FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Being jobless meant having to do things one normally wouldn't want to do—ever, but after three months and a hundred rejections, the situation had turned from bleak to dire. The tendrils of rent increases and high cost of living slipped around my neck, threatening to choke away what little quality of life I had. There were times I'd go to bed and lie awake, hoping I'd just die in my sleep.

Unfortunately, I'd always wake up the next day and repeat the same demoralizing process. I'd been lowering my standards with every submission, only to still face a mountain of rejections. HR robots pretending to have any understanding of the job requirements beyond their tepid ability to utilize the basics of Microsoft Office were the barriers between me and gainful employment.

I turned to my side, staring out the bedroom window, my dry eyes painful and heavy from weeks of little sleep. It was around midnight, but the sky was a visual cacophony of light pollution made worse by low stratus clouds, turning night into eight straight hours of dawn. The only reason a human being would have to live in a place like this would be the job opportunities. Now that there were none of those left, what was the point in staying?

Shifting again in my bed, I turned to grab my phone lying next to me. The device I once used every-so-often became shackled to me. It was never more than a few feet away at all times, just in case it decided to chime good news for a change. That optimism was no longer present as I squinted at the screen, scanning through emails that never stayed unread for longer than a few minutes.

One of the messages had come through several minutes ago, and I nearly ignored it because the location was several hundred miles away in a rural community, but the pay was unusually good. However, as was often the experience, if something's too good…

_Looking for a Farm Manager. _

_Qualifications: _

Dominant personality is a must!

Proficient computer skills

Oversee maintenance of equipment and facilities

Purchasing/inventory management

Ability to give orders to unruly employees

_If you have not worked in agriculture before, we still encourage you to apply. If you have basic managerial skills with an assertive and commanding presence, you just may be what we need. _

Unruly employees…

That was a strange thing to put on an advertisement for a job, but I had dealt with every kind of employee over the years. Unruly employees were usually a sign of bad management.

My finger hovered over the 'apply' button. Things had gotten to the point where if there was a quick way to apply to a job I didn't necessarily want, I'd still submit my resume. Even this train wreck of a job seemed better than nothing. It wasn't like I'd hear anything back anyways.

Heaving an exhausted sigh, I tapped on the button and answered a few questions which again highlighted being able to manage unruly employees. After I was done, I submitted my resume and placed the phone face-down on the mattress. The routine had gotten so streamlined, I could do it in my sleep.

Actually, was I asleep? Everything blurred together in gray, miserable blobs of crippling anxiety and soul-crushing depression. People should never have to live like this. It was degrading and stressful, having to dance like a wind-up monkey for the entertainment of another HR recruitment manager. Everything about a person's worth was scrutinized and questioned, the sole purpose being to make a person feel less valuable so they can pay them as little as possible.

Again, those homicidal thoughts would creep into my head, which oddly enough made me feel better. I'd imagine those bobble-headed, useless fucks on the other side of the table, and I'd grip the handle of a sharpened machete just out of sight, waiting for one of them to ask a question I hated.

What sets you apart from more qualified applicants?

_Whoosh! _

There would roll that smug, fifty-something-year-old's head across the floor, a comical blood geyser hitting the ceiling Kill Bill fashion. In prison, I'd at least not have to worry about being homeless or not being able to afford to eat. To think, we'd finally gotten to a place in society where incarceration seemed like a better option than whatever the hell this was.

With every passing week, I found myself making mistakes I normally wouldn't. I had barely exercised or even gone outside, discolored dark bags taking up permanent residence under each eye. There were times I never even bothered showering. What was the point? The only reason I had to wake up in the morning was to apply for more shitty jobs.

It was an endless cycle, and when I thought too much about what I was doing, it became that much harder to sleep. If I was still awake, I should've been using that time to job hunt. When I thought too much about it, I'd start browsing Amazon for helium tanks and plastic bags. I read somewhere that this was actually a pretty quick and painless way to die.

That tank was still in my shopping cart, taunting me.

I needed to sleep. There was no money left to hire a shrink, and the suicidal ideation had never been so close to being put into practice. I'd never even considered something like this in the past, but now it was something that lurked in the far corners of my mind, biding its time to move front and center. There was nothing I could do to stop it. There were only so many ways to 'keep thinking positive' when every day it was another step back.

If one more friend of mine in a better life situation tells me to think positively…

Somehow, I had drifted to sleep only to be jolted awake by a notification. Once again, I grabbed my phone and opened my email, reading the response to the application I'd just submitted minutes ago. They wanted to schedule a virtual interview.

A virtual interview. Well, at least I wouldn't go to prison.

I really didn't want to work on a farm in the middle of nowhere, but at the same time, I craved a change of scenery. There was something unsettling about relocating so far away for a job that I was sure to end up hating—if I even got it. Why was I hesitating? If I got the job and didn't want it, I wouldn't accept. At the very least it would be a boost to my morale.

Tomorrow I'd respond, but I needed to try and fall asleep.

***

I awoke to the sound of my ringtone instead of the alarm, which had happened only a few times over the last couple months. Even though I knew this would likely be some random robocall, there was still that stubborn glimmer of hope that managed to stick around. When did everything about living in human society become such a dystopia?

The number was an area code I didn't recognize, so I let the call go to voicemail. If it was legit, they would leave a message. That was pretty much how I handled any phone call lately. No one simply answered the phone. No, not this day and age.

The phone chirped an alert stating I had a voicemail, and just like that, the heavy dread pressing down on my shoulders dissipated—if only for a moment to allow me a full breath of air.

Mornin Keith, my name's Kane from Tenderpaw Farms. I would really like to schedule an interview today if possible—

Of course it was the farm that was interested in me; after all, what manager would pick that as an option?

A desperate one, and I fit that category.

After giving myself a moment to fully wake, I dialed the number.

***

It may not have been what I wanted, but for the first time in months I didn't feel so hopeless. In fact, the farther I got out of the city, the more optimistic everything seemed. Perhaps it was the miles and miles of green forest on either side of the road, occasionally giving way to rolling pastures dotted with cylindrical hay bales and grazing cattle.

There were still a couple hundred miles to go before I reached my new place of employment—which also came with a small, unfurnished two-bedroom cabin on the property. This took some of the pressure off of finding a place to live closeby, because there weren't any. In fact, the main town with a population of just four thousand was over thirty miles away.

The moving company would deliver my furniture next week, which would give me time to deal with the culture shock while also getting familiar with my job duties. The interview went well, but Kane kept asking different questions that seemed to have little to do with the job and more to do with my personality.

There were more scenarios mentioned about how to reprimand workers than the actual logistical duties of keeping a farm up and running, but the further I went into the boonies, the more I began to understand why there was such a strong emphasis on discipline. There probably weren't many good employees to choose from out there. I couldn't just fire a farmhand and replace him with another, and if the workers knew they had the upper hand, the job might actually prove to be more difficult than I expected.

Still, I kind of liked the idea of a challenge. However, I didn't like the emphasis on disciplinary actions, especially for adults. I needed to find a way to make the work environment better so that there would be less problems, but I was getting ahead of myself. I'd need to see in person what the issues were and then figure out how to deal with them in my own way. Not every problem could be solved by forceful measures. Sometimes all that was needed was a softer touch.

***

I had finally arrived at Tenderpaw a little after ten in the morning the next day. Kane was adamant about me getting settled in before taking the tour of the place. The farm wasn't quite what I expected since there was a lot more forest around than open fields. Tinderpaw mostly produced lumber from the many acres of trees that had been planted in neat rows—a tree farm. There were also a few fields of organic produce and a bunch of free-range chickens.

The workers, however, were nowhere to be found.

“So what'dya think?" Kane asked, taking a draw of his cigarette before blowing the smoke away from me. He was tall and burly, probably in his mid-thirties. I'd never seen a man with so much hair before. Aside from the thick, black locks poking out from under the frayed baseball cap he wore, body hair covered his exposed forearms, and sweaty curls peeked from his chest where his flannel shirt hadn't been buttoned all the way.

His jeans fit snug around his waist with a large bronze buckle keeping his belt in place, but my face got hot when I noticed a thick outline at his crotch. The guy was absolutely huge, and he had no qualms showing it off. It was hard to keep my eyes from occasionally wandering downward.

Eye candy must have been one of the employee benefits.

“I guess I kind of expected there to be a little more farm."

“We have the best produce, the best chickens, and the best eggs. The timber we cut down is in high demand, so we don't need a lot of empty space. We can charge whatever we want because no one comes close to our quality." His large hand slapped against my back, nearly knocking me forward. “It's why we can pay ya so much."

“Does everyone make this much money here?"

“What're the farmhands gonna spend it on?" Kane belted out a laugh. “Just give 'em lots of booze, a place to live, good huntin' grounds, and they're more than happy."

“Wait, they're not being paid?" I looked around and lowered my voice. “They are legal, right?"

“I'm surprised you even have to ask," he said with a half-cocked grin. “Of course they're legal."

“So…where are they?"

He prodded me toward a couple longhouses nestled in between several huge oaks draped in gray beards of Spanish moss. “We're gettin' to 'em."

The sound of glass shattering from inside caught my ear followed by muffled hoots and cheers. As we approached the door, a thud rattled the windows punctuated by deep-voiced curse words.

“Sounds like the crew's rowdy today."

I swallowed hard as Kane pulled the door open. The strange qualifications of the job started to make more sense as we made our way inside. None of the men seemed to take notice of our presence as two of them threw punches at each other, the rest cheering and spitting. A strong, pungent scent assaulted my nose. It was almost canine, like there was a kennel somewhere inside, but there was also the scent of sweat.

Each of the men had almost the same build as Kane. The shortest guy there was probably six-foot-two—and the only way I knew that was I was five-foot-ten. These were the types of men you'd see in either action movies or vintage gay porn, each one handsome, hairy, with muscles so large they'd break me in half.

“Alright knock it off!" Kane slammed his fist against the wall, silencing the commotion. “I'd like you all to meet the new boss."

I could feel every judgmental eye staring me down, but the two men that stood out the most were also the biggest. They almost looked like brothers, each one wearing a tan cowboy hat, unbuttoned flannel shirts with torn-off sleeves. One wore denim shorts with frayed edges, and the other wore longer jeans with holes worn in the legs.

Again, everything worn lower than the waist was tight to the point where very little was left to the imagination.

The way each of the men looked at me made me want to dart back to the house and start packing. Perhaps I overestimated how well I could handle running this place. They looked like they were ready to pound me into the ground.

“The name's Keith," I said, clearing my throat and lowering my voice to more of a manly grunt. “I look forward to getting to know each of you."

One of the brothers wearing jeans stepped over, stopping uncomfortably close before crossing his arms. I'd never seen a man with yellow irises, but the color made him look wild and terrifying. Even though I was about ready to crumble, I crossed my arms as well and met his glare head-on.

“So yer the new boss, huh? Ain't you cute." He looked back at the other man he was standing next to moments ago. “Ain't he cute, Charlie?"

They both appeared to be in their late twenties, perhaps early thirties, but each had gray and black hair. The one called Charlie responded in a low grunt as he kept his almost feral eyes locked on me. They were the same color; in fact, every man in that room had yellow eyes.

I cleared my throat again as Kane seemed to study my response to the obvious hostility. I knew what was going on. This was a test, and I sure as hell wasn't going to fail it.

“Yeah, I'm the new boss. I don't know how things were done here in the past, but you're going to find out that I'm not a pushover." I stepped closer, feeling a little more relieved knowing they were putting on a show.

God I really hoped it was a show, or I was in trouble.

“If you all treat me with respect, you'll get it in kind."

The large man was almost touching me now as he leaned in, making full eye contact. He gave a half-grin, and I couldn't tell whether it was the lack of lighting or my fear, but his teeth looked almost…sharp.

He said nothing as we both started one another down, and I could almost feel myself being dragged to the floor by his overbearing presence. That was when he started to laugh before slapping me hard on the arm.

“Alright boss." He turned to Kane. “Where'd you find this guy?"

“The city."

That man let out a harsh laugh before poking my chest with his index finger, his sharp, untrimmed nails causing me to flinch. “Shoulda been obvious."

“Alright Billy, y'all need to get some actual work done," Kane said, placing his calloused hand on my back. “Now that we got us a proper manager, you guys ain't gonna slack off no more."

As Kane led me back outside, I had to ask him about something that didn't seem to make sense.

“Why am I here?"

I expected the man to be annoyed by that question, but the sly grin inching up his face said otherwise.

“Didn't you hear? We need us a proper manager."

“And what is your position? Aren't you the owner?"

Kane shrugged. “We all kinda own this place. I just do most of the recruitin'."

“So…who's my boss?"

“Don't know yet." My head snapped back to him as his expression turned a little more serious. “In this place, you either dominate or be dominated. So you better hope you didn't lie in yer interview."

“Of—of course I didn't lie!" My heart raced, the pulses thudding hard in my ears. I may have exaggerated some things, but I thought I'd let my experience speak for itself. “I think you misunderstand what a manager actually does. It's not about forcing people to work. It's about being a leader and encouraging workers to do better."

Kane threw his head back and let out another one of his deep laughs. Though I couldn't tell exactly what expression he was giving me, it reminded me of a high school bully, challenging me to a fight after school.

“That soft shit ain't gonna work here. Been through five managers already. None of 'em were up to the task, so we had to get rid of 'em."

“Well, I've been doing this for a while. There's nothing a worker can throw at me that I can't handle."

The man froze, his grin fading to a line.

“Oh boy, Keith. You ain't seen nothin' yet."

***

This was supposed to be the first night I could relax and gather my thoughts, but I started getting a gnawing feeling that this wasn't actually a job. The cabin should've been cozy, but without any furniture, this place felt more like a camp dorm room than a home. The wood floors creaked, and the wind outside made the whole house groan.

A dim flash of lightning lit up the room, casting a window-shaped image on the wall for a second before a low rumble of thunder rattled the windows. Ah, springtime. It had been a while since I could fall asleep to the sounds of a thunderstorm. I only wished I had a television and something more comfortable to lay on than an air mattress.

I had to come to terms with the fact that I had exhausted what was left of my money by getting here, and if I wanted to leave, I'd need to stick it out for a few paychecks. But then where would I go? I wasn't that old, but thirty-nine was old enough that I shouldn't have been hopping between jobs.

However, my recent unemployment taught me that loyalty meant jack shit to these rich corporate fucks, and if there was any kind of justice in this world, they'd all die horribly of ass cancer. But the world wasn't fair, and hard-working, loyal suckers like me die young and poor while the most awful pieces of shit live lives of luxury until they're too old to wipe their own asses.

If God really existed, he was a sadistic bastard.

Another lightning flash lit up the room again, but this time a figure appeared out of the corner of my eye, disappearing before I could make out what it was. I hadn't heard any footsteps, and in this house, silence would have been an impossible feat.

“Is someone there?" My throat went dry as I pulled the covers up a little higher. I kept my eyes trained on that corner of the room, waiting for another flash of lightning to reveal what I thought I saw.

It felt like an eternity before another flash of lightning lit the room, revealing absolutely nothing. The stress was finally starting to break me, and my lack of sleep was catching up.

After rubbing my eyes, I decided to throw off the covers and make my way to the kitchen. Luckily I packed a box of snacks and herbal tea before making the trip. There wasn't a microwave, so I'd need to use the gas stove to boil some water.

My eyes had adjusted enough that I could make my way through the dark house without running into any walls, but I did notice a familiar smell in the still air. It was that dog-like odor back at the worker houses, and I wondered if there was a wild animal hiding somewhere in the cabin.

That thought unsettled me. Was it lying in wait somewhere, scared and ready to attack once I was in range?

I finally made it to the kitchen before flipping on the soft light above the stove. The boxes marked 'kitchen' were stacked neatly in the corner, and the one marked 'pantry food' sat unopened on the counter.

Using my car keys that were sitting next to the box, I sliced the tape before pulling the flaps away. As I did that, a creaking sound made its way to my bedroom before another loud rumble of thunder shook the wooden walls.

I froze, keeping an ear toward the living room as the creaking stopped. It was then that I turned on all the lights, starting from the kitchen before working my way to the hall. When I turned on the bedroom light, there was no one there. It was as though whatever crept around the house was invisible or something.

There wasn't a room or closet I left unchecked, but as I made my way back into my bedroom, the window next to my air mattress was now open and the screen had been pushed out. The scent of dog dissipated, but in its place was the strong ammonia scent of urine. Whatever animal was in my room had peed somewhere.

There weren't any puddles on the floor, but when I looked down at my blanket, I found the source.

“God damn it," I muttered, pulling the damp blanket off the bedding. There was so much of it that it had soaked all the way through to my sheets. Everything had to be stripped and washed. How the hell did an animal open the window to leave—unless…

What a creepy thought. Why would a grown man piss on my bed, even as a prank?

I shut the window, locking it before going around to the different rooms, locking those windows as well. Then I got to the front door, which was also wide open. Before closing it, I flipped on the porch light and looked around while stepping barefoot onto the deck—right into another warm puddle of piss.

It seemed I was being hazed or something, and the unsettling emotions turned to anger as I stormed back inside, slamming the door behind me. There wasn't a mop, so I needed to use some of my towels to clean the mess I'd tracked inside as well as the plastic inflatable mattress.

As I entered the room and bent over to pick up the sheets and blankets, lightning flashed again revealing a silhouette of what looked like a huge werewolf in the window before it vanished in an instant. I froze, icy needles pricking my skin from the back of my neck to the tops of my feet. That might have been another prank, but that looked way too real.

There was no way in hell I was getting to sleep tonight.