It was a weird looking thing, that’s for sure. I watched it from the top of the paddock as it criss-crossed the pig pen. Moving from one side until it bumped into the opposite fence and then turning unsteadily, before roaming off again. Repeat, repeat, repeat.

It moved in a slow straight line. But, only in the same way a tornado moves in a straight line, all micro-movements and chaotic energy. Whatever the hell it was treading on in that pig pen didn’t hinder it.

Mesmerised, I’m not sure how long I watched it wander. Back and forth, golem and pig blissfully ignoring each other. I remember it being quiet. The occasional cricket and a creak from the rusty old swing the only noise. Occasionally, I’d hear my dad talking excitedly from over near the wood shed. But otherwise dead silence.

All of a sudden, the Golem stopped. It turned suddenly and its glowing eye fixed on the pig. Its shape had changed. It no longer looked like a walking compost heap. It seemed steadier and more hunched. Like it suddenly had a purpose. It stretched out its arms and floated noiselessly and threateningly towards the pig.

Ignorant of the unfolding events the porcine idiot continued to munch on whatever the hell it was eating as the malevolent Straw Golem swooped. I found myself not wanting to watch but being unable to tear my eyes away.

“ACE THE MOTHER LIKE IT AIN’T NO THING!” my dad yelled, and the dusk light was suddenly filled with the strobing of shotgun and small arms fire. A tongue of blue fire, from somewhere near the woodshed, ripped through the gloom and crashed into the golem. Flashes of light. The crack of gun fire. The smell of cordite filling the air. I don’t recall how long the din went on for but, it seemed like forever until silence rang out.

And then, another eternal pause as the smoke cleared.

We never found a single piece of the golem.

Or the pig.