk. I gulp.

The brownie, still looking amused, crawls under the fence with the sheep. I furrow my brows. Then, unexpectedly, he kicks the sheep on its rear.

I laugh in surprise as the brownie does it again and again.

I lay back down on my bed, counting as the sheep jump up the fence. Its mesmerizing, and I wonder if this is what my mother told me. Maybe she never meant for me to count sheep on a wall.

My eyelids grown heavy, the sheep becoming a blur in the distance. I watch for as long as I can , before the warm embrace of darkness takes me. I dream of sheep.