The Farm

by Matt Moss

  “And since you were the first one to take a bite, you get to say grace,” Gibbs tells him.

  “What the hell is grace?” Donald asks.

  Gibbs stands and slaps the table. “Damnit, man, you don’t know what grace is? It’s showing gratitude to your creator for bestowing blessings upon your life. It’s saying thank you for this food and the nourishment that it brings.”

  “Okay, fine. I’ll say grace,” Donald replies, spacing each word out in defense. “But I’ve never done it before.”

  “Just speak from the heart,” Mr. Red tells him, folds his hands and closes his eyes.

  “Alright.” He clears the nervousness from his throat before closing his eyes and speaking. “Dear…creator. Thank you for everything that you have given us. Thank you for the barn, our gracious hosts, the tools to dig ditches with, the hot burning sun, the well water that smells like rotten eggs…”

  Mr. Gibbs coughs and gives him a cautious glare.

  Donald pauses and peeks at Gibbs. “What? Is there a right way to do this?”

  “Just say the damn grace, man,” Mr. Gibbs says in angst.

  “Fine. I’ll say the damn grace, then. Not like I wanted to anyways.” He folds his hands and closes his eyes again. “Dear creator, thank you for this food. Amen.”

  “Amen,” Gibbs repeats and begins cutting into a large slab of ham.

  Only the chattering of forks and knives fills the room as they scrape and cut along the plates. And Larry, who insists on chewing with his mouth open. Mr. Red has already given him a look three times, but doesn't chide him at the table. He’s much more patient than Gibbs.

  Mr. Gibbs, who's sitting beside Abram, looks down at his feet, then looks at Mr. Whyte and picks a piece of meat from his teeth. “I do say that this is a mighty fine meal. Only thing that could make it any better would be a nice glass of wine,” Gibbs notes. Abram looks from Gibbs to Whyte in hope.

  “You know the rules, Mr. Gibbs. No wine at the table.”

  “Yeah, I know the rules, Mr. Whyte. But don’t you think that sometimes they ought to be broken?”

  Mr. Whyte stops eating and stares at the farmhand but doesn’t speak. I’ve felt the tension between them for a long time, but everyone around the table must now too, because they’ve all paused from their meal, eyes darting back and forth from Whyte to Gibbs.

  Gibbs looks back to his plate and begins working another bite of ham. He cocks his head. “Your house. Your rules.”

  “Yes, it is my house. And yes, they are my rules,” Mr. Whyte states. “And it’s best that you remember that and don’t test them.”

  Gibbs grins at the statement while he chews, but doesn’t look up from his plate. The metallic chatter of silverware slowly enters the room again as everyone resumes eating.

  From what I know of Mr. Whyte, he’s probably holding a gun under the table right now, barrel pointed at Gibbs and finger on the trigger. I wouldn’t put it past him. I can now see why he wants me to spy on the farmhands. The tension between Whyte and the other two has been rising ever since we got here, and it’s just a matter of time before something bad happens. I just don’t want to get caught in the middle of it.

  Mr. Whyte breaks the silence. “How’s work coming along?” he asks and looks to Mr. Red.

  Red pushes his plate away, leans back, and places his hands on a full stomach. “Good. Plowing’s done and now we can sow.”

  “But we haven’t finished tilling all of the fields yet,” Benji says.

  “They’re good enough,” Red replies and pulls a pouch of tobacco from the middle pocket of his overalls. He breaks it open and stuffs a handful in his mouth. “We start sowing corn tomorrow,” he says, his voice choked and slurred from the packed jaw.

  Mr. Whyte goes back to eating and gives no indication to whether or not he’s pleased with our work. His face is impassive, but I can see that he’s annoyed by how the farmhands seem to be running things. He would probably like the fields to be plowed entirely, but doesn’t want to argue about it tonight.

  Mr. Whyte puts down his silverware. “Well, I do believe I will call it a night,” he says and stands to leave, leaving his plate half-full of food. “Please, carry on without me and pardon my leaving. I’m not feeling so well this evening.”

  “Night,” Gibbs says as Whyte rounds the corner and disappears into the foyer. He looks to Abram. “Now that the old man went to bed, break out that damn wine.”

  Abram looks at me, then to Don. He doesn’t know what to do and doesn’t want to go against Mr. Whyte’s rule.

  Gibbs takes the jug. “Here, I’ll do it.”

  Gibbs passes the jug around and each person fills their cup. After some trepidation, everyone drinks and the tension begins to fade away as they all indulge. I stare at the glass that I poured but have yet to take a drink. Larry’s the only one that declines and is content with water. Mr. Red didn’t want a glass either and quickly removes himself from the table, leaving the five of us and Mr. Gibbs.

  Donald and Abram begin chatting the farmhand up as usual, while Larry and Benji hold a serious, but not-so-serious, conversation at the end of the table. I stare into my cup, wanting to take a drink like the rest of them but refrain from doing so out of respect for Mr. Whyte. His house. His rules. It’s never wise to disrespect a man’s house.

  We sit for another hour with neither Whyte nor Red returning. The plates are all bare and the wine, gone. Everyone’s in a good mood, but it’s time to go. Mr. Gibbs said so.

  “Tomorrow we start bright and early. We’ll see you in the morning,” Mr. Gibbs says as he shuts the front door. The five of us leave the porch and make our way to the barn for the night as darkness begins to fall across the land.

  “How awesome was that?” Abram says and bounces a couple hops. “I can’t believe that just happened.”

  “I know! Maybe this will become a regular thing,” Benji says.

  “Let’s hope so. I could get used to eating like that,” Donald adds.

  Abram claps one time. “Who’s ready for another round? There’s plenty more wine out back.” He takes a sharp turn to go fetch another jug.

  Larry pulls him back towards the inside of the barn. “You heard the man. Bright and early. Not drunk and late.”

  “Aww, come on, Larry. You didn’t even have a glass back there. Cole didn’t either.”

  Larry stops to think about it. “You’re right. Well, I suppose one glass won’t hurt, now will it?” Abram pats him on the back then runs towards the back of the barn.

  “Alright, Larry, nice to have you join us. Come on in guys,” Benji shouts to me and Donald as the two of them walk into the barn.

  Donald looks at me. “Why’s he yelling? We’re right here.” He shakes his head. “Crazy bunch, I tell ya. Hey, Cole, you remember…” His words break as he stares at the white house behind me, his face looking like it’s seen a ghost.

  “What? What is it?” I turn to the house after seeing his face.

  He points to the second floor of the house, wordless.

  I peer through the fading evening light. “What are you pointing at?”

  “There. Second floor, third window on the right.”

  I narrow my eyes. “I don’t see anything.”

  “Someone’s up there.”

  “So what? That’s probably one of their bedrooms.”

  “It wasn’t Gibbs, Red, or Whyte. It was someone else.”

  I don’t believe him at first, but his face tells no lies.

  “Are you sure you saw someone? And are you sure it wasn’t one of them?”

  He grabs my shoulder and looks me dead in the eye. “I’m sure. It was someone else. Cole, there’s someone else on this farm. Someone we had no idea even existed.”

  I look away, trying to ponder the possibility that someone else could have been here the whole time without us knowing. Odds are slim, but we don’t even know what’s behind the fence for that matter. There could be a whole town back there. But why would they hide
it from us?

  “You have to ask Mr. Whyte about this.”

  “Alright, I will. But don’t be disappointed when he says that there’s no one else here. I’m sure we would have known if there was by now.”

  “There’s someone else. And those sons’a bitches in there have been keeping it a secret. No doubt, they have a lot of secrets,” he says through gritted teeth and points at the house. “And we’re gonna find them out.” He says it as a promise to himself before walking away to join the others in the barn.

  I stand there until the last of the day’s light fades away and think about what he just said. My eyes stay fixed on the second floor of the house, bouncing from one window back to the other. My heart skips a beat as, through the twilight, I see something move inside the third window. I focus on the spot until it’s too dark to see and the white house fades to a shadow in the night.

  Could I have just been seeing things? Can’t be sure. I swear I saw someone, though. And they looked different. Moved different.

  Maybe Donald is right. Maybe there is someone else among us.

  “Cole, what are you doing still standing out there? Come have a drink,” Abram calls from the lighted doorway of the barn.

  “Be right there.”

  After today, I could use a drink.

  Ten

  Back in the field, the sky is overcast. The air, humid, sticky and hot. The sowing is going faster than imagined, each of us making good time on our respective row. The farmhands say that corn is fairly easy to plant, and all we have to do is take a handful of kernels and drop them into the ground with a small space between each one. After the row is filled, we go back and cover it up with the soil we tilled.

  I scoop the dirt with my hands and cover seeds, patting it down gently when satisfied with the work. Half a day in, my back and knees are killing me. To my right, Abram simply pushes the dirt over with his feet, lazily making his way down the row. Why didn’t I think of that? I’ve been over here on my hand and knees. I think I’m going to do like he does. Call me a sluggard all you want so long as it saves my back.

  The times that my mind isn’t focused on the pain, my thoughts are consumed with the possibility of another person on the farm. Who are they? What are they doing here? And why keep themselves hidden? Donald still swears that he saw someone different in the upstairs window. And for a split second, I thought I saw someone, too. Could have been one of the three, though.

  I take a break and walk over to Donald. “Hey, what’s up, Cole? You gonna say something to the farmhands about what we saw last night?” he asks.

  “I say we hint around to the farmhands about it. See if they act different or let something slip. I need a drink of that water.”

  He hands me the canteen. “Here. So, are you going to do the talking, or am I?”

  I drain the container and toss it back to him. “Depends. Can you be smooth about it?”

  He shakes his head. “I doubt it. You know subtlety isn’t my strong suit. Probably best if you do the talking.”

  “Alright. I’ll think of something by the time we get back to the barn and I’ll ask them there.”

  “Sounds good. Let’s just keep our heads down until then.” We glance at the farmhands and notice Mr. Gibbs watching us as he talks to Mr. Red. “Better get back to work before they come over here.”

  “Right.” I return to my work and Benji walks up to me. “Hey, what’s up with the new person? Don says someone else is in the house.”

  I run a hand over my head, the sweat falling like small drops of rain. “Don’t know. We’re going to find out, though.”

  “How’s that?” He looks to me, all of a sudden excited as an idea hits him. “Are you going to snoop around the house the next time Mr. Whyte invites you in?”

  I’ve thought about that; many times, in fact. “No. I’m going to talk to the farmhands later and see what I can get from them.”

  He frowns. “They won’t tell you anything.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because if they wanted us to know about this mystery person, they would have already told us.”

  “Good point. But I’m not just going to come right out and ask them. I’ll be a little more tact about it than that.”

  Benji smiles. “I’m sure you will. You’re good at that sort of thing.”

  “Cole, quit wasting everybody’s time and get to work!” Mr. Red yells at me.

  “Sorry!” I hold my hand up, apologizing.

  A few hours later, the day is over and I keep towards the back of the line as we march back to the barn—running different scenarios over in my head of how it could all play out. I finally decide on a string of questions that I’ll be asking, and a couple variable ones depending on how they respond. I want them both to be together. It’ll be easier to catch them off guard that way and more likely that one of them gives a tell with either their body language or how they react to one another when pressed with a question.

  Still, I’m nervous about it.

  Gibbs and Red are anxious to leave the barn when we arrive, and they hurry about unloading the four wheeler. I ease over towards them and wait for an opening to talk. Mr. Gibbs doesn’t give me the chance. “We’ve been talking and, after some deliberation, have decided to offer you all another surprise,” he says, drawing the attention of everyone around. “How would you all like to stay in the house with us instead of in the barn?”

  Everyone is speechless and can’t believe it.

  “I mean, that is unless you prefer sleeping in the barn. It’s your choice.”

  “No!” Benji cries. He steps forward. “I mean, yes. The house sounds marvelous.”

  “Sure,” Abram says and points at the barn with his thumb. “Anything beats this dump.”

  Donald still can’t speak even though his mouth is wide open with shock.

  “Is that a yes, Donald?” Mr. Red asks with a smile on his face.

  Donald gives a sharp nod. “Yes… sir. Thank you, sir.”

  “Larry?”

  “I prefer the fresh air. Thank you, though.”

  Benji grabs Larry by the shoulders. “Can you hear yourself? Are you crazy? Why wouldn’t you want to stay in the house?”

  Larry turns his nose up. “Been there. Done that. Got the postcard.”

  Gibbs shrugs. “Oh well, suit yourself, Larry. What about you Cole?”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up. Mr. Whyte prefers to sleep alone,” he jabs and draws snorts and chuckles from everyone else.

  “Aw, damn. I only wanted someone to spoon with,” I reply. Stupid. What a stupid comeback. I should learn to make quicker decisions on what’s witty and what’s not.

  “Alright, then. Get washed up and I’ll bring you some fresh clothes back,” Mr. Red says before hopping on the bike and taking off.

  Everyone springs towards the well, hooping and hollering like a bunch of kids upon seeing a new playground.

  In the back of my mind, I can see the storm brewing.

  “What is it now?” Donald asks. “This is the best news we’ve had since we’ve been here and there you are, looking lost and sad like usual.”

  “I got a bad feeling about this.”

  “Why? We all get along pretty good. What could go wrong?”

  “Mr. Whyte doesn’t know about this, I guarantee it. He’s not going to like it.”

  Donald pulls me close and knuckles the top of my head. “Cheer up, buttercup. It’s all going to be fine. Better than fine, actually.” He leans in to speak low while the others are splashing buckets over their heads. “This is what we’ve been waiting for. We’re so close now. It’s just a matter of time before we take over.”

  “Yeah. Let’s just not do anything stupid, deal?”

  He looks at me with crazy eyes. “Of course. That’s a given. Why would we do anything like that?”

  “Alright. We need a plan of some sort. Maybe meet up sometime every night to talk in private. We need to stay on th
e same page and know what’s going on with everyone.”

  “I like that idea.”

  I look past Donald and see Larry wandering off to the side as the others wash; a vacant, almost sorrowful look in his eyes.

  Donald notices it, too. “I’m worried about him. I mean, who wouldn’t want to live inside a nice house like that with a feast every night.”

  “I don’t know. We never heard of what happened to him in there. He won’t talk about it, and the times that I have asked him, he shrugs it off or changes the subject.”

  “What could they have done to him that he won’t talk about? I’m sure it wasn’t that bad. He seems fine to me. Hell, maybe even better now than what he was before he went in. You remember him from before? He was bat-shit crazy.”

  I turn around, the sudden feeling that we’re being watched creeping over me again. I walk to the corner of the barn and peak around, finding nothing except for the white house in the distance.

  “What is it?” Donald says over my shoulder, startling me.

  “Nothing. I just… have you ever had the feeling that you’re being watched?”

  He thinks for a second. “Not really. But when I dream, I do.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When I dream, I feel like someone is watching me. It always starts in a field with me working. You’re there, and so is Abram, but most of the time the others aren’t. We’re working a field like usual but it’s choked in tight by pines, and surrounded by a dense forest.” He looks away as if recalling a nightmare, frightened and not wanting to speak of it.

  “That’s when you feel it? Like someone’s in the woods, watching?”

  He nods and looks me in the eye. “Not just watching. Moving. Faster than you can imagine. Fragments of shadows darting about, whispering, talking about us. Then it all goes dark and I can’t see. Still, they move and whisper in the dead of night, coming closer, closing in on all sides.” He shakes his head fast, wiping the thoughts from his mind. He smiles. “But it’s just a stupid dream. No, I haven’t had that feeling here.”

  “Yeah. I’m probably just nervous about moving into the house. And I don’t know why because there’s no reason to be.” I lie because I want him to feel comfortable along with everyone else once we’re inside. There’s enough tension between Mr. Whyte and the farmhands, and we don’t need to bring any more to the table.