The Scapegoat by Adam Acidophilus

On the side of a hill in a deep and hidden valley there grazed a solitary goat – a goat with neither friend nor family – chomp chomp chomping on the grass. And deeper still in this valley lay the houses of people, simple and unpretentious in their ways, who took it upon themselves to blame this single goat for all of their troubles.

"I see the stream is down again," one villager might remark. "There must be very little rain in the mountains."

"I reckon as the stoats have been at my parsnips again," a different villager might remark.

"Stoats? You mean goats!" others would quip. "That goat'll eat anything – crops, fences, stone walls or hay wains!"

"Spent too long in the sun last evenin', look at my arms, all flakin'."

"Too long in the sun? Nonsense! 'tis a pestilence born by the goat!"

Minor ailments, everyday annoyances, the inevitable crises of village life, all were blamed on this hapless and disinterested goat; bad wine, bad beer, plain bad luck, and a number of village pregnancies – "Confound that pesky and irreverent caprine!" the women would complain.

And the goat would keep his distance, high above the village, bored as only a goat can be, chomp chomp chomping on the hill side.

Now there came one day into this valley of incredibly stupid people a man of great intellect and initiative – and upon hearing of the transgressions of the goat he roared with laughter.

"A goat that drinks your river dry! A goat that eats brick walls? A goat that shags your daughters? Ha ha!" he chortled. "Well, if this goat is as bad as you say there is only one course of action: we must nab the fellow and put him out of our misery!"

Now, despite the good humour and the fancy turns of phrase the villagers knew all to well what the visitor was proposing.

"No – " they told him – "we cannot slay that goat. It would be 'armful to the equilibrium of our village."

But the man just laughed and took up his gun and set off to stalk the goat. And the villagers, as one, stoned the man to death on the hill side.

"A curse upon that troublesome goat!" swore the villagers. "Look what he's done now! He has killed a humble tourist and demolished yet another carefully assembled stone wall."

And the goat watched on, at a very safe distance, dimly aware of nothing – chomp chomp chomping on the hill side.

The nights were long and the days were short and the villagers shivered round their fires. And woke up freezing.

Now there came that spring into the valley a young deserter from the army – and though he still had his gun, his eyes were wide with childish fear. And when he heard of the troubles of the villagers and the crimes of the ingenious goat, he grew sullen and unhappy and terribly dismayed.

"Who knows what that might bring? Why, a goat like that will have allies in the sky and the netherworld."

"Well, stands to reason – drinking rivers? Dismantling walls and chucking stones, with cloven feet? And eating wheeled conveyances? No, that's not natural. This goat is but an emissary of a greater and darker force.

"Something . . . something far from goat-like. Something huge and dark, like a stormcloud, only heavier, and with sentience, aye, consciousness as we would understand it. Something infinitely evil, that we cannot name. No, we must surrender to this goat; we must make amends for all our ills – and worship him."

But before the young deserter could elaborate further upon this vast and unexpected analysis, the villagers stoned him to death as well.

"Will God never free us from the allegorical stranglehold of this reprehensible goat?" the whole village wailed. "For he hath slain another visitor who was only trying to help!"

And the goat watched on, from an even safer distance, the voices ringing in the valley – as he chomp chomp chomped on the last of the ancient gorse.

Now it so happened that this valley was formed of sedimentary deposits, from a time before men (or goats), and that beneath the surface lay many tons of loose stones. But the stones were held in place and protected from the frost by the grass and the moss and the plants that the goat had been eating.

But unfortunately the goat had eaten them all; and just as he was leaving the valley he tugged a final white root from the bare ground. This dislodged a stone which dislodged further stones and the whole hill started to move. And as the goat skipped off, the mountain collapsed on the village.

And though none of the villagers could ever have escaped – buried beneath the mud and the stones – it took several days for all of them to die.

"Don't be bloody daft! It'd take more than a goat to make this 'appen!"