The Farm

by Matt Moss

“I think they killed him,” Abram says.

  “What? No way,” Benji replies. “Why would they do that?”

  “You saw the way Mr. Whyte fired that gun at Gibbs. Then the next thing you know, Gibbs invites us into the house. It’s all very strange.”

  Benji looks away in thought. “It is all very odd, indeed. But to think that they killed him? That’s just crazy.”

  “It’s not that crazy,” Donald adds. “And the way they’re running the place now kind of makes it seem like they did. Or if nothing else, they got him locked up somewhere.”

  Mr. Whyte is too smart and paranoid to let the farmhands get the best of him. Besides, they work for him. I wave my hand. “I’m sure everything is fine. Maybe he just went to town to get away for a bit. Could be on business.”

  Larry finally joins us. “Whatcha talking about?”

  “How the farmhands killed Mr. Whyte,” Abram says.

  Benji punches him on the arm. “They did not! But they could have him tied up somewhere, I could believe that.” He looks to Larry for answers. “Larry, they said Mr. Whyte was resting. Does that mean anything to you? I mean, did he ever do that while you were inside?”

  Larry looks down because he doesn’t like to talk about it. He’ll change the subject or walk away like he always does every time it’s brought up. He looks up. “I remember the farmhands talking about Mr. Whyte resting while I was inside. My mind was foggy, and they had me strapped to some sort of device, but they kept talking about a machine that Mr. Whyte uses.”

  I step closer to him, wondering if his memory is slowly coming back. “Machine? What kind of machine?”

  He meets my eye and shakes his head. “I don’t know. They said that he has to use it or else he’ll die.” He taps himself on the head. “But they didn’t know I was listening. They thought I was asleep still, but I wasn’t.”

  Donald nods. “Cool. So Mr. Whyte is just resting in his machine and I’m sure will be good as new in the next day or two. Hell, he might be up and about right now. Can we go back to talking about the ladies now?”

  “Why are you so interested in the ladies, Don? Not like you got a chance with either one of them anyway?” Abram jabs.

  “I had a chance with your mom…”

  “Shut up, stupid.”

  The four wheeler sounds in the distance.

  Donald puts his hand in the middle of the circle. “Good talk, boys. Break on three.” He looks at us, waiting. “Well, put your hands in. One, two, three…”

  Benji interrupts. “What about the ladies…”

  “Break.” Donald says and pulls his lonesome hand back.

  We go back to work before the farmhands get back. Half the field is sowed, and at this rate, we’ll be done within a month. I wonder what they’ll have us do then when the planting is through.

  Back at the barn, the day’s been earned through aching muscles and sweaty, soiled clothes. We wash at the well before going into the house. It’s almost become a race to see who can be the first one done and through the door. We used to be nervous just a couple days ago, walking to the house side-by-side in a line. Now, everyone’s excited and comfortable. Everyone except for me.

  We gather around the table awaiting the meal, and anticipating our introduction to the ladies by Mr. Gibbs. Before doing so, he makes it clear that we need to be informed of something important.

  “Mr. Whyte will be returning tomorrow. I feel obligated to share something with you about him.” He makes sure that all eyes are on him, which of course they are. They always are. “Mr. Whyte isn’t well. He’s sick. That’s why he needs rest from time to time. But his condition is getting worse. He’s becoming more crazy, unpredictable, and hostile by the day.” He pauses and looks at me. “He will try to get you to take his side, but make no mistake, he intends to run this farm into the ground; by force if he has to. First he’ll get rid of Mr. Red and I, and that’ll leave him directly over you… and trust me, you don’t want that. As I said, he’s on the verge of going insane and his disease is getting the better of him. I only tell you this because I like you guys.” His lip starts to quiver, his voice thick with emotion. “Over the time you’ve been here, I’ve really grown to care for you all.” An actual tear wells in his eye. “I just don’t want to see anything bad happen to any one of you. I don’t think I could bear it.”

  Damn. He’s good. I don’t know if I could have acted better myself.

  Benji leans over the table to pat his hand. “It’s alright, Mr. Gibbs. You’re our friend. I believe you.”

  “Yeah, Mr. Gibbs. We care for you, too. Thanks for the heads up about Mr. Whyte.”

  Gibbs holds a hand up, and wipes his eyes with the other. “Alright. Now that we got that shit out of the way, allow me to introduce the ladies. Forgive me for not doing this sooner. I wanted to, but Mr. Whyte forbade it.” He nods to Mr. Red who then opens the door to the kitchen. Two females enter, holding trays of food for the night’s meal, to a room of hushed men. No doubt they feel curious eyes all over them, but they don’t let their emotions show. In fact, their faces, beautiful as they are, hold no emotion whatsoever as they set the trays down and take their seats on both sides of Gibbs. He smiles. “Thank you, ladies. Don’t be shy now. Introduce yourselves.”

  “Jane,” the slender, ivory-skinned beauty with long, straight, blonde hair says. Her eyes rise from the table and they’re as green as the grass out by the well.

  “Eve,” the other says. She’s of eastern descent, her skin pale, eyes and hair the color of a raven. Her face is lovely, and hides behind her long bangs that cover up the sides.

  Donald stands, a bit shy. “Pleasure to meet you, ladies. My name is…”

  “They already know who you all are so there’s no need to introduce yourselves,” Gibbs says, cutting him off. “Now, since the seats at the dinner table are filling up, there’s a new rule from here on out. No talking at the table. Good?”

  Everyone agrees with a nod or blank stare. Like we have a say in it anyway. Whatever Gibbs says, goes.

  He smiles with outstretched arms. “Good. Let’s eat.”

  The meal is full of awkward glances and sounds, mostly coming from our group—the group of outsiders. The women eat quietly and never look up from their food. When they are finished, they ask to be excused from the table. Mr. Gibbs grants their request and bids them goodnight.

  After they’re gone, and we’re all through eating, Abram lifts his glass of water. “You didn’t want to drink tonight?” he asks Gibbs. “There’s at least two gallons leftover from last night.”

  Gibbs stares through him. “If I wanted wine, I would have told you to bring the wine.”

  “Alright, then,” Abram says, sarcastically.

  “So what’s the plan for tonight? We smoking the good stuff again, Mr. Gibbs?” Donald asks.

  “You think that shit’s free?” Gibbs spits.

  He’s on edge tonight. Probably because Mr. Whyte is coming back tomorrow and he won’t be running the show anymore.

  “No. Just thought we were gonna party tonight is all.”

  “Not tonight.” Gibbs looks away for a moment, deep in thought. He looks back to us with a grin. “I know I said we party every night, but tomorrow we’re going to party hard. Might even talk Mr. Whyte into breaking out the whiskey.”

  “That sounds good,” Benji says. “I could use a night off to recharge.”

  “Kinda tired myself,” I say.

  Mr. Red starts gathering the dirty plates.

  “Tell you what,” Mr. Gibbs tells the group. “Let’s just call it a night and get some rest. I promise you that, tomorrow, I’ll make it up to you and throw a killer party the likes this house has never seen. What do you say?”

  “Hell yeah.” Donald practically jumps from the table, nearly knocking his chair over.

  “Guess I’ll bring the rest of the wine then,” Abram adds.

  “We should invite Larry again,” Benji says. “It’s not like one night of fun is gonna k
ill him.”

  “Now that sounds like a good idea,” Mr. Gibbs says and stands from the table.

  I don’t think it is.

  I look for a tell on Gibbs and wait for him to say more—something that gives a clue to what he’s got planned. The man is good; I can’t find one. As I leave the room with the others, I can’t shake the feeling that something bad is going to happen tomorrow night. I know I’ve had that feeling about a lot of things here, but this time it’s stronger, deeper.

  I follow the guys to our rooms. As I ascend the staircase, my feet stop halfway as I feel Gibbs staring at me from the dining room. I turn around to find him with a sideways grin sitting on his face as he leans against the archway. “Night, Cole.”

  “Night, Mr. Gibbs.” He locks gaze with me for a moment before sliding back behind the wall and out of sight.

  I run up the rest of the steps to join the others. “Guys, I got a bad feeling about tomorrow. Gibbs is up to something.”

  “Ah, hell. Here we go again,” Abram sighs. “Could you just chill out and enjoy yourself for once? If nothing else, let us enjoy ourselves, and take that negativity elsewhere.”

  Benji puts his hand on my shoulder. “Yeah, man. It’ll be alright. Hey, aren’t you excited that Mr. Whyte’s coming back tomorrow? He’s your friend, right?”

  “Sure, I’m looking forward to seeing him again, but I don’t think he’s going to like us here, in his home. Then on top of that, we’re gonna rage like a frat house on his first day back?”

  Donald shakes his head in annoyance and goes into his room. I follow, and the others join me, Abram making sure to close the door behind him. “What the hell? Can’t a guy get a little privacy?” Donald scolds after we follow him in.

  “We need to talk about this,” I say.

  “What’s there to talk about? We’re going to drink, we’re going to smoke, and I’m hoping that the ladies are invited because I want to get to know them a little better.”

  I sit on his bed. “And that’s another thing. We need to talk about them as well.”

  “Make yourself at home,” Donald says and throws his arm out towards the bed before turning away from me in frustration.

  “They look like movie stars,” Benji says all dreamy, like a boy in middle-school.

  “That they do. Ain’t much for company, though, other than to look at,” Abram says.

  “That’s just because Gibbs and Red were there,” Donald suggests. “I bet they’re different when those two aren’t around and telling them what to do. Kind of like us, I guess.”

  Something creaks down the hall that’s loud enough to make us stop and look at one another. Donald hurries over to the door, cracks it open and peaks out.

  “What is it?” Benji asks in a hushed voice. Donald eases the door shut. “Nothing. There’s nobody there.”

  We begin talking again, this time in whispers.

  “Those girls are terrified,” Benji says. “Did you see their faces and how they just sat there? They looked like they’ve been mistreated—almost trained in obedience. They looked like they need help.”

  “What are you saying, that we’re supposed to save them? We can’t even save ourselves from this place,” Abram states.

  “Yet,” Donald adds. “But we will, you can bet on that. Let’s just see if we can engage with them and gain their trust like we have the farmhands. Maybe they’ll tell us what’s really going on here.”

  “What if they tell Gibbs that we’re asking a bunch of questions?” Abram notes. “He was acting awfully strange tonight. Now that could be because Mr. Whyte’s coming back tomorrow, or it could be because he’s nervous about how we’re going to act around the girls.”

  Donald nods. “We need to be witty about this and not make it look like we’re digging for information. Let’s just be cool. You know, talk to them and be ourselves. Get to know them. Let them know us.” He smiles confidently. “Nature will take its course from there.”

  That’s what I’m afraid of.

  “Sounds like a good idea,” Abram says.

  Sounds like a good idea? Yeah, right. I mean, what could go wrong with two women living in a house with seven men under these circumstances? Hell, let’s throw a party and celebrate the good times. Let the whiskey flow. Why not break out some of Mr. Whyte’s guns and shoot them into the sky like we’re in the wild west.

  “It’s settled, then. I’m going to bed. You all need to get the hell out of my room so I can go to sleep.”

  “Night, Don.”

  Lying on my comfortable bed with high thread-count sheets and a silk pillowcase, I close my eyes in search of the sleep that I found last night. None can be found, and the struggle continues throughout the night until the sun begins to rise, promising a bright and brand new day.

  Shit.

  Thirteen

  I’m the first one downstairs due to my insomnia. I need to talk to Larry because I didn’t get the chance to last night. I could really use someone to talk to right now.

  It’s dark inside the house. I slip out the front door just as daylight begins to break.

  “What are you doing up so early?” a familiar voice calls to my right.

  I turn to find Mr. Whyte rocking in a chair. “Mr. Whyte! I was just going to talk to Larry. Where have you… what have you,” I can barely speak. Get a grip. “I mean, how are you?”

  He laughs like he did when we first met inside the house, though, with a small tone of sorrow. “I’m fine. Just had to go away for a couple of days.” He looks off into the distance. “I love watching the sun rise. Made it a point many years ago to wake up early and take in the beauty of a new day.”

  I walk closer to him and lean on the railing to cast my gaze into the distance. The farm really is beautiful.

  “But one of my favorite times is during the early winter months when the frost is on the ground. The way the light hits it at dawn and makes the steam gently rise is truly majestic. Almost magical, I dare say.”

  “Looks magical right now in the middle of summer,” I say as the light creeps across the yard, touching the barn first and slowly making its way to the house.

  “Cole. Have you read the books yet?”

  “Yea, I’ve started Meditations.” I can’t bring myself to face him as I lie.

  “Good,” he replies. “Do try to finish it soon. We need to talk about it when you’re through.”

  Why’s he so adamant about it, anyway? He’s physically and mentally down right now as it is, but this is obviously something he cares about. I just don’t want to be the source of any more grief around here. The other guys are starting to ignore me more, and I get it. I can be heavy sometimes.

  Still, I don’t like lying to Mr. Whyte. Not about this, anyway. I’ll make sure to read the book today and hope he doesn’t ask me any questions until I’m through.

  “So how have things been in my absence? I know that Mr. Gibbs and Mr. Red have invited you all to stay inside the house.”

  “How did you know? Did they tell you?” I only ask because he didn’t check the rooms last night. I would know because I was awake and didn’t hear anything.

  “A man knows when someone’s been in his house. It smells different. Feels different.”

  I turn to him and cross my arms. “To be honest Mr. Whyte, things have been a little crazy. Seems like the farmhands are up to something, but I don’t know what. My best guess is that they’re trying to piss you off for some reason.”

  He nods with the motion of the rocking chair. “I assumed as much. But they did not succeed by inviting you all in. It’s been a long time since we’ve had company in the house and I, for one, am glad you are all here. It gives me hope.”

  “Hope? For what?”

  He smiles at me. “For humanity.”

  For some reason, the way he says it with such passion sits uneasy with me. I scratch my head, ready to leave. “Well, I better be going. Larry’s probably waiting on me.” Another lie.

  He doesn’t say a
word in reply, only shifts his eyes back on the horizon and rocks contently. I leave him be.

  Strolling across the yard, I get the same feeling about Mr. Whyte that everyone else gets around me—we’re both heavy. I don’t want to be that guy anymore. Maybe I will take the advice of the others; let go tonight and have some fun.

  “Good morning, Cole,” Larry says in greeting as he steps out of the barn. “I was just about to grab a drink. Care to join me?”

  “A little early for wine don’t you think, Larry?”

  He looks at me confused. “Water. From the well.”

  “Ah, gotcha. Sure, I could use a drink.” We walk around the side of the barn. Every time I do, I feel a sense of relief from being hidden from the white house. I swear that house has eyes and it never sleeps. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.”

  “Oh, what’s that?” he asks and commences to pulling the bucket up the well.

  “Everyone wants you to join us in the house. And to be honest, I think you should, too. It’s not good to be alone.”

  “I’m not alone. I have friends that I talk to.”

  “Imaginary friends? I mean… it’s okay if you do.”

  He stops and looks to me in all seriousness. “No. Real friends.” He hoists the bucket up and sets it on the ground. “And I also have that book of yours to read. You should know, it’s quite good. I think you should read it like Mr. Whyte said.”

  Again with the book. “Speaking of Mr. Whyte, he’s back. I just spoke to him on the front porch.”

  “Really? That’s great. Also, no.”

  “No, what?”

  “To your invitation. I’m not going back in that house.” He takes a drink from the ladle, then tosses what’s left before handing it to me.

  “At least come party with us tonight. You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to. It’ll be fun.”

  “Doesn’t sound like fun.”

  He hurries back into the barn and I follow. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. We met the two women inside the house.”

  “Two women are in the house?” he asks nonchalantly, like it’s not a big deal. “Are they nice?”