by Angie Morel
We stayed a few nights here and there at some rural homes that we came across, however our goal was to find a farm where we could stay all winter long. Discussing what was required, we settled on the bare minimum requirements of privacy, chickens, propane tanks, and clean well water.
The propane tanks would provide heat, hot water and the use of a stove, all of which we’d have to use sparingly since no one in our group knew how long propane gas generally lasted. We needed well water—or what D called stink water—to drink. As for privacy, we wanted to find a place that was set back from the road so we wouldn’t be seen by anyone that happened to be travelling by. And the chickens were for the eggs.
We experienced the “duh” moment about chickens when we remembered that they lay eggs—easy protein. Standing outside the wire fencing of a large coop, after listening to Snick’s ten minute dialog on everything you’d ever want to know about chickens, we declared him to be the gatherer of eggs.
“Me? Why me?” Snick asked, looking horrified.
“Dude, you know the most about chickens,” D said nodding, eyebrows raised.
And because no one else wanted to. Hell no.
“Just because I’ve read about them doesn’t mean I’ve ever collected eggs!” he exclaimed, half-laughing, wearing an expression that went from humor to pleading to resignation as he scanned our crossed arms and stubborn faces. He sighed. “Fine. Ya bunch of chickens…ha ha get it?” With that he opened the door to the coop and the fun began.
He was able to nab five eggs and was only pecked, well…about two dozen times. It was comical watching him steal the eggs—the hens pecking and flying around him in a wing-flapping, ba-gawking tornado, their lost feathers and pieces of straw the debris.
Outside the coop D was practically peeing himself from laughing so hard, “Oh my God!” he said between breaths, “that is the funniest thing I ever saw in my life!”
And oh, it had felt so good to laugh. Even stoic Rolo cracked a smile and let a couple huffs of laughter escape. Snick was beaming as he held out his treasures, mindless of the red dots decorating his hands and wrists. We made scrambled eggs that night and split it between us, deciding then that it would be good to have eggs available all the time.
I happened to pick up on an interesting fact when Snick was talking about chickens that day. Hens don’t need roosters to lay eggs. After we ate the eggs, I killed the two roosters. Using the male birds for target practice, I honed my skills with a pellet gun found there. Good way for me to get used to firing a gun. That’s one of the excuses I used anyway. The other was that they made too much noise in the morning and might draw unwanted attention. Both were lies for the most part. But the others wouldn’t know the real reason why. They had no way of knowing about the rooster that announced itself on the morning Mary was killed.
Whenever possible, I killed the roosters.
Chapter 13
November tenth. Snick had been keeping track, so we knew the date. Each day we hoped to find a place to hibernate for the winter, and each day brought disappointment. This morning we set out like usual, our lungs pulling in the chilly morning air as we marched onward.
Following behind Ghost these past couple of weeks, I thought it odd that we hadn’t come across even one banger.
As if that thought jinxed it, a half an hour later Ghost reappeared after flickering out yesterday afternoon. We were in the woods west of some pastureland we’d crossed, each lost in our thoughts as our feet pushed through the crunchy carpet of dead leaves.
Moving in front of me, shoulders hunched, his mouth curled in a silent growl that my ears couldn’t detect. Then he lowered his massive body and backed up a couple of steps. I stopped, confused by his actions. D, Snick, and Rolo stopped as well. They looked at me as I tried to figure out what was troubling Ghost. In a quiet voice I described the dog’s behavior.
On alert, we tried to look everywhere at once and listen for anything that would indicate danger. Our position was on the rise of a small hill overlooking a creek that meandered through a dip in the land.
Suddenly Ghost sprinted forward and ran along the creek, jumped over it and ran down about a hundred more yards, barely visible. I followed him with my eyes and cocked my head when he stopped. He was barking at something, but it was odd because his bark had the same faint tin-can quality and pitch way down there that it would if he were right beside me.
“What’s he doing?” Rolo asked in a low tone, trying to look where I was looking.
Forgetting they couldn’t see him, I started to explain what he was doing when there was movement. Two figures in the distance, barely detectable between the trees.
“Oh shit, two bangers I think, down there,” I whispered.
The four of us crouched by the trunk of a thick tree with bushes near the base, good camouflage. We watched as the two distant bangers began to stumble-run away from us. Of course the others couldn’t see what I saw; Ghost was getting their attention by barking, and they were actually chasing him as if they could see him, or at least sense him.
Huh. That was interesting. Bangers could see ghosts? I tucked that piece of information away for later.
To be on the safe side, we waited a few minutes after the bangers were out of sight before heading off in a fast but quiet pace, crossing the creek and continuing west up and over the hill. A few minutes and another hill later, the trees ended.
Stepping out into the open first, I stopped abruptly, which made D bump into my back. Ignoring his muffled hey, I moved aside, holding my arms out like a crossing guard for some reason. Maybe because it felt like we’d just crossed over into a fantasy, and I wasn’t sure if the sight before me was real.
“Look at that,” I said, backing up and nudging them so we’d all be inside the tree line and out of sight again. We were quiet for a moment as we took in the view.
There, in the valley below us, was the most beautiful house I’d ever seen.
We were in awe as we absorbed the view. It was a mansion, really. Smack dab in the middle of nowhere.
“Jesus. This looks perfect for us. It’s private, big. What do you think?”
“Dang, that’s a huge house,” D said in wonder.
“If nobody’s in it, it’ll work,” was all Rolo said, as he scanned the area.
“Oh man, I hope nobody’s in it,” Snick said. “And look, horses and goats or something, over there in that pasture.” He pointed to the left and sure enough, there were a few horses and smaller animals grazing in a pasture.
“I think we should watch from a distance for a while, see if there’s movement,” Rolo said.
“Good idea. Hang out here or at a different, you know, vantage point?”
“I don’t know, here’s good, I guess.” He shrugged. He leaned against a tree and folded his arms, a frustrated look stamped on his face.
“What’s wrong with you?” I asked, giving him a puzzled look. This would be the perfect place, what was his problem?
“Nothin’. Seems too good to be true, I guess.”
“Well, let’s watch it for a bit anyway, and then figure it out.” I looked over at him. He continued staring at the house, ignoring me. Whatever. But then I thought about it and remembered that yeah, things that seemed too good to be true usually were. Scratch that, always were.
After about ten minutes, while we were still observing the house, Ghost appeared at my side again, tongue dangling from the side of his mouth as he looked towards the house. He flickered briefly before taking a couple steps forward and giving a whole body shake. The motion started with his head and moved down, rocking the fur on his body back and forth, ending with a shiver through his feet. Next, he tossed me a look behind those bangs of his, sneezed suddenly (silent but obvious), and then trotted out of the tree line, heading straight for the house.
“Hey, get back here,” I whispered emphatically. “Ghost, hey, psssst!” Snapping my fingers didn’t sway the dog, he carried on without pause, ignoring my command. And then I re
alized how ridiculous it was to worry about him drawing attention.
No one else could see him.
I shot a glance at the others and found them looking at me funny. Pairing a grimace with a shrug, I thought oh, what the hell, and after a brief hesitation, followed the dog. D, Snick, and a reluctant Rolo came after. We crossed the open field in a quick moving chain until we arrived at the smooth wide driveway that was bordered by dense green bushes.
Farming, or whatever they did here, must’ve been an extremely lucrative business for the previous owners. The house was even more impressive up close. It was a two-story log type structure sitting on a foundation that sprawled out forever. What you noticed first was all the wood and all the mirror-like windows. And the wood wasn’t brown like normal, it was gray. The roof was black, in addition to all the trim around the numerous large windows. White detailing here and there offset the black and grays. Somehow it looked new, with interesting architectural lines, and at the same time old, as if it had been here for ages—like State of the Art married Mother Nature and this is what their child looked like.
We walked the perimeter of the house, looking in windows, checking for any signs of occupation. When that task was complete, I stepped onto the massive porch and stood in front of the curved black double doors. My finger pressed the bell. A deep bong sounded inside. While I waited, hands jammed into my pockets, the peculiar part of my mind was going over what I’d say if someone actually answered. Oh hey, how’s it going? I was in the neighborhood…
As expected, there was no answer.
All the doors and windows were locked, but Rolo thought the back utility door off the garage was only knob locked, not dead-bolted, so he had no problem picking it and saving the integrity of the door. If this place worked out for us, we’d want it to be as secure as possible, without broken doors or windows.
We didn’t think it was odd that a house in the middle of nowhere would have all the doors locked, because who would ever leave a door unlocked? In the hood having an unlocked door was comparable to hanging a neon sign that said Come on in! Take all the shit you want!
The utility door led into a five stall, extra deep garage, and on the far side of that large tidy space was the door that led into the house. Crossing the garage, we admired the three automobiles housed inside. The first was a black luxury SUV, the middle one was some type of sedan that gleamed like a pearl, and the last one was a bright yellow, low slung sports car that stopped D in his tracks. He gently draped himself on the hood, pressed his cheek against the vibrant yellow metal and sighed in pleasure. I wouldn’t be surprised to find a drool mark.
“I have got to learn how to drive this car,” he said in a dreamy voice.
“I think that’s the mama bear’s car,” I said. “You get to drive the baby bear car. That’s it down there.” I pointed to the riding lawnmower sitting in one of the empty stalls. He looked at me in horror. I laughed, surprised at my lighthearted attitude. It must be the high hopes I had for this house.
As we moved past, D reluctantly drew back, and then with one last lingering look at the car, stepped away and continued on, following our lead. We opened the door and quickly moved through what appeared to be a mudroom, and then into the kitchen.
That’s when we knew something wasn’t right.
Chapter 14
It smelled really good, that’s what the problem was. It smelled like something baking in the oven—which meant someone was in the house.
“It smells like cookies or somethin’.” D’s whisper was desperately loud and I could tell by his tone that he was more afraid of not finding the source of the thickly sweet smell wafting in the air than the actual threat of people being in the house.
Rolo held up his hand, but before he could do anything Ghost rushed by, tail wagging, heading out past the kitchen and into the great room. I followed him, trusting this phantom dog, figuring he wouldn’t bring us this far only to put us in danger. Rolo had to snag D’s shirt and give it a pull since he looked ready to interrogate the oven.
Ghost led us through the house and up the stairs where he went down a long hallway, around a corner, into a bedroom, and finally to a closed door that marked the entrance to what I assumed was either a bathroom or a walk-in closet. He looked at the door and then at me. Then he came back towards me and sat, his massive head cocked a bit as he faced me. Before I could do anything, he flickered a couple of times and then blipped out of existence.
Uncertain what to do, we stared at the door. After a minute Rolo got out his knife and nodded, motioning for me to open the door. I put my hand so it barely touched the knob, glanced at Rolo and mouthed one…two…three! Twisting the knob, I pushed the door open in one quick motion and then jumped back as Rolo stepped into the doorway.
Good thing I moved too, because I was able to avoid the shoe missiles that flew out as soon as the door opened, whereas Rolo wasn’t so lucky. He dodged the first one that came at him, but got clocked in the forehead with a penny loafer, and then nailed by a couple of tennis shoes that followed in quick succession. He must’ve seen enough in the brief glimpse into the closet to know that whoever was throwing the shoes wasn’t a threat. He put his knife away and shifted to the side, out of the doorway, just as a hiking boot thumped the wall behind where he’d been. He looked at me and held up two fingers, giving me a small shake of his head.
“We’re not gonna hurt you,” Rolo said.
A purse was flung out a second later, followed by a clog.
The door was to a walk-in closet bigger than my old bedroom. The closet yielded tons of clothes, a chandelier grand enough for a hotel lobby, and two kids—a boy and a girl, both with stockpiled shoes for weapons. And a loaded gun on the floor next to their feet. Lucky for us they were too scared to use it.
Introductions were made at the door of the closet, Rolo first, then me, Snick and D. We shared a bit about ourselves, standing individually at the entrance as not to intimidate them. It didn’t take long until D had them laughing. Eventually the two emerged and introduced themselves as Cory and Claire. They were thirteen-year-old twins.
“Your kitchen sure smells good,” D said, eyes all wide and innocent. My mouth quirked as I slid him a look, knowing he was fishing to find out what was in the oven.
“Oh my gosh! I forgot about the cookies! Come on!” Claire said, already on the move. We followed her back to the kitchen where, to our excitement—especially D’s—Claire pulled out two baking sheets full of chocolate chip cookies from the oven, and served them with Gatorade. The cookies were burnt around the edges, but Claire had at least thought to turn the oven off before they hid.
We all agreed that the cookies were the most wonderful thing we’d ever tasted—or as Snick declared, they were wicked delicious. Claire beamed.
Cory and Claire Malone were the children of a lawyer and psychologist. Both pretty prominent I’d say, based on their obvious wealth. Their mom and a couple of farm hands had been home on that day back in August. All three dropped dead. Not knowing what else to do after the first few hours went by, and not able to get through to 911, they moved the dead bodies into one of the barns. They figured out something was wrong with some of the survivors when, after waiting three days and their dad still hadn’t made it home from work, and being unsuccessful at contacting anyone, they trekked over to the nearest neighbor and were attacked by bangers walking through the woods. They managed to get away, and after returning home, kept watch, not seeing anyone again until our group this morning.
“It’s actually pretty amazing that you found us,” Cory said, “our driveway is unmarked and the house sits back about a half-mile off the county road.”
In addition to the gorgeous house, their parents owned quite a bit of land, so it would’ve been pretty amazing for us to have randomly stumbled upon it. However, we didn’t randomly stumble upon it. A phantom dog led us directly here—not that we’d be sharing that bit of questionable information with the twins. Keeping that detail between th
e four of us was decided before we got here.
A couple of hours later, Rolo found me standing in front of the wall-to-wall window in what I’d guess to be the formal living room. Hanging the full length of the glass were drapery panels as sheer and delicate as air.
I’d wandered in here to think, and to keep watch, while everyone else entertained themselves playing foosball or any of the other numerous games contained in the basement. The thoughts going through my mind were about comfort, safety, and not having to walk anymore with winter coming.
“What’re we doin’? What are your ideas on stayin’ or goin’?” Rolo asked, standing beside me. He reached out, fingering the sheer drapery. Funny, I’d done the same thing.
“I think we should ask to stay,” I said, not taking my eyes from the view outside.
It was quiet in this section of the house; the only sound the constant tick of the grandfather clock standing tall and polished in the corner of the room, its heavy pendulum dutifully swinging back and forth behind the glass. It was an old sound, reminding me of wrinkled skin and patience. Tick, tick, tick…I decided I liked it.
“Yeah,” Rolo said after nineteen ticks. “Probably a good idea.”
The breath I held released. Whether I’d been hoping to hear him concur or say we needed to leave, I didn’t know. My brain knew staying here was what we needed, especially D and Snick, however I couldn’t help thinking that two more hooks were sinking into my flesh—hooks that caused unfathomable pain if they were ripped out. And I couldn’t bear the agony of losing someone again.
After the fog cleared from my drunken binge after Mary died, I remembered what she said to me at the end. She made me promise to take care of “them”. I can only assume that by “them” she meant anyone with me. And it’s a vow I intend to take seriously. But there’s a problem with that—if you keep adding more people, how can you take care of all them?
