In this world there be wizards, witches, and those who know the sum of knowledge that makes trouble for others, and even, on occasions for them too!

Mr. Patrick O'Doyle was such a man, the seventh son of a seventh son he had the correct credentials from birth for being a sorcerer. He was a man that owned much land and hired many a person to work it. Living his lifetime he was a harsh man, as mean and ugly on his face as he was in his soul. As of those he hired to work his land, he thought of them as little better than fodder for his wanton delight, or as someone to kick when his spirit felt our of sorts.

Bess became his wife; a young wife in respect to how old of a man was Patrick. She was his third wife, forced to marry him, as trade for relief of the debits owed him by her father.

Patrick worked all his hired people as if they were a strong team of horses forced to pull a plow through still wet soil. He took the gains made by breaking the back of many a man, and when asked for help, he turned to the books left him by his grandmother, she a witch in Irish history bearing some unwholesome renown.

An example of just how sympathetic a man could be for the troubles and trials of another, he dealt harshly with such as Perry Tiller. Perry came to Patrick asking for help, he had worked long and hard enough to give him a double hernia. So painful to this still a young man, he stood before Patrick, barely able to stand upright, stooped forward felt the need to clutch his hands and arms to his aching gut.

Perry could not afford from his wages a doctor to do surgery, so he came to Patrick, as had others, pleading for to have his landowner pay to cure him from his ails.

Laughing at a man near death from pain, Patrick turned to find what he wanted from the books granted to him by his dying grandmother. He agreed to help Perry, asserting he knew of a way to give the man relief from his misery, but without the cost of a doctor.

Hearing this, Perry felt elated that he, Patrick the property owner was willing and knowledgeable enough to help a man down on his knees, and as much then of little use to himself, his wife, and the supporter of his family.

Patrick told Perry to come into his grand house, having the ailed man to get up on the kitchen table, where he should remove his shirt, soiled pants and boots, then to recline as if to lie back while Patrick readied the remedy he knew would be of a helpful cure.

Laughing as he mixed his brew, blended in a copper crock, he then set it on the iron stove to make it boil. An easy part of the task to come, Patrick offered a sick man some Irish whiskey, enough then while they waited for the remedy to boil and a little extra to kill the coming pains.

When the bottle stood near to drained, Perry had fallen into a drunken stupor, he weary man from living in pain. He lay there at the mercy of the man who made a promise to be of help, assuring the man when all was done the pain would be gone and he would never again have such that problem. Patrick had retrieved from his tool shed a brush, one such as he would use to paint red around the outside frames of his stone house windows, a custom there in much of the isles. He dipping the brush into the pot still a rolling boil, it a blending of this and that, volatile a mixture, cooked down to be as sticky syrup. Patrick dipped the brush into the pot, coating it well with the syrup and beginning by the head of Perry, he did paint away the man who asked for help.

Had the man been awake and alert, the dabbing of what Patrick brewed would have seen how, once it touched living skin, would be as if doused in boiling oil. The remedy softened the form and frame of a man made stout and toughened by years of hard work in the fields. It had within it then the ability to dwell up from the ground the forms of those who then dead would wish to live again. They the dead, but nary were these the souls of dead men. Doing devilish work, Patrick taunted at the life forces of those who were born as animals and then at the peak of their lives, Patrick killed them butchering the animal there and in the front of his own house. The animal dead and bleeding and the blood trailed down the cobblestones to the gutter, and from there it streamed out into the fields as if fertilizer.

Once anointed, and while Perry laid there drunk and sleeping he be then as a body made ready for the convocation to come. It was for Patrick as his choice as to which of the beastly spirits he deemed worthy again to come and take without asking of a body so prepared and the life this poor man might have lived.

"Brewster, ah yes, you were in fine form when I cut your throat, you take him!" Patrick said, he seeing the faint small image of one what were the spirit of those he killed.

Ready to take again up the feeling of being alive, Brewster entered the drunken man along with one deeply inhaled droughts of taking in a breath, before snoring out only of what was as air. Then in one body two life forces coexisted, they inside the body of the hired man. As much as was he still drunk the man sat up, moved to the edge of the kitchen table and slipped off from it to stand upon two legs. He took a step and the two more, walking slowly, legs seeming stiff when they should be as wet noodles from the use of the drink; a naked man walked to the barn, entered a large stall as then he calmly closed, and latched the gate behind him.

Patrick went to work, cleaning up his mess and taking the discarded clothing, all of which he shoved it into the firebox of his big iron stove. He did this quickly, but taking enough time to search the pockets for any money, for as when Perry would awake and find come the morning, the wants and needs of money would be the least of his concerns.

Mixed was the night mattering upon whether the feelings felt were of those belonging to the man who was born into his body; or of the animal that has its second chance at life in a new body. As from the view to Perry and all he felt happening, his bones and internal organs shifting, growing changing, becoming other than those of a man. Mental agony was his as Perry fought hard to keep and stay as what he was born, but the animal will was the stronger. Part of what was Perry had come then from living bestial, a brutal bovine bull once new life by living it in a fashion and used that sense of cruelty to its best advantage.

Discomforts and pains were a great part of living life in the form of an animal, although mostly ignored out of ignorance of knowing and able to understand there was better times, the change from man to beast was for the bull as if a gaining back normalcy.

Perry groaned during that long night, feelings and able to feel his born become furry, the growth of a tail horrified him. Drastic changes and even minor ones too, as his lips became thicker, mobile, more like hands to gather food to a hungry mouth. Floppy furred ears, the heft of them in sheer weight he knew the feeling, and hated it! If of it all that was one thing that sent shivers of blessed anticipation into each mind was the sensation of human genitals swelling and through growth, become then as wholly bovine bull size, shape, and length and heighten sensation.

Come the next morning a sobered manly mind awoke, but met the coming of day with the realization his body was then that belonging to some foreign spirit dwelling in his head. As a man crazy, he argued with the other entity then inside his head, it suggesting ways to act, being jealous and forceful toward all.

Patrick a late morning riser, got up, got dressed, washed his face, shaved, and fixed as well ate his breakfast while the bellowing screams of someone frantic with a sense of horror did raise a ruckus in the barn. Soon enough the hired farm stable groom came a knocking, pleading with Mister Patrick O'Doyle to come and see what was in the barn.

A few other wondering employees gathered at the occasion, each bowing to the landowner when he came to see what all seemed of such a concern. There, standing, snorting angrily, stood the physical ruminants of what walked onto the property the day before as was then a man. Only adding the stronger to take over that which is weaker, Patrick bade the spirit of Brewster to come and take again the possession of having a body and life. He helped to insert the beast into Perry, and through the long dark night, the weak man became then as that animal there in body more than he had changed of mind.

One spirit praised Perry for gaining a chance to live life anew; as the other stood remembering his previous self, his life, his wife, their children and the responsibilities he had, as much the reason he came pleading to Patrick for some help.

As all peered cautiously over the stall rails, each revered, wondering of the magnificent animal, a yearling bull that stood there bellowing as if excited and scared. The beast acted partially as if proud of what he was, and as well, it seemed to feel humiliated by men looking at its naked body.

Patrick then stood stout and proud, announced then to his workers, "This here is the grandson of Brewster our best big bull, and he will be our best bull by the next time the cattle come in season. Leave him there for a few days, let the beast become accustom to where it is to spend his life away."

Patrick then chuckling about his gain, hearing the admiration of they who were still as men, he burst out into a hearty laughs, he added, "Let his name be Berry, and may the spirits guide him to learn well how he need live, his one purpose in life now is to sniff, lick, and breed with the cows and heifers."

The news of this revelation touched the brutal mind of one previously dead bull and made it appreciate its owner. The same news was as well a revelation to he who knew his name not as Berry, but as Perry, he felt differently about his cure. Cured of human pains, Perry had then to realize he would never see his wife or children again. He did realize his form, being then as an animal, a bull, and knew if he were to live he need do as Patrick wanted.

The onward passing of time and Perry the sick man failed to return home. Many there in the community talked about what became of Perry, as a rumor spread that he had gone off to the bigger city in looking for lighter work because of his sad condition.

Patrick waited three long years before had had the guts to ask the pretty wife of Perry for her hand in marriage. Without a way to give her children food, she did agree and Patrick took another wife.

During those same three years, the bull holding still the mentality of a mas once named Perry found himself dragged forced to learn as his delight the mating of cows. He likely shuddered when the beast in him made their body to walk up and behind a cow. They sniffed the cow, knowing in the changed mind as much a bullish body that the cow was ripe as a conquest; the bull began his instinctive ritual. Agonized was the mind of a man as he saw his face moved close to the filthy cow rump. Seeing that what his educated human memory served him knowledge as of eying closely the leathered weather aged folds of a cow vulva. She stood with the stench of her rump causing his bullish eyes to tear, she urinating short squirts made it all the worse. His beastly mindset enjoyed the scent, reached their head forward did stick out the tongue and licked at what they would soon wish to mount.

The one realizing all the differences between being a civilized man and brute bull felt a continued sense of anguish, while his counterpart stood relishing the coming of another male conquest. Together in one bodily self they salivated, the foaming juices stringing out of a bovine mouth, both lips as its body became aroused to the deed to come.

The span of three years, and Perry learned well how to act like any born bull. He/they having mated with the entire large herd owned by Patrick, those cows that gave milk and the rest who, bred to die and become as meat for the table. One hundred and seventy four cows as of last accounting and one very horny big bull stood feeling sated for the moment.

Patrick would walk out along the stone-walls that fenced his pastures, calling out the similar sounding name of Berry, that in the deformed mind did strike a spike to the mind of Perry. As a brutal man, landowner and the master of they his animals had then have a few chosen words to share with one so foolish as to have trusted Patrick to do the right and honorable thing.

Patrick liked to nag those he bade change, he asking of Berry/Perry if his tastes had chanced; if he enjoyed mating with cows; knowing that such as was Perry, a religious man and having ethics, would find his need of acting as is a beast, his lifestyle was truly a bestial horror. Then to add some injury to the poor man having to live a life of disgust, Patrick told how he had married the widow. Patrick spurring Perry as he gave a verbal comparison of how his new wife came to him in bed, and how Perry did as well by how he would handle mating his cows. The result was an angered bull, and from the hate that brewed then for Patrick, the beastly spirit of Brewster had his chance to take more control, as by the use of hate he then destroyed all of what was as Perry in body, mindset, and soul.

Odd and not so strange is the thought of Bess giving up on her dear husband of so many good years of married life. The three handsome children for whom she held the responsibility of rearing as well healthy and fed; she put her ethics aside, and she did marry a man thought to be disgustingly wealthy and worldly. Bess, a very strong willed woman when in her own realm, but being the wife of Patrick O'Doyle kept up her guard, she continued concerns for her children, they and her needing to deal with her new husband and his meanness.

Patrick acted strangely different in public, he as a man spoke well of his new family and of wanting the sounds around his house of children playing. This was distinctly the opposite of what he did when in the private sanctity of his house; he kicked, beat, and scourged the children, calling them as bastards.

Patrick readily admired Bess for her body; simple lust had him delightedly dooming her husband when the time seemed right. A secret he thought was one well kept; being the deed was accomplished when his small army of employees gone on a Saturday night to get drunk. He felt assured by the fact Brewster would prefer taking again life, even through the help of the powers coming out from the black depths. He if by instincts granted by demons gave aid to the required arranged changes; and then stood to one side when the manly mind awoke to discover he was as a beast, an animal, a yearling bull and not a man.

In the foyer of the O’Doyle home hangs there a photo taken of the house where its stands showing its grandeur, and as an added part of picture standing in his pasture nearer the grand house stood a gawking bull with the name of Berry.

Bess often looked at the enlarged photograph; she hated the man she needed to keep her children alive. A woman of great understanding, so for having broken the vice of her late husband Perry from his lust to drink, she got him to stop smoking, and began attend church.

The plights of Bess, a good woman, a religious person and she guiding her children in the proper lifestyle of those who go to church, her troubles were well known, but not to the town folks. Seen by smaller eyes, eyes that saw through the haze and cut deep into the souls of men, the Leprechauns were a watching.

Yes, Leprechauns they the wee people of Ireland and wherever a group of Irish reside and settle, making a new place to call as home.

Leprechauns, some can be quite the troublesome lot, but most of their little people owe to cherished high moral character, a requirement when one considers they own most of the gold that they mine from out that small country.

Bess too had her own wisdom, she could see to what her new man was thinking. She had her taste of what the man was, whether in his daily dealings or at night, when he would come to her in bed. Vile is the man who treats his good wife like he were as a bull brutalizing her as if none other than some muddy cow.

Patrick did take to task whom at one time was a farm worker bringing out his twisted mind the fonder memories of when once he walked upright before men, his family and God. Inciting that remaining which new, it to have been a man knew then rage, and reminded how by special powers made of him to become then as is a bull. The mannerisms required for living as does a bull was to Perry as would be to most any a man, as something degrading enough to feeling embarrassment. He had to give ear to his master recant of using Bess as if she were another cow. Perry hearing that went wild, and wild was his form, and his form though strong held a mind if not for the learned mentality of Perry, would be otherwise but an ignorant void.

Bess took note how her second husband seemed to enjoy talking with and could by such cause the big bull to act as furious. Inquisitive of mind and waiting her chance to ask, on one warm summer night when her beastly acting husband sought to mate, while he rutted her as if Berry the bull over a cow, she sprung her question.

"Husband, oh, oh, but you have a bull named then Berry! Oh, but he is your pride, he mates and increases your herd. Oh, ah, ah, oh, oh no, no, he has a name so similar to that of my first husband, Perry; be they related?"

That stopped Patrick mid-thrust to which having heard her ask such a question he withdrew and rolled off the bed to stand, bold, wide eyed and naked before Bess. As he then answered her by saying, "Silly woman, what am I a wizard, your fool man went off on his own. He could not hold to his responsibilities, and fled from you. He was bent, broken, and in pain from his wrenched guts; an otherwise useless mass and collection of a waste of flesh. Be glad for us both that he is gone, never shall he be seen around here again, I assure you dear wife that wherever the earth he will trod, he is not now the man you learned to love!"

One answer quickly thought of and to beguile of some truth while favoring the telling of it, as spoken by Patrick.

That fate filled answer was to Bess about what she expected. She was not deaf nor was she blind, and granted by a good education, Bess was most assuredly, not ignorant. With eyes wide and watching she bade time and kept looking after her youngsters, but keeping a careful notice about the doings of Patrick.

Reoccurring of similar situations came and went, or did until Patrick thought one of his employed men had stolen some money, it there left on his desk in the barn office. Acting as if a wild animal, Patrick charged into the main house, to his upstairs study, he grabbed a small leather bound book, and then raced back to the barn. All the time when coming or going, he did it with much vindictive grumbling; his words were as vicious as was the look in his eyes and on his face.

The shooing out the barn of the other men there spooked in Bess she need to be a witness to what her husband had as his plans.

Huddling of her children to remain in one room made for play; Bess ran out the house and to be nearer the barn, did enter through the smaller door that led from the barn and to the corrals. She then knelt low, Bess made her way closer to the action and sour words spoken, some in attack, and some as if a defense.

Then, when she could see it all quite clearly Bess watched, listened, and learned.

Patrick had Tommy Tyler strung up bound by his wrists, feet up off the barn floor, the poor fellow hung there stripped naked and already showing signs of having felt the whip. Patrick interrogated his prey, making a mockery of every answer, claiming that Tommy was but a liar and his words were as worthless as was his life. When all questioning ceased, Patrick took his small book and began reading from it. He read it aloud, speaking clearly, with and in a tongue not familiar to Bess, but sounding as of Latin, with some said in Spanish, and as if, he was calling on the demons from hell to do his bidding.

Tommy hung there helpless, he too looking down at Patrick when he read and spoke so affluently of a strange language even in their times was as a rarity. The first to the left of Patrick just popped into view the essence of some dark form. Then another to his right, and quickly after came an ungodly host of screaming figures; they all began to encircle poor helpless Tommy.

“Thomas, you who steals shall soon have no reason to steal again, money and its value to men is of no value to you now, and in your future. These, the demons from Hell do my bidding, as by this action here I do plight your soul, and they, in their cunning way, removes what is of human and not useful, replacing it with what as one of my farm animals will aid me more than it shall help you! HAVE AT HIM NOW!” Patrick said, telling the demon host to begin their dehumanizing of Tommy. Wide eyed with horror of what was to come his way, he, Tommy Felt then doomed, and in a fit of rage, Patrick loosed the hoard upon Tommy.

Screaming, Tommy screamed as his body cut, spliced, and sewn back together, but not looking like a man, he remained male, the demons favor males, and endow them with an enhancement to increase their sensual response, dooming them to want for what they are as animals.

Bess had to look down, covering her ears from the wretched screams of a man meeting Hell while still alive. Instantly it was quiet, as if after a great storm, the air is clear, and wind and rain cease to give way to sun, warmth, and peace. As maybe to save him from capture as well, Patrick had gone outside the barn, he going to the house for a taste of Irish whiskey.

Bess got up from where she knelt, walking to where Tommy had hung waiting upon his doom.

“Tommy, Thomas Tyler?” Bess called to him, she looking all around but not seeing a sign of him; that is other than his discarded heap of shredded clothing and two shoes.

As then, from off to one side of the barn she heard Tommy as if had tried to answer, or to call out to a friend. A run to meet and give a greeting to Tommy and Bess stopped up short from her entering the stall.

Standing upright, on two feet, two legs, but not on his four legs, stood Tommy Tyler, now and just as suddenly he was as a brown and black spotted, large furry male goat. He tried hard to mouth some words, but muzzle, lips made to graze and gathering food, and his tongue did not offer a chaffed mind one bit of help.

A young man just in his early twenties was thereafter the demons and the wrath of Patrick, he stood blessed and damned, he was a buck goat! The wild imagining by Bess of what she saw, knowing it to be Tommy, he struggling to know what be his true self in an unfamiliar body. Unbelievable, but had she not seen it with her own eyes, Bess would of called such a reporting as a blatant lie.

Worse, was that she, Bess was married to Patrick and her needs outweighed the horror of living with a man who would dare do to Tommy what he did. Her first thought was to discover the hiding place of that small book. It kept somewhere by her husband in his study room, a place where he held a vast collection of books; but that room was for him, and him alone. Bess had asked about the room, it stayed locked unless the master of the house was in there and reading.

The thought of finding the small book quickly faded, Bess remembering that when Patrick read of it, the words were in Latin and or in Spanish; these were languages she had no knowledge. Her first thought was to turn to the church, and when she had time later in that same week, Bess paid a call on Father Flanagan.

The Father a stately elder of the church knew much and when Bess told him the detailed recant of what became of young Thomas Tyler, he sat in his rocking chair and began to pray. During his sixty years at the Saint Monica church there in that small town, he had to listen to the same story told of what happened to various folks, and all such black deeds done by one Squire Patrick O'Doyle.

Bess felt better that the dear Father believed her, as telling such a tale to most in the village would make a person sound like they go plum mad. The Father told her to return to guard her children, and remain quiet, tell not another sole about what she was a witness. He was going to try to check with a man superior to his standing in the church, asking him what to do next.

As Bess walked out of the church, the good Father Flanagan came running to tell one addition warning.

He said to her, “Bess my dear child of the saintly church beware of Patrick he had wed before, and none of his other wives, not a sole had seen them since! Adding to that, the Father made mention that on a few reported occasions, some children up and vanished too; Patrick, the Father thought had little concern for a person, young or old.”

Hearing such a warning, Bess nearly ran most of the three miles to home. When she arrived and to her relief, asked the stable groom where was Patrick, he said her husband had gone off to Cabletown, there to sell or have the butcher slaughter one very worthless big buck of a goat.

Bess stood there as if stunned or wondering if the man meant Tommy, as he just became a goat. Almost bursting it out from her worry, Bess asked the stable groom as which goat Patrick took to market. Relieved was Bess, when she heard that an old goat, an all white buck goat was the one who went to market. The stable groom made mention he had to help load the old monster of a goat, it bleating and kicking, almost as if it knew he was going to his death.

Hearing that Bess appeared as if she would faint the stable groom helping her back to the house and got her situated, giving her a stiff drink. Seemingly stunned, Bess in a blurting way asked if the goat had a name.

“Ryan, Misses O’Doyle,” the groom said, “The goat your husband named as Ryan as a tribute to a young man who worked here on the farm.”

“Really, what an act of Christian concern,” Remarked Bess, “Can you tell me what happened to the man, was he badly injured, or did he die?”

The man sighed, “Ryan was one of the nicest fellows one would ever expect to meet. He felt a want to care for everything God made and put on this earth. His one drawback was that he enjoyed talking religion to Mable, she was the Master’s first wife, she and he married… about some thirty years back.

Ryan paid maybe too much attention to her than what the Master thought rightly, but when on one night as the lightning crashed and winds near tore the roof of the barn; Ryan, poor lad, struck by lightning when getting hay out of the loft. A massive bolt it must have been, his clothing all singed and burnt, but nary a scrap of body or bone could we find. He became incinerated, poof, gone and ripped quite literally from out his clothing.

I thought it odd that on the next day the Master did drive to Cabletown and purchased that all white buck goat, and naming him after the lad Ryan. Yes, twenty…twenty-three years it is to this very day that the Master owned that big buck of a goat. The thing acted dumb as a box of rocks about the manners of being a goat; had to push his nose into the rumps of nanny goats just to get him enthused and start breeding.

Strange too, as that goat and unlike most goats as you may know, goats have very poor hygiene; the buck to get the nannies interested will lower and crane his neck near backwards, so he might urinate on it and stand stinking of his own scent. That Ryan, he acted more like a true to form man when meeting, playing, and later mounting, as he would breed almost affectionately with a nanny.

Am I boring you, or would you rather not know about Ryan?” The Groomsman asked, he offering Bess another shot to calm her noticeably shaky nervousness.

“No I am fine, please go on it is very interesting.” Bess said, she almost knew where the goat came from and of who had lived inside of it for twenty-three years.

The Groomsman then saw the Master returning, and not wishing to as found in the main house and talking with the Landlord’s wife, the good man exited the back door on the run to where he should be working.

“There, that is that,” exclaimed Patrick, as he walked through the front doorway and let slam the front door in his usual manner.

“Done with something are we Patrick,” Bess asking, she had hope he would tell her more of what she might not want to hear or know.

“An old buck goat, stubborn and willful, he has caused me many a pain since he came here.” Patrick replying, as Bess washed her whiskey glass at the kitchen sink, drying it and handing it to Patrick as if he would like a shot of the brew.

“No mum, little too early in the day for drinking even a good Irish brand of whiskey, “Sniff,” you had a nip, you, the rock of ages, and drinking whiskey in the morning, by God I think you would try to drink me under the table some day!” Patrick knew the smell of liquor, and having Bess smell of it in the morning or anytime, was an occasion!

“I near fainted outside, and your stable groom saw me and walked me back to the house, he gave me some to steady my nerves,” Bess had to admit, because she being a God fearing woman had little use for keeping a bottle in the house.

“It does help the nerves,” Patrick said, he smiled at Bess, patting her gingerly on the face as he headed out the back door and walked across to the stables.

Bess fell to her knees, folding her hands she begged for dear Jesus to save a good man from an ugly way to die. “Oh Please be there oh my God, do save young Ryan from his horrible bestial fate, pray to thee oh God that he can be returned to his human self and live again as a good and decent man. Amen.”

Bess opened her eyes and was ready to stand up and begin her housework, when to her stunned amazement, stood Patrick looking at her; he stood halfway inside the kitchen back door, and scowling.

“Who woman, who told thee such lies to make thee think that someone could be bewitched into becoming some animal; and then for you to think I had a part? Worse yet then my wife do you seem to think I had a willing part; who suggested such a thing and I shall take my revenge upon them, now answer me, say, say, say it!” An angered Patrick said, asked, and as much demanded from Bess that she should tell of who and how she came to believe such things as possible.

Brave as much as she was capable to keep her wits under control, Bess rose to he feet, dried her face of tears, and looking at her husband directly, she said, “Since I married you and even before that time there were many silly suggestive rumors floating about the air, and all of them dealing with the likes of you. I put those rumors off as foolhardy tongues blabbing, but only the other day when I stood in my kitchen and saw the farmhands running out from the barn, did I become curious, inquisitive of your business affairs. So then did I leave my house and children, going to the barn, entering the small service door, and once inside I then a stunned witness to a spectical, the like few maybe have ever seen.”

Bess moved toward her husband as four eyes took to and held the others in a cold and truth-rendering stare.

“There,” Bess pointing then with her left hand as if out a kitchen window and toward the large barn. “I became a partner to what you have the powers to wheel, powers, as likely from Hell as well. Powerful forces came and did to Tommy, that nice Thomas Tyler; and you willed he become a big buck goat. A buck goat to replace another poor forlorn soul you damned. As of another man, and employee to you, Ryan his name, and you made of him a goat, selling him at Cabletown, and to the butcher.

Bad enough to hold and use such power on those who deal for the devil, horrible it is to take fine people and turn them into animals, beasts to do to your every want and whim. Damned do you make them, cursed become they to live as is and as such the common mannerisms it must be and do as animals do, being prolific, breeding with real animals, degraded of spirit, body, and mind.

Pray do I, praying to God in heaven that I had not made such a mistake as to marry a ruthless wizard, a man witch, a disciple behooving to the devil and all his henchmen.” Bess stopped her verbal disdainful railing of the man she married, forgetting what he might do to her if really angered.

Patrick looked at Bess, his face slowly changing away his appearance as a man infuriated by what he saw and heard his wife say in a prayer.

Moving slowly toward Bess from where he first entered while she knelt praying, Patrick spread wide his arms as if to give her a warm and reassuring embrace, to express the love he had in his heart for a loyal wife.

When Patrick approached her, Bess took two steps backing away from her husband and his want to reassure.

Patrick ceased his friendly expression, his face darkened into one of rage again.

“Yes woman, yes, I have handed down to me by my grandmother to the seventh son of a seventh son granting to me to hold sway over man and beasts alike. Do you think my great wealth and place in the town come from being a giggly and friendly sort, nay, but it comes from seeing into the hearts of men, knowing who are enemies, and who of them stand willingly ready to do me bodily harm.

I let and give to the devil those who work against his ways, they he soon damns, but by they who become for me as animals, I stand to make a profit from out of their meddling ways.

Your prayerful worry over the bleating soul that once walked the earth with the name of Ryan, a rouge, he impugned the dignity of my wife and for it a let him feel the degrading of his body and mind to that of a brute beast; he became a good buck goat and increased the herd in numbers.

Men and aye women too at various times found but such a man as one being heartless to their pleas. Using of what was granted and given were put to good use by taking worthless flesh and making it better. God smiles upon me with increasing my wealth, I stand before him in thanks for what he allows me as the powers to rule this community with an iron hand.” Patrick said, made quite the speech too, as little did he know that Bess having spoken to the Father and since heard the story told by the stable groom, she made up her mind and knew her husband to be a liar.

Just then walked into the kitchen was Kyle, the oldest son of Perry and Bess when they were married. “Mother I overheard your arguing with our new father and…”Kyle got just that far into his asking a question. When Patrick in his fine Irish rage did turn an evil eye to gaze at the son not of his loins, a boy old enough to begin a manly work, in two years he would be twenty, old enough to pull his weight and make a living.

“Get boy, leave now or know what the wrath of my heritage can do,” Patrick raved, he whirling around, pointing an arm, hand, and index finger at the lad.

“No, oh please no, Patrick for the love of…” Bess screamed, as she saw in Patrick his eye twinkle with the look of a devil.

“Fool, just as brash and stupid as was your father, then if you wish to follow in his footsteps, I bade the powers to be, that you get your wish!” Patrick blasted his words at Kyle, angered at Bess, she having the ability to give him the sensuality he craved. As for Patrick his pointing and leveling of his unspent power still lulled inside his chest, he did put a spell upon young and impetuous Kyle.

Bess stepped to hug and try to protect her oldest from the horrid thing that she knew Patrick could and would do. As she put her arms around Kyle and hugged him close to her breasts, she felt him become weak and as his knees buckled, Kyle slipped below out from those loving motherly arms.

A woeful face of a son concerned for his mother and of the man she married, Kyle always giving Patrick the respect he would have given his own real father.

“Father,” Kyle said as he slumped down toward the floor. Turning his head to look up at his worried mother, Kyle began to say, “Mom, ma, moother, mooo, mooo, murrah…”

Patrick smiled then, and gave a big belly laugh. “You shall know your father when next he sees you and you him! As together shall you both reign supreme in the pasture. Both father and son being the same, but in due time you shall be the herd sire not him,” Patrick said, and turning to leave all there in the kitchen to deal with what he beget, he looked at Bess, “Those who dare to suggest of what I do is wrong, let them pay the price for a loose tongue!”

Slam went the kitchen door to the backyard and the path leading down to a barn housing some of those Patrick damned.

Kyle remained kneeling, his arms falling limp at his sides. He with great effort raised his head to gaze his face toward the mother who bore him, as if without the ability to speak, he would plead for her to help him somehow. He looked as Bess, tears streaming down her face did kneel down, giving Kyle then a tight hug about his neck, her touch felt his neck muscles beginning to swell. She felt too the needles of fur sprouting out of Kyle’s skin, his head and skull beginning to increase in size as well.

“Moo, murrah…,” Kyle tried to call out to his mother, but the best he could do was make the sound of a calf balling as if wanting to go to the teat.

Bess thought to hold him in a continuous hug, but with feeling the radical changes beginning and how they moved so quickly, she broke her hug and fell back to look at the face of her son.

Three minutes had possibly past, as she hugged Kyle, but when Bess sat and looked, again at his face she gasped in horror, realizing then of what would come.

A much larger head, as creamy white fur replace the golden blonde hair of her son, the fur swept to cover his head and face, a wafting of looped curls adorned the top of his forehead. She watched as Kyle looked like he was staring at his nose; and well he might as then his nose, nostrils and upper lip was merging and becoming as one.

“Murah…,” cried out Kyle as his upper lip and lower lip did blend into a very bovine form of a muzzle.

Eyes darkened from the bright blue to rounded orbs that seemed to star ahead only. The head swelled, not that increased the cavity to hold and do Kyle better for gaining a larger brain. Thick bone filled in, massive hard bone needed for someday when Kyle would challenge his real father for the kingly place over the herd.

Methodically the human ears at the side of a fur covered bovine shaped head felt the ranges of change as well, growing, becoming oval shaped and mobile on were they were rooted to the sides of Kyle’s bullish head.

Kyle snorted as if in a defiant tone toward what his stepfather was to make of him. As if a sudden sense of passion welled up, Kyle gained back his strength and standing upright; he raised an arm up and shook a fist toward Patrick and his barn.

“Kyle come now, we do not want the younger children to see you now, come we shall go down to the cellar.” Bess said, she pleading to Kyle, less the other two children come and be witness to the dehumanization of their elder brother to be soon as a bull.

Bess led the way and Kyle took two steps before he bent at the waist and screamed a beastly sound, as if feeling the pain that must accompany a quick transition from human to being a bovine animal.

“Kyle we must hurry, please come,” Bess pleaded with Kyle, seeing his pain, but not wanting to foul the minds of those younger.

Kyle took three more striding steps toward the cellar doorway when his legs folded, he collapsed to his knees, as Bess had to stand and watch, seeing then the trousers grow taunt, splitting at the seams. Huffing his breathing as if trying hard to cope with the fear and the pains, Kyle took his stiffening hands and ripped away his trousers. The cloth covering gone and he with Bess saw his thighs broadening, gaining massive strength. His thigh moved as it grew, encompassing his knees, embedding them into what he when a bull would have flanks.

“Murrah, “Kyle screamed as his human foot suddenly had a growth spurt, extending much longer. He massaged his changing legs; his change there was just getting started.

“Murrah, murrah…” Kyle moaned his bovine sounding bellowing, the searing pain went into his toes, they blurred in appearance, becoming vividly clear, as then he had cloven hoofs to grant him footing to walk or run across the open fields.

“Try and stand again, we must hide you from wondering eyes, now up and come,” Bess urged Kyle to go with her, to amble like some lumbering beast, down steps to the dark cellar.

Slowly, Kyle stood upright, but from his manner of legs and extended foot, he having not a heel but a hock, and his cloven hoofs added to his height; what stood as a young man being 5’9” tall, was then close to seven feet tall. Bess whimpered seeing how the changes had so increased her son, His larger block shaped head, the length of his torso, and his legs being those proper on a young bull, all made of him as a strange foreboding creature.

Clumping on his sound and solid hooves, Kyle held on to the walls and guided his lumbering mass of muscles and bones down into the dark, dank, cool cellar below the spacious home above. Together and surrounded by darkness, Bess sought about for an oil lamp she knew was there, and next to it sat a box of wood stick matches.

“Oh fine, we shall have some light now very soon, be patient Kyle, mother is trying to help.” Bess spoke, she so nervous from all what happened she kept snapping the matches in half just trying to strike them and light the lamp.

Snap, poof, the small flame bloomed, as Bess carefully lit the oil lamp, turning around to give an affectionate smile at Kyle; when she saw him, Bess burst into tears. During those fated minutes while she struggled to find and then light the lamp, the blacker powers from hell enjoyed the darkness; they worked best in the dark. The cellar was to the family a place of refuge in stormy weather. Down under, the house was some cots if needed and a table, chairs, and some food stock if the need arouse to use it.

Kyle had found the table, and when the lamp glowed with its yellow flame, Bess discovered her son, Kyle standing as upright as he could then. He holding himself upright by leaning on the table, but what held him up was by then the front legs and cloven hooves belonging to a yearling bull.

Black powers did there work, leaving Kyle to learn as he experienced the daily trials of life, as of a new way to eat, to lie down, and of dealing with the requirements we all have from our bodies.

“Oh no, Kyle, you are…a bull now, you are as is a bull, everything of you is as a bull…even do you have the tail, oh my God child what have I caused upon you now,” said Bess, she falling, crumpling down on her knees, horrified of what was the life and future of her firstborn.

A look at Kyle as he stood there still human thoughts prevailing, but feeling the strange physical sensation it is to be suddenly thrust into the bodily form of a bull. He seemed strangely complacent for what he became, his bony tail swishing slightly, as if he were testing it and his mind focused on the new sensation having a tail did provide. Rank sensations flooded his mind, thoughts of what it meant when he as a bull should stand as he was, but then as mounted over the rump of a cow. Actions and instincts merged and as he stood there became aroused, as a flaccid soft and very pinkness protruded from out his furry belly sheath, the seeing of it by Bess made her cry even more.

“How no, not even the sign of the covenant is upon you now, your circumcision is gone, you have become as one born to being a beast of the fields,” Bess wailed, she crying all the louder, as her dear soon looked down and would like to as well shed a tear, but the sensations spoke to him more.

In another casual move of cocking his greater head, Kyle looked toward his sobbing mother. He felt for her and her loss, he wanted to speak but the best he could muster out his mouth to her sounded so dull and animalistic, he cut short his vain trying. As just then, the back door to the kitchen slammed, and stomping farm boots came stomping down the wooden steps to the cellar.

“Oh lord above, dear woman I am sorry,” said Benjamin, he the stable groomsman. “Your husband was all raving mad and stormed off, driving in his truck. I feared for you, but it looks as if one of your children faced his wrath, he a man owned by the devil!”

Benjamin, a common person friendly to all and the patience of Job, he tended to his work, never talking much while on in stable. Working in the daytime dealing with the horses kept for various work about the farm, and as much for two racehorses. Racehorses, one for running as if the devil was chasing him and the other, a salty old mare by the name of Graceful Maiden, she the Master used for pulling a pony cart.

The Master said to take Graceful Maiden to the Higgins Farm and there have her bred; she is one of the nicest mares you ever wished to own,” said Benjamin, he concerned about the aged mare, and having her bred as if being several years the younger.

“Who is…” asked Benjamin, as Bess cut him off quick like and announced the bull standing there by them was once her son Kyle.

“I or we must get Kyle back up the stairs and out into the sunshine. His mind is affected by the dark, he will forget he was ever your son, and sooner then be as a caged and enraged bull. Come you push and I shall noose a rope about his neck and pull, quick now time is of the essence,” Benjamin said, and walking to stand by Kyle, he spoke to the bull rather harshly.

A rolling and lumbering sort of fall from off the hefty oak table, and Kyle let his hoof slam to the cellar floor. He turned slowly, following the lead of Benjamin; they got halfway up the cellar stair steps when Kyle stopped.

“Bess please, push on his rump, his mind is feeling of effects from the changing, he might fade away or if we get him into the sun, it will revive his mind, come help me.” Benjamin pleaded; his words spurred a mother to save her son from a worse fate, as she put her shoulder uncomfortably into the rump of Kyle and heaved it upward. The strange sensation jamming against his backside, and Kyle the bull charged forward, rising up and out of the cellar and busting the back door from off is hinges.

Once the three of them stood outside and in the warmth of that summer sunshine, it was for the betterment to Kyle, and his mind that he proved Benjamin to be correct in what he said could happen. Kyle standing on all fours, he was in all outward signs, as being a Charolais breed of a bull like was then his real father, Perry. The sun warmed his head, his blood surging to there and he turned to look at his still crying mother.

“Murrah, moo…rah, mother, mother, mom, it is me, Kyle spoke, he could work his tongue and mold his lips, he had full control of them, forming words, thinking them, saying them his human mind awake, alert and functioning as if he were his bright and righteous self again.

Benjamin congratulated Kyle on his fortitude and facing the travesty of his situation with great courage.

Bess fell over the strong bull neck of Kyle, she hugged him saying, “There is hope I can find a way to return you to being you.”

“Come now step along quickly, lest someone see this and think it another Donnybrook! A bull belongs in a corral, and I shall find Kyle some clean water to drink for the time being,” said Benjamin, his voice suggested to the urgency of the matter. He led the way as Kyle still wishing to be obedient, did turn to follow the man, going alone with him, willing at that moment to live if as well eager to go to his new bestial lifestyle.

Certainly, Kyle had feelings of being dumbfounded, as he knew then of how powerful a man was his stepfather, Patrick being the reason for this bullish miraculous transformation. Had he the ability, Kyle thought it neat to maybe go to town, to visit there some of they his friends, and show them of what he had become. Luckily the corral fence and gate held soundly, keeping the young bull far enough from friends in town and no way to get there; a normal way to have fun, when sullen and bored he then turned to dreams and fantasized. His stepfather had no use for things of mass media, calling such as a fool way to waste time. It was by day one works until the setting of the sun, and then like the animals on the farm you would go to bed.

It is natural to assume that this regimen made Kyle a good bit horny at his age, he in his late growth spurts and youthful hormones at the highest levels likely in his lifetime; Kyle began watching the interplay between the animals. Each had their own fashion differing from the others, but one in his own mind seemed the richest, Berry the Charolais big white bull whose actions allured and captivated for the most part.

The day passed and Kyle in his private corral stood there knowing of his situation and well able to think as he had when human. One day moved on to the next and Bess as well her son Kyle lost all hopes of his changing back to be her son as a human. He found an odd sense of delight from being like a bull. Unbeknown neither to his saintly mother, nor to anyone else there at the O’Doyle farms, with the exception of Patrick, Kyle felt drawn toward Berry, as if between them were a special sense of belonging together. The prize big bull acted with much the same understanding about Kyle, and it acted gingerly considerate when near to what was his son and did Kyle when close to his younger brother and sister.

Berry the bull had an noticeable relationship feeling for Kyle, especially whenever they met along a mutually aligned pasture fence.

Kyle felt the beginning of a battle ragging in his head, yet, another faction suggested this situation as if it were a wondrous adventure; offering times to play, frolic, and sow some wild seed. Kyle had no reason to apologize to Patrick when the man found his bull stepson lying during the evening hours by the roots of a spreading Elm tree; it planted neatly at the crest of a hill, and overlooking any of the three pastures. To Kyle this was for him his favorite place to set and watch his real father enjoy some bullish interaction with the cows of his herd. The youth watched with interest, seeing how Berry moved, elated when the huge bull would breed openly, unabated by any rules, laws, or even morals.

Foolish or worse Kyle had to agree, his becoming a bull would mean a mental degrading over time. His love for family fading as would all he had learned in school would be gone from him, duly so from leading day and night a brutally sensual lifestyle of a bull. Part of him had wished he were as the prize bull, knowing this were then the real truths, Kyle realized how soon he would give in to it, or go raving mad.

As of what his stepfather grumped about more than anything was about his stepson having an unhealthy overindulgence, constantly muddled in a fantasy about watching the animals doing what they do. He expected Kyle to begin trying to take an active part, as with trying it tends to help the learning, making an expert of a novas, even when being a bull.

Bess became as wrought as might be a natural assumption considering the bestial transforming of Kyle and it assuring in her mind of a son damned in the eyes of God. She went to Benjamin and getting him away from big ears, she pleaded to learn from him of what he knew about Patrick and if a way for some reversal of the dehumanization done to her eldest son.

“Misses O’Doyle, I am a worker here and paid better than are most doing the same at other farms. I do not have the powers of which your husband wheels so freely. I mind to my own affairs when he walks the farm, and try to guide, help and care for those I know he has so doomed to live their lives as if just another beast. I do this accordingly, not going against the set will of your husband, he a person and we both know it now that neither friend or family does he give a notion of concern. Anyone could become as sis Berry, Grace, Ruth, Madelyn, and presently your son Kyle, could remain here being animals on this farm,” said Benjamin as he admitted, he too felt daily a brashness that anyone who got in the way of what Patrick planned, stood vulnerable of being dealt with as what he did just to Kyle.

“There hast to be a way to reverse what was done, the longer Kyle is as a beast, the more it shall tantalize his mind to accept life as a bull. Living a sinful life is the easy way, but never does it make for the best outcome. I want more for Kyle, he had great promise, please help me, help him, for the time being keep him away from the cattle,” Bess begged, near again to tears for her son, but in a fine Irish rage about the indecent thing her husband so unashamedly did to Kyle.

“Murrah,” bellowed Kyle, he could hear what Benjamin and his saintly mother spoke of, and wishing he could relate of how nice it felt then to be a bull, his comments would calm the situation, or so he thought.

The barn is not as clean as was the house he lived under its roof, but in the barn were flies that feasted constantly on the droppings of animals in stalls or anywhere the urge came to relive a urge. In the early stages of his recent transformation to being an animal, a bull, and put in the barn, Kyle let the flies do their walking anywhere they wished. The six prickly legs on the flies seemed to tickle his furry hide. He got chills when the flies wound trace out the contours of his bovine bull sheath. The sensual way the insects gave Kyle a sense of knowing the heft of his huge testicles; and the added funny feeling as his butt hole got a licked cleaning of any leftover remnant from his last taking a dump.

Ever so sensual and with such complacent a natural feeling of comfort by being bovine and as well like a bull, Kyle began to look for ways of breaking free of the confines, wishing heartily to go and join the herd in the pasture.

Later, after sundown, Patrick would return to his house a bit inebriated, that made him usually more volatile, and with his powers he ruled, this made dealing with him a delicate matter.

Bess and Patrick had separate bedrooms, he having a big bed and a canopy over the top posts. Patrick spoke a crude bit of humor, saying one could tell a rich man from a poor man by the bed they slept in. As a rich man has a canopy over his bed, and a poor man keeps a can of pee under his bed, so as not to use the outhouse in winter.

At that moment Kyle would care the least, as to him where he laid his urine offered little cause for concern; being a bull, he urinated without or nary a thought.

Bess wanted to speak about what Patrick did to Kyle. Patrick was not so inclined, and verbally warned his dear wife that of those who were his first and second wife did presently graze beside her husband Perry. Laughing about what he did, a bold man boasted for the first time to Bess, that her ex-husband did not run off, but strides up to cows and heifers, sniffing before he mounts them, breeding as should a bull named then Berry.

Pointing that same index finger at Bess that he had at Kyle, he warned his wife, that unless she relented instantly, he would get his small book and make for her a new position to stand in a pen or pasture about the farm.

Bess spun around a walked sternly away from Patrick. As he then headed for his private bathroom to take a warm, soak and get ready to retire.

Bess had an idea to give her husband the sense and feeling her son likely by then knew. She went out the kitchen rear door, straight a way to the barn. There she found a garden shovel, using it to gather recently dumped manure.

Then back to the main house, she carried the shovel with its vile sticking load. Up to the bedroom of Patrick, and rolling back the sheets, she slopped the shovel load in the middle of that bed. She then rolled back the covers, she knew Patrick would exit his Lion paw bathtub in the dark and crawl into his bed making the usual sounds of a man enjoying the sensual feel of clean and pressed white sheets.

Gathering to her the youngsters of hers, they sat on her bed and waited for the explosion.

Bess had not long to wait, she heard the footsteps of Patrick walking along the upstairs floor, she heard him give a lion size yawning. A concerned mother for her two remaining children, she told each that no matter what happened next, they should stay under the covers of her bed.

Then she heard her husband groan a satisfied sound as did every night, he slipping his bare feet between the pure and white daily washed and ironed sheets; he said it was befitting royalty that way, and in his eyes, he was as good as anyone born into royalty.

Two more groaning happy moans and the expected happened with the volatility Bess rather expected. Whether it was he did not know or could not care being he arrived home so inebriated from standing in a Cabletown pub. He stayed until the pub closed, feeling the need to drowning his grief for having made a horrible injustice being so enraged; he had in a fit of anger cursed his elder son from the first marriage. The small book when in his hands becomes the driving force in his life, governing his pride and quick temper. His stepson he had in one of those fits of rage had damned and doomed Kyle to be then as another of the animals upon his huge farm. Patrick like his wife saw the making of an exceptional young man in Kyle, he had plans for him to manage the farm someday, but be he as deemed then his future as changed, as is his form his essence then to be of service would horror his parents.

The blessed power of his Grandmother put on him at her dying deathbed was both an aid the increase his wealth, and at certain times a boondoggle to his life and that of others he would transform. Even at the pub as Patrick bid his farewells to a few other big landowners like was he, a barmaid gave him a ravishingly overly affectionate kiss. She knew he was a rich landowner of a man. Blurry eyed drunken state, he saw her conquest as an easy mark, urging him in the company still of others, to come with her up and into her bedchamber.

When allowed to act with her, as would one of his animals, in the height of drunken exertion he fainted, and come the morning he might feel robbed of more than his money. Kissed as if an affectionate farewell to Patrick, he did accept it in his manly manner. Even as he was and feeling the coming of a bad hangover, his remembered knowledge of things written in the small book, of his many a time using them to help his advantage, he returned the affection of this sordid woman. Returned he did, but what Patrick gave back to that woman was for her that night and when alone to have her whoring dream come true.

About the same hour, that Patrick snuggled into his big red cherry wood bed, in the poorer region of Cabletown a pub barmaid, lay feeling ravaged by her wildest and mainly bestial desires. As if handled by men looking like partially animalistic of form and arousal, the maiden laid spread-eagled over the width and length of her bed. Feeling like many of her pub patrons, this young woman of loose moral character dreamed of a handsome young man was making love to her but had as his tool being something usually seen hanging below a male mule.

As she felt and moaned from the corporeal ravaging done to her lower region, the curse of Patrick began to cause changes in skin, hair, and coloration, along with an added new muscular ability for her vaginal walls to grab at, grip at, and hold her choice stud in a thrusting position. As it had happened to other women and some men as well, as from their foolhardy stabs at making Patrick look the real fool; he had their wild imagination and personal fantasies do something bodily radical, lending the next morning to show each how foolish they could appear to others and as well their own selves.

Sallyanne, this one maiden did discover the next morning when she crawled from her bed, her dreamy state was more like a reality. Her bed lay soiled, bloodied, soaked in various sultry juices, the volume of such she in all her many times of being with any a man had not been a witness to such a flood. Standing before her apartment flat mirror, Sallyanne would do while naked her morning stretching exercises. Tired from a wild night she could not remember, blurry-eyed as was Patrick when he hugged her a goodnight, a few beginning movements bade for her to realize she wore a body drastically different than the one she had crawling into her bed.

Sprouted above her long trails of Mahogany recolor of hair, she squinting at her reflection only to discover what protruded upward were, two long and furry ears, her ears, Mule ears.

Panicked feeling hands began to touch and feel of her then darker looking form, dark because her human skin had changed to be the brown furry hide of a mule. The hide and hair did cover Sallyanne from head to feet, the only exception being a rounded circle that held an unchanged and perfect recognizable face of a stunned and horrified young woman.

Feeling then of her furry mule skin covered body, sad Sallyanne felt something she immediately knew was never a part of her before that morning. Bending at the waist, and swinging her cute boutique butt toward the mirror, she craned her head to look at what she held to as part of her womanly pride. As what reflected back to Sallyanne, she saw a nice mule tail sprouted from the peak of her rump. Her soft and shapely rounded buttocks had narrowed, become as hardened muscles of the rump she seen on a jennet mule.

Adding further insults to her injured pride, poor Sallyanne denoted her vagina set then placed in a newly arrangement, it under her then a black puckered anus. Like unto a vulva of leathery folds did guard the entrance to her more sensual depths; it looked then as something perfectly inviting to a stallion or some horny male mule, but not of any interest to a man.

Cursed, damned of women and from living around human kind, Sallyanne began to cry. Her tears and the drastic changes to her body reacted to the welling up of an emotional crisis. The reaction began to increase her Mulish body she wore, as muscles bulged, and her thighs took on the broad look of strong flanks. If Sallyanne continued to cry and deny her situation, the situation would in the space of a day take her away from being human and grace her as a healthy jennet mule looking for a whore’s dream.

A stout of heart attitude was the crux to making her bodily deformity a thing to last but three days and fade back to being fully human. Yet such was not the case for most who found their bodies changing to become as a mule, female or male they were. Most and Sallyanne that morning, became engrossed in pools of self pity, balling their tear ducts dry, the welling of raw emotion fed the devils who did such changing of forms.

In his usual way, Patrick would report to the Cabletown authorities the loss of another runaway or wayward jennet mule, describing her as dark brown with a white blaze, white socks on forelegs and a friendly disposition around people. Ultimately, and each time like clockwork, he would get the ownership of another new mule to help work the farm.

All the while as the curse to Sallyanne played out to its finality, Patrick rolled over in bed and met his rump with something that seeped from out one of his many cows. What echoed the house in the night sounded as if coming from poor Kyle, as he felt the anxious pangs of a yearling bull to enter the pasture and test his abilities at pleasuring with a bovine gender?

“Bess,” Patrick yelled with his bellowing call for the woman of the house to come and tend to his ailment.

Bess hid her children, she still sickened and wrought over the rowdy way Patrick turned on his stepson. Three stairways in that large house that stood as one for those who came as welcomed company to climb in grand style. Another stairs went to the kitchen and as if for those who do services of the guests and or Patrick. Yet another stood on the outside of the building, at the end of an upstairs hallway, it being as an emergency escape, built to save the hide of Patrick.

Running down the grand and polished staircase, a soiled Patrick stomped leaving droppings of the slime peppering the steps behind his rump. That big bed Patrick had for himself he wanted it kept spotlessly clean, different sheets every morning, crisp and ready if royalty should stop there and want to stay the night.

“Damn you Bess,” yelled Patrick as he charged from room to room, stomping about the dark wood polished floor he so often would boast of the time it took to keep them that way; as if he had anything to do with helping the servants do the cleaning. Stomping about the house as if in a forced march of some infantry, Patrick left droppings everywhere, he turned, checking rooms for the reprehensible wife that turned his clean bed into a mire pot.

Bess hiding from Patrick in numerous places she knew and he never would thing to look, she laughed occasionally when hearing Patrick groan, he having stepped his bare feet in some dribbled dropping of what clung to his nightshirt.

The servants knew when to stay inside their rooms and hide heads under the covers. They knew not of the powers Patrick would wheel, but had heard he did something to young stepson Kyle, something so nasty the young lad had to leave home that very day.

“You want my love and perfect obedience, by God then, you return to me the son I bore, and to him the rightful heritage he is as my kin,” Bess yelled her demands back at Patrick. She knew after talking with Benjamin, the stables groom had said, those changed have a short time before the lusty pangs of being an animal and bestial in manners, does enough to them making their return to human kind as something likely near to impossible.

“Fool woman, I want nothing more to do with the lad, he and his father can roam the earth as if they were born to do so; I care not! Fool child, and a foolish dreamer, well now he can dream of what he likes, and do it where I do not have to drag his sorry self back to reality, Bess come here,” Patrick yelled, the roof rafters quaking, as Bess was near, she waiting and watching her chance.

Two hours of chase around and about that big house and the brew from the evening before did its dutifully giving forth on Patrick his dues. Patrick could not chase anymore, tired and with his building hangover, he went toward his study, going there to retrieve that small book, and make a level playing field, the book had ways to find where his fifth wife could hide.

Bess moved from hiding place to the next, she following Patrick to where he kept hidden his book bearing ties to devils and evil powers. Unknown to Patrick, but his wife was a bit of an athlete in times past. Bess and her husband Perry would stand for happy fun hours skipping smooth rocks across the shimmering surface of a pond. Bess had quite and arm, she had quite an eye, and together she could throw at a target and hit the mark.

Patrick stood boldly with his back facing the door to his study; he held that special book left to him by his grandmother. He paged nervously through it, his blurry vision a definite problem for reading the handwritten scribed quill penmanship was tough to read, even when he did not have a morning hangover.

“Yes,” said Patrick as he found just the perfect spell to bring his enemy out into the light of day.

“Whoosh and a bonk,” Patrick turned himself halfway to face the doorway when from just outside of it Bess threw at him one of his many heavy clay potteries, it flying at him, striking the spellbinder on his right temple.

Down went Patrick into a limp crumpled heap of bones and flesh; the small leather bound book falling to the floor, the powers from within it making a heat scorching mark of the shiny wooden floor.

Bess rushed into the room and with a potholder and her apron she scooped up the small book, holding it to her chest she made a vow to return her son to his former self.

“Not too damn likely Bess,” said a harsh sounding voice from in the doorway to the study.

Bess whirled around and let out a gasping breathe.

There, standing in the study room doorway stood what had to be a demon from the lower regions of Hell. Mightily he filled the four-foot wide doorway from side to side, and top to floor. A black and looking bristly of sharp spines, some on his shoulders, smaller spines covering his upper arms, and as Bess would note soon, the devil had the same spines as protection covering his backbone. Otherwise, the beastly thing from Hell stunk of scorched sulfur, and the fires that toast brimstone to near melting temperatures.

“Quite a vow, a motherly vow, one made from a soft heart wishing only the best for her young; common but goodly, nice but near worthless! As to attest your vow true, you need deal with the likes of me,” said the demonic devil standing in the way of any possible route of escape for Bess.

Bess eyed the thing, it being manly in its general stature, but other than his body armed and covered with sharp spines; he stood cloaked of toasted black fur covering it from head to cloven hoofs. The cutting yellow eyes seemingly had of them ways to hold a person in a trance, allowing the Demon to do to or with a body, as he or it might so be pleased.

“I shall retrieve from you that book and be on my way, woman of the house,” said the Demon, as if in a hurry to leave before Patrick would awake.

The thing stepped closer to Bess, it stared at her with its yellow eye, trying desperately to make and keep eye contact with Bess. Bess was attuned to what the Demon had as one power, and kept her eyes turned floor ward; she moving cautiously around the room and just past the point of the Demon grasping at her.

“You would wish to have this book and deny it from the hands of my husband, Patrick O’Doyle,” Bess said, she wanting her son back and that book seemed the best bargaining item for her to get her wish.

“Damn it woman, stand still, what are we doing here a folk dance or something, damn you, give me back my book,” the Demon grumbled, he had an idea that time was short and his chance of gaining back that special book was fast fluttering past his grasp.

“No,” said Bess sternly, as she opened the book and seemed at the ready to tear from it a host of the center pages.

“Yes,” the Demon screamed, he falling to his knees and then to lie face down and prostrate as if in reverence before Bess, less she tear the book he had need to bring back to the personal and private library belonging to his grand master.

“You want this book, aye black boy,” said Bess, she trying to be as harsh and degrading to the Demon as possible. “To have it I have made a vow, and you dear sir I think can make it happen, then I shall award you your due and send you on your way,” Bess said, she sounding as if her words were trustworthy, even by a devil.

Almost in a whimpering the Demon said, “What is it you wish of me to do?”

Bess sighed aloud, a mistake and alerted the Demon her hand might be away from ready to tear the pages out of the book. In a rushing whirl the Demon rouse up off the floor and did reach for the book only to scream, “NO, please no, no, no!”

Dropping to his black furry knees, the Demon then folding his claw bearing hands as if ready to pray for his book returned; he then tried another angle, getting on an erection of a black oily male shaft, the epedemy of what Sallyanne the whore in Cabletown was dreaming of it rooting her near to insanely mad.

Bess eyed the black pole of a mighty stud and stallion demon. It waved as if wanting for some satisfaction, trying hard, to lure a woman close, as if what he had, Bess saw from her living on a farm, had seen a dozen times each day.

“You got Herpes, and warts growing on that thing, you should learn to wear a sleeve. Our stable groomsman might offer a remedy, one that is if you got the balls for it,” Bess chided the Demon, she had enjoyed Perry when first the wed and for ten years thereafter. “My first husband Perry had such maleness, an equal to an Irish stud pony. A good bit more refined, clean, and as well for him, his parent had it circumcised. All of which that ugly shaft of yours is diseased and able to cause a woman her death,” Bess cut the Demon no slack, she wanted back her son, if possible the return of her first husband Perry, he the bull Patrick renamed as Berry, that and more if she could. In her heart, Bess had the thought as for the sake of righteousness, if possible, she would request to set a curse upon Patrick, as he had cursed and damned so many others to live life in a bestial fashion.

A Demon with an erection wilted together into acting with submission to the wishing whim of a woman willing to rip a demonic book to trash. He stood on one knee, and head bowed, he listened to the passionate wishes made by Bess.

“Woman, this I can do all, and of cursing Patrick O’Doyle I do with a personal bit of pleasure. Of your son Kyle, his homecoming should be complete, as if untouched by the ravages of a bestial existence, if as you say he is in the barn and has not tarnished his immortal soul with breeding a cow, then he may return again to being a fine young male human.

As for Berry who once stood as Perry, it is of this man his return to being human shall cause him and you great disdain. He as so cursed now for three years has, by his own acceptance of his situation, bred and is breeding as we speak, mating cows, and having spread his seed over many counties, and thousands of horny, satisfied cows. He shall never be a happy and contented man, his lust and brutal desires are those of a bull enjoying the rut. If knowing this and you ask me to return to him his human senses, memories of when he was your husband, you and he might have a mutual friendship again, but nothing more,” said the demon, as from what was reality, he needed to give Bess an explanation. Even with demon and Hell there are rules that by the ownership of the book and of who has it in their hands, does stand, as the governing entity to which and by such the Devils, Demons and their consorts must obey.

Bess sent the Demon to bring Kyle back to her from the barn. She said she had to give then proper time of thought to the return of Perry, if what the Demon said were the solemn truth.

Bess waited in the library as she did Patrick awoke, rubbing his head and seeing Bess with the book the best he could say was a simple, “Oh no!”

“Bess please, please Bess,” Patrick began to plead and ask of her to be kind, to give him the leather bound book.

“Do what, you think after the way you have acted and dealt with my first husband and then my son as well that I should give in to the likes of you? Nor are you trustworthy, you would deny me the asking of this Demon to do my bidding…,” Bess saying as just then there was a brilliant flash, as if lightning had struck something very close to the house. An immediate rolling rippling sound to peeling thunder shook the whole house, causing Bess to look up as if the roof and rafters might be falling down upon them both.

“It is of now real concern, the house stands yet, aye me Lad, and to you dear Bess, woman of this grand house, I bid you a hello,” Bess looked past where Patrick sat in his soiled nightshirt upon the floor of his study, as there in the doorway to the room stood the wee smallest little man.

“Saints preserve us, a Demon and then his devils and now the house should be infested with Leprechauns,” said Bess, as in the doorway stood a man about 12 inches in height.

A red bowler derby hat on his head, a narrow chiseled face there below, and a wide lapel tight fitted emerald green coat and pants with patent leather shiny black boots, all this and much more made up a Leprechaun by the interesting name of Lester.

“Oh hell, there goes the neighborhood, Leprechauns; the place just got shot to hell,” Patrick grumbled, he giving Bess the wink of an eye, as if he wanted to antagonize the little man.

“Bess O’Doyle, I am Lester the Lucky Leprechaun here to do you a service,” Lester announced; he stopped his standing in the doorway to lean against the door jam as suddenly he began to grow tall, and taller, and taller more until he stood at the height of about 5’6”.

“Did you trust that Demon to do as you did ask, has he returned with your men folk? If he does will you relinquish the book into his evil hands, nay, I say dear woman! Take care as what the Demon can make happen for Patrick, he can undo, and do again if the reason to do so is in his favor.

Remember your Bible lessons about a house divided against it self cannot stand, and a Demon doing good works is just that, going against the plans and wishes of his grand master,” Lester said, his words made good sense and since him as a Leprechaun was like a good fairy spirit, Bess felt his words were to her betterment.

“You listen to that clod and the Demon will have us all eating from a trough, loving slop and to wallow in the mud,” Patrick said, as in his tone of voice sounding as a man beaten and awaiting the hangman.

“Oh really, well if the Demon does not have a good use for your sorry hide, I could whisk you off to the Welsh coal mines, they have need for some healthy donkeys or a gelded pony to haul coal cars out of the mines. If you knew why my offer is far better than you are likely to get from that Demon, since you hoodwinked him more than once,” said Lester, he looking at Patrick as though he saw instead the vestiges of a man soon to be disemboweled, as by a Demon spirit.

A moment after this and with the far hills still echoing that peel of thunder after the lighting strike; the study room windows flew open and floating in and through the a window sash was a human form of Kyle, he smiling and with arms stretched outward to grant his mother a big hug.

“Kyle,” said Bess, her tone of voice as one astonished mother seeing her son after thinking he was forever lost.

Bess walked toward this vestige of her elder son, he dressed and looking like she remembered him; as the Leprechaun began enticing Bess this was a Demonic trick. The Demon appeared again, and said aloud and as if boasting of his abilities, “Woman, behold but is this not your son?”

Bess looked intently at the figure standing before her there in the study room. What seemed as something she wanted and badly, had come true to life, again? Then, from outside the window stood floating in the air was the Demon. Bess looked at him with a facial expression of dull wonder, as why he would not enter the study as before.

“Oh, ho, ho, me dear woman of the house, your Demon fellow cannot stand to be in the same room with a Leprechaun. Aye, demons and devils are far stronger in power than is any Leprechaun alive; but we being more for what is good, moral, and of the faith in man, is like trying to mix Whale oil and water, you can’t!” The Leprechaun said, as he stood inside the study room, snickering at the powerful Demon, who by his choice was keeping a distance from, the wee personage.

“Kyle, come give your loving mother a hug.” Bess said, with a warm and affectionate smile she stood holding her arms out straight, but with the small book tucked firmly under her right armpit.

“Kyle, come to me, Kyle what is wrong with you. Demon what is wrong with my son, why will he not come to his mother,” said Bess, she sounding a bit frantic from worry and concerned then as why Kyle standing there a few feet away would not come or even look at her directly.

“It is because I was happy as a bull, and wish to be a bull still,” Kyle said, he looking upward as if his transformation came upon him by the grace of God and not the workings of devils.

“To be as a bull and so strong, aye filled with a rich vitality for life and the living of it. I could make some real mark in this world, the best stud sire bull anyone in the county, or this ruddy country has ever seen, that is what I would become! Me, mother me, as a brute big bull, true enough and loyal to my herd, and especially gracing to the farmer, him who may own us.

I spent countless hours watching, and seeing how Berry mated with his cows. I saw his passion and felt the lust as he grunted, humped over a cow, thrusting, as perverted as it sounds to the Christian rearing, it stands as of something I want and would cherish. Seeing Berry do it, to do it as does my real father, he a fine big Charolais breed of bull, as what he does I wanted to have that same kind of fun too! Benjamin had commented of releasing me into the pasture tomorrow. Me in pasture, to nibble and grazing, I could mill through the herd of cows, sniffing them, and learning, as when the time felt so right, I would do as does my father,” Kyle stated to all there. A stunned mother who asked to see again her elder son, and he as having made his mind up to live his life in perversity beyond what she thought any mad man had the ability.

Patrick sat still silent, as much of what Kyle spoke came from the introduction to feeling bestial and by human ideals as something, vile and perverse; after all he had deemed many a person into living and then thinking quite similar.

The Leprechaun snickered, and Bess heard the Leprechaun snicker, her face foretold of what she thought of his finding the whole of this situation as something to give him some humor.

Cocking his head, the Leprechaun removed his red bowler derby hat, bowing low, as he rouse back to a standing position he did ask, “Dear good woman of this fine house, is that what you reared, a perverted young lad, one wishing to live his entire life solely for the reason to mate cows? Any a farm has a need for bulls to mate cows, and there be more than enough good bulls dropped and born each year. Look closely at this effigy of your son, is this truly what you reared, is he as what you remember, be sure before you give up that book and claim this figure as being of your heart, mind, and soul,” The Leprechaun said, he seemingly offering Bess a warning of especially cautious selected words, as if not to tip the Demon’s hand.

Outside the study room window the Demon turned a scowling face to stare at Lester the Leprechaun.

A woman of keen understanding stood considering the present, she seeing a Demon of great power held at by one of the wee people fairies; Lester being of something she always thought was but a story from the imagination of human minds.

She eyed a quiet Patrick; he did not dare come near her while she had the small book in her hands or possession. Kyle, or possibly the essence of her son stood before her, he spouting off about his choice of living life and sounding as something terribly perverted. She had seen Kyle sit by his favorite place and dreaming, feeling as trapped by Patrick as he did by the love of his mother. Kyle wished for truth, but of Berry or Perry his father, he changed by Patrick into a bull now these three horrible years, how did Kyle learn of this.

“Whoa, ah I think I am not welcomed here, I shall take my leave,” said Benjamin, he seeing the lights on all over the main house thought there might be some troubles. He knew of the tragedy about Kyle, as well of his real father coming to plead with a brutal Patrick and walking away from that meeting he strode to the fields as a bull.

“No, wait, I have a question for you dear Benjamin,” said Bess, she pointing at him and her tone as of someone wheeling undeniable power.

“Kyle, you are here… you are human now…,” Benjamin so noted, his words as much suggesting of a surprise as a question of possibility.

“Be quiet human, or the wrath of hell shall fall on thee,” the Demon yelled from his floating perch outside the study room window.

“Aye me’ buck o, be cavalier and with my protection, do tell the woman of the house what you saw and know,” Lester said, and smiling at Benjamin, he then tossed the stable groom a shiny golden doubloon as a payment.

Bess looked at Benjamin, as the Demon scowled at him, Patrick craned his neck around and gazed back at his employee, as Lester stood winking at Ben, motioning for him to give up what he knew was the whole truth.

If ever there were a man feeling as if he stood with a hot rock to his rear and a meat grinder before him, it was Benjamin.

“May the saints preserve me,” Benjamin said first, he doing a crisscross at the mark of a true Catholic. “Ma'am’ I saw the lights on here and figured there be troubles brewing. On the way to come here, saw a flash of lightning from behind the barn, deciding to check this out first, less from it the barn might catch on fire. Walking through the barn to where the lightning struck, I passed Kyle, he all crumpled down and sleeping like does our other cattle.

Out and behind the barn I saw through a window was that Demon there,” Benjamin pointing at the demon floating outside the study room window.

“As if he had called down lightning, as using one of his own kinds, he did build up an effigy, some likeness to what Master Kyle, as he was before Patrick made the Lad a bull. The two of them floated toward the house, and slipping below the crested roof, I did not know where they went, until now.

I do not know what has or is to transpire here, but from the look of those participating, Demon, devils, Patrick and a…Leprechaun…, I suspect some foul play is lurking in the by and by,” Benjamin said, he looked a bit sheepishly at Bess, she standing there, and surrounded by a horde of powerful beings.

“Benjamin, when last you saw Kyle, was he this, or still as a yearling bull,” Bess asking, her tone of voice harsh and suggesting she saw the trick.

“Ma' am, and with all due respect to you and of your loss, your elder son lies still in the barn. He still as a sleepy bull waiting for the morrow when I was to release him into the pasture, he to join a smaller herd of some twenty very cows, they all in season,” Benjamin replied to the question poised by Bess.

Bess removed the book she held tightly under her arm. She then holding it firmly in one hand, she shaking it at the devilish effigy of her Kyle, and pointing her other hand at the demon still afloat outside the window, Bess said, “Be you devils and demon form hell, you shall return to it and never come back here, lest I should call upon you to do so!”

One Demon and what must be a legion of devils it took to give enough substance to make what stood there as if Kyle the young man, all burst into flames and were gone, leaving only a whiff of brimstone behind.

“Patrick,” Bess said sternly, “Of my son, can he be returned to me wholly human and without a mental scare from his ordeal?”

Patrick wished he could avow this a possibility, but his knowledge of the small book dealt with murder, removing those in the way of gaining prominence, wealth, and even a handsome wife. Seated sat a man feeling his doom and damnation was both certain and likely at hand. Bess sighed, as if all hope of getting Kyle back from his being a bull and going through life as did his father, she let her guard down for an instant.

Patrick saw this as his chance to jump up and take from the woman his rightful due.

Doing just that, Patrick got to his feet rather suddenly, and was about to strike a hand across the face of his wife; when from out of the black night, another flash of light jolted the house. A light so bright it engulfed all within that room, blinding Bess, Benjamin, and stopping Patrick in his stride to deal a harsh blow to a loving wife.

As the light faded back to the oil burning lamps set about the room, Bess blinked her eyes, she trying desperately to refocus, as to see to her physical defense. The light knocked Ben on his royal butt, he falling out through the doorway and back into the hallway.

As each gained their vision again, Bess looked toward Ben and him looking at her, as between them stood then Lester, he smiling broadly, hands on his hips and a crooked pipe in his mouth, blue smoke rising with the thinnest of a wisp.

Patrick stood there stiff as if a marble statue, alive but not quite himself.

“Patrick O’Doyle, ah it is a vain and vile minded man, but being as such, I think you be so wrong that remaining a man is not for the likes of you,” Lester said, his words plagued Patrick as then Bess and Benjamin saw what came from the blinding light.

“Mauoss mauwese,” pleaded Patrick, his long beard and narrow chin not any more a help to his speaking words. As his incisor teeth then stood pressed forward, best then for when in days and times to come he stood grazing for his meals.

Beaming from his doings, Lester stood motioning toward Patrick, he still the frame of his manly self, but blended into his was that what is and makes a Billy buck goat of some value to a farm.

“He does strike the excellent figure of a good shepherd, standing on the stout hind legs of a male goat, his sharp cloven hooves a value to keeping chase with his herd. Blessed, is Patrick now with a dense coat of goat fur, so much that biting bugs shall ignore most of him. Bug bites he may get when feeling ideals of passion for a nanny, then will the bug lite and bite, giving Patrick an itching in his sheath, his hot pick shaft all bubbled and blistered from bloodsuckers just like him.

Oh but Patrick, your deal is this, to be a caretaker over the flocks on this what was your farm. You are as you see, mostly a buck goat, to guide, breed, and keep your herds from harm. Woe to you if you fail in this great aim, as for every single sheep or goat taken away by wild dogs or a wolf, two more years must you remain beyond the next twenty years being of what I made you. Dare you to try to run away, if you were to leave then the boundaries of this your farm, and the goat likeness shall swarm over your body. It forcing then you to walk on all fours, a buck goat, aging and becoming soon as ripe for slaughter,” Lester said, as if setting into motion a curse from Leprechauns upon a man, something rarely done, as done, it sticks like glue.

Bleating as Patrick struggled to plead with Bess for his return to being again as a man, he cried horribly when Benjamin produced from his pants a short length of twine. A noosed loop of twine made for a fine halter about the wayward neck of a large buck of a goat.

Out the study room that for Patrick was then as pearl set before swine, Benjamin led his boss to the fields. Bess stood alone for a moment, the sounds of squealing children coming from her room, down the hallway and flying to meet her inside the study.

“Thank you Lester, to be truthful I never did believe in Leprechauns,” Bess admitted of her doubts, while then kneeling down, she hugged her two remaining children.

“To believe in what you want is the beginning of a miracle, and Leprechauns are a wealth of the miraculous,” Lester said, he no sooner finished saying it and the kitchen door downstairs did slam shut with a bag.

“Mom, I am home again,” called a very familiar voice.

Bess looked at the Leprechaun with a face all aglow of the possibility her son had come home.

Lester smiled at her, his hand removing the crooked pipe he smoked in his mouth, giving a nod for her to pass him bye, to go down stairs and greet her almost lost son. Bess with her youngsters close on her heels, raced down the stairway to the kitchen. There, as they all burst out into the large kitchen, stood then Kyle, or most of him, the remainder of his bovine self he had covered with a gunnysack.

“Kyle,” screamed Bess, as much she had a hope of seeing her son as he was only two days before, but as he stood there in the kitchen, even his brother and sister looked at him and ran back to hide in the other front room.

“LESTER,” Bess screamed, and a moment later, the Leprechaun strolled down the back stairway and entered the kitchen. Bess pointing at what generally represented as if her son, she looked down at Lester, her face a blaze with anger.

“Woman of the house, even a miracle takes some time to germinate! Give the Lad some time, a few days maybe, but know too, he must remain indoors, locked in an upstairs room. He allowed not walking out in the sun or the Demons can grab at him, milking from him his gained humanity. They would he remain as it is to be a bull, they keeping him permanently as a bull,” Lester stood there, eying Kyle and deducing of the details to what would make of Kyle, again a true to form human.

Kyle stood there silently listening, his gunnysack showing he shivered with the fear of becoming again a bull. Bess looked from Lester to Kyle, she notating the tented angle of the gunnysack, it that way from the pressing mound inside it of a very aroused bovine size sheath.

Kyle was Kyle in his face and general frame of a young man. Yet he still had over him the hide and coat of fur like is a Charolais bull, his ears and a tail still suggesting of how much that remained as unseen, some of him still bovine of form. Kyle saw his mother taking an inventory of what he was then, he tilting up his hands, they mostly like cloven hoofs, his thumb having returned to its original placement.

A slight lifting of the gunnysack made his dear mother to gasp, as from where he still had a sheath protruding, from there and downward, Kyle remained fully formed as still a yearling bull.

Led in submission to enter the fields, Patrick stopped after walking inside the pasture; he turned to look at Benjamin. Benjamin looked back at Patrick, “Do not even try to ask, this week was one for the record books! I suggest you learn to tow the line, do as told and in twenty years if there be an ounce of your mind left, then and only then will the Leprechaun return you back to a man twenty years your elder of self. Now off with you, Satyr, I think that of as much of you be a buck goat, your hot red shaft will be in use daily,” Benjamin the clipping the gate shut, he has said his piece, and turned his back on a boss then as a goat, satiric, and dissenting of all involved.

Patrick was not willing and ready to clop off and go mate with nanny goats for twenty some years. He leaped back over the pasture gate, and with his interlocked fingers and fists, he did knock, and slam Ben to the cold ground.

‘What,” said Ben as he tried to roll over, to get back on his feet and stand ready to fight with Patrick?

A body slam by Patrick had the satyr man seated kneeling on the chest of Ben, as he held his employee man down to the ground, a twinkle in his eye bade Ben to want for help but for some reason his voice and desires suddenly changed. Patrick felt such a thrill by taking his retribution back on Ben for being so willing to lead his boss to a pasture, and then to suggest he learn to lust after goats. In his present position of keeping Ben trapped, the tip of a hot red and oily looking prick did press out of the furry sheath.

An easy leaning forward did what was necessary, as the tip of the goat shaft did press past the nervous lips and entered the mouth of Ben.

“Suck it, damn you,” Patrick grumbled, but as Ben did as ordered, a strange irrational desire came over Patrick, making of a deciding against his want for retribution. Instead, Patrick felt a desire to run and escape, to look for help for old man Higgins up the road from his farm. Ben spit out the red rod into the chilly air. Spitting out the oily yuck flavor of what Patrick the satyr had on his prick, he tried to stand up but discovered quickly the curse of the Leprechaun had transfer over to envelope Ben as well.

“No Patrick,” Ben yelled, but too late as with a running leap over the front fence and onto the road, a satyr male did fall through a hole in time and space. As if Patrick had just leaped in the opposite direction, he suddenly found himself standing midday, and stretching from a long deep sleep, he stood with head cocked down and gave a horrified look at what from then and forever more Patrick O’Doyle would walk the earth.

As pheromones and hormones alike went wild, the scents he sniffed of aroused nanny goat suddenly became his biggest thrill. A look to his rear, to what hung so fury and large, he knew these as his jewels, and from them he would feel the rush, a want never to die in him, Patrick wanted nothing more than of mating over hundreds and more tight fitting nanny rumps.