Cannybull

 

The old farmer found the calf alone in the field. It was too small, too thin, its black eyes too aware.

He raised it anyway.

By the time it was full-grown, the canny-bull spoke.

"You’ve been a good caretaker," it said. "Now rest. I’ll take it from here."

The farmer chuckled—until the bull stood up on two legs and smiled.

That night, the beef stew tasted strange.

By morning, the farmer’s hands had thickened, darkened—his nails curling like hooves.

By nightfall, he was on all fours, grazing the field, while the canny-bull sat at the table, rolling a glass of wine between its human fingers.

It took a slow sip and sighed. "Yes. Much better."

***

115 words

I wanted to use both the play on "cannibal" and the literal idea of a "cannybull" here... I also wanted something Twilight Zone-y. I'm not 100% happy with this, but it's a draft and it's creepy enough. I don't think I'll let this idea go yet, though.