The Farm

by Amy Cross

  “It's a goddamn wasteland,” she muttered, realizing that she could barely see the farm in the distance, since there was so much snow in the air. Blowing for a moment, she watched her breath in the air. “Welcome to the end of the world.”

  As she made her way past the edge of the forest and began to head down the hill, she spotted a small shed tucked by the trees. Even from a distance, it was clear that the place was abandoned and dilapidated, and she figured it must be one of the old buildings that her father had mentioned were dotted around the property. Figuring that her legs were already tired from clambering through the snow, she diverted her course a little, heading over to the shed so she could take a few minutes to get out of the snow and wind, and to prepare for the next part of the journey.

  Getting closer, she saw that parts of the shed's walls and roof had fallen away, while there was a large, open door on the near end, revealing the darkness within. Long, glistening icicles were hanging down all around the roof, glistening gently in the mid-morning sun, while a few hardy bushes were somehow managing to survive the dead of winter, huddled against the wall. As she reached the shed, however, she noticed that the snow seemed to have already been disturbed, with several sets of bootprints leading away from the door and off into the forest.

  Stopping, she listened for a moment, but all she heard was the howling wind.

  “Hello?” she called out.

  Pushing through more snow, she finally reached the bootprints and began to step into them, which made the remainder of the journey a little easier. Snow had filled in most of the prints, but they were still pronounced and clear as she reached the door and leaned in to take a look at the interior of the shed. As she'd expected, there was nothing inside except dirt and a few broken pieces of wood, although there was plenty of light streaming through the various damaged parts of the roof, and snow had managed to fall through here and there.

  Stepping inside, she immediately felt a little better now that she was out of the wind and snow.

  “Great, Dad,” she muttered, wandering through the shed. “You've really hit the jackpot here.”

  Reaching the other end of the shed, she looked out at the forest and felt a faint shiver running through her chest as she watched the tall pines for a moment, with huge piles of snow between them. The forest seemed to stretch on forever, and she remembered seeing aerial maps online that showed a river running close to the farm. There was so much land to explore, and although the snow made her plans a little difficult to follow through during winter, by the time spring and summer arrived she figured she could really get to know the area. If she hadn't managed to persuade her father to abandon the whole farm idea and return to London, at least. That was still the main plan.

  As a blast of wind blew through the doorway, she stepped back. Turning, she spotted something on the floor, glinting in the light, and when she bent down she found that there was an old, rusty knife wedged under a piece of wood. Glancing a little further toward the other end of the barn, she noticed a few burned sticks, and as she looked around she realized that, dotted all over the place, there were little telltale signs that someone had once tried to live in the shed. Glancing down, she realized that the wooden boards beneath her feet were stained a kind of dark red color, which she told herself wasn't blood even though that was what it looked like.

  Still, whoever had been living in the shed, they'd clearly been gone for a long time.

  Finally, realizing that she needed to get on with her journey to the supermarket, she turned and headed to the door. She braced herself for a moment, before stepping out into the wind and snow, leaving behind the old knife and the floor that had once, long ago, been soaked in blood.

  Chapter Nine

  1979

  “Inspector!” Elizabeth called out, hurrying along the street as she took a detour from her usual route to school. “Wait!”

  Stopping up ahead, Inspector Dybendal turned and sighed as soon as he saw her. “What do you want, kid? I'm busy.”

  “It's about my sister.”

  “You found her, didn't you? Problem solved.”

  “Yes, but she's different. She's saying things.”

  “Doesn't sound like a police matter.”

  “She says she knows who killed the man in the river.”

  “Give me a name and address and I'll look into it,” he replied, lighting another cigarette before turning and walking away. “I should start taking all my cues from the children around here. Maybe I'd get cases wrapped up faster.”

  “You have to listen to me,” Elizabeth continued, keeping pace with him. “She said she spoke to a man in the forest, and he told her he was responsible for the murder. He told her the man was chasing him.”

  At this, Dybendal stopped and turned to her.

  “Is that what happened?” she asked. “You must have examined the body by now.”

  “I can't divulge that information,” he replied cautiously.

  “But Sara's right, isn't she?” Elizabeth continued. “How else would she know those things if she wasn't told by the murderer? And the man was wearing a uniform from a hospital. I'm right, aren't I?”

  “I can't talk to you about this,” he told her, glancing along the street as if he was worried about being overheard. “Ms. Olesun, go home.”

  “He also told her that more people are going to die around here.”

  “Smart murderer, warning people like that.”

  “He said his name was...” She paused, aware that the next piece of information might make her sound crazy, but also determined to get the truth out. “He said his name was Death. He said he actually is Death. I know how that seems, but I'm just telling you what he told my sister. He also said he had the number of Death, whatever that means.”

  Dybendal paused for a moment, eying her skeptically.

  “Alright,” he said finally, “tell me something else. Did you sister happen to say that this man had a part of his head missing. On the side?”

  ***

  “Jonah Lund,” Dybendal explained as he slid the mugshot across his desk. “Convicted of two murders back in the fifties, in the Oslo area, and quite possibly responsible for several more. A classic no-hoper, someone who just lived to hurt and kill other people. In the good old days, a man like that would have ended up with a noose around his neck, but in these more liberal times he ended up being committed to a psychiatric institution.”

  Picking up the photo, Elizabeth stared at the dark, bulging eyes of the man in the photo. There was a faint smile on his lips and his dark hair was hanging down in thick, straggly clumps that made it look as if he hadn't taken a bath for quite a while.

  “This doesn't seem like the man my sister described,” Elizabeth told him, passing the photo back. “I don't -”

  “That's from when he was arrested,” Dybendal said, taking the photo and setting it down, before slipping another from a pale brown envelope. “He'd be much older now, his his late forties. Once he was at the psychiatric hospital, one of the doctors tried an experimental technique to get rid of the voices he claimed had been urging him to kill. It was all rather untested, from what I understand, but basically he cut open the bastard's skull and then removed several sections of his brain. Then he sewed him shut and hoped for the best.”

  As soon as he showed her the next photo, Elizabeth felt a shiver pass through her body. Based on Sara's description, it was clearly still the same man, with the same striking eyes. His head had been shaved, however, and one side appeared to have been removed, with the skin stapled shut in rough, ragged clumps.

  “Why would they do something like that to a man?” she asked, staring in horror at the photo.

  “Science,” Dybendal replied, taking another drag on his cigarette before exhaling. “Worth a shot. Might as well use the guy instead of letting him rot in a cell.” He paused. “For God's sake, don't say you actually feel sorry for the monster.”

  “It just seems so inhumane.”

  “If you wan
t, I could rustle up some photos of the little boy he gutted.”

  She turned to him.

  “Jonah Lund is one of the few men in this world who can truly be called a monster. If I had my way, he'd have been executed a long, long time ago.” He paused for a moment. “None of this is for public discussion, you understand. I'm only telling you because I need to know what you know, if you catch my drift.”

  “But did the experiment work?”

  He shook his head.

  “What happened?”

  “Apparently Lund became a vegetable. He was alive, he could breathe and shit and all the basic stuff, but he stopped speaking and he just sat in his cell and stared straight ahead, day after day, until...”

  “Until what?”

  “As it so happens, we got a phone call recently. A couple of days ago, Jonah Lund escaped from the hospital.”

  “Which hospital was he at?”

  “I...” Dybendal paused. “I'm not sure, to be honest. I don't remember.”

  “How did he get out?”

  “The guy had shown no indication that he even remembered how to wipe his own ass,” Dybendal continued, “let alone that he could get up and walk through a door. But one morning, a guard went in to clean out his bucket, and Lund attacked him. Damn near bit through the man's wind-pipe.”

  “I didn't how about any of this.”

  “It's been kept quite hushed up. We don't want people panicking.”

  “Do you think this is him?” Elizabeth asked. “Do you think this is the man my sister met?”

  “Can't be many folks wandering around with part of their head missing,” Dybendal pointed out. “The thing is, after he'd escaped, they found something written on the wall of his cell. No-one was really sure whether he was the one who wrote it. I mean, he was the only one who had an opportunity, but they weren't sure he was capable. Still, there was that one sentence, written in the blood of the guard he killed.”

  “What was it?” she asked.

  “My name...” He paused. “My name is Death.” Taking another photo from the envelope, he showed it to her. “See? I mean, the handwriting's worse than a child's, but it's pretty certain that Lund scrawled those words before he took off. He spent damn near thirty years sitting without saying anything, and that's what he comes up with at the end.” Sighing, he set the photo down. “This is going to cause a problem if it gets into the papers.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean people will want to know why a crazed killer has been allowed to get free.”

  “So the man in the river was... What, a guard, sent to catch him?”

  Dybendal nodded. “An orderly, something like that.”

  “So you believe my sister?”

  “Looks like I don't have much choice,” he muttered wearily. “If Lund's still in the area, we need to find him fast.”

  “She says she knows where he's camping out.”

  “Where?”

  “That's the problem,” she continued. “She says he swore her to secrecy.”

  “Well,” the inspector replied, grabbing his hat from the top of the filing cabinet, “we'll just have to un-swear her, won't we?”

  ***

  “Now I need you to listen to me very carefully,” Elizabeth said, sitting on Sara's bed as Inspector Dybendal stood in the doorway. “I know the man in the forest made you promise not to tell us anything, but it's very important that we find him, do you understand?”

  Sara stared back at her blankly.

  “He might hurt someone,” Elizabeth continued, reaching out and taking Sara's hands in hers. “You don't want that to happen, do you? Lives are in danger.”

  “He said more people are going to die,” Sara replied. “He said the only hope is if he remembers in time.”

  “Remembers what?”

  Sara paused. “I don't know,” she said finally. “But it's okay if people die, because he told me what it's like after people have been killed. It's not like they told us at church at all. It's better than that.”

  “Let's not get into that right now,” Elizabeth replied. “I'm sure those people, whoever they are, don't want to die, do they? So if you can tell us where Mr. Lund is camping, we can let the police go and have a little talk to him. Doesn't that make sense to you?”

  “Who's Mr. Lund?”

  “He's the man you met in the forest.”

  “No, his name is Death.”

  “He's also called Mr. Lund,” Elizabeth told her.

  “Why would he have two names?”

  “Let's just focus on the important part for now, sweetheart. Maybe you're too young to really understand what's at stake here, Sara, but you have to trust me. You do trust me, don't you?”

  Sara thought about it for a moment, and finally she nodded.

  “So tell me where the man is staying while he's visiting the valley.”

  Sara immediately shook her head.

  “This is ridiculous,” Dybendal said, lighting up another cigarette as he entered the room. Exhaling, he blew a cloud of smoke straight toward the two sisters, causing them both to start coughing. “Come on, kid, let's have it. I'm an officer of the law and I demand to know where this man can be found.”

  Staring up at him, Sara began to smile.

  “What's so funny?” he asked.

  “He talked about you,” she replied. “He said he knew who was in charge of the police around here, and he said he knew it was...” Pausing, she began to giggle.

  “He knew it was what?” Elizabeth asked.

  Still laughing, Sara leaned closer and whispered in her sister's ear: “He called him Inspector Stinky Pants.”

  “Sara -”

  “I can't tell you anything else,” the little girl replied, sitting back and suddenly losing her smile. “Not one more word! He told me he'd be mad at me if I let his secrets out. He said he wants to be left alone so he can remember what he came here to do!”

  “This is a waste of time,” Dybendal muttered, turning and heading to the door. “The bastard can't have gone far. We'll just comb the entire area. Hell, we'll smoke him out if that's what it takes. I don't want you telling anyone about this, okay? We're going to catch this bastard before people have time to panic.”

  “Can't you just tell us?” Elizabeth asked, squeezing Sara's hands a little tighter. “Please?”

  “I don't need to,” Sara replied, leaning closer and whispering to her again. “He promised everyone would find out soon anyway. You just have to wait.”

  ***

  “Stupid kid,” Kari muttered as she made her way up the hill toward the forest. “Just because she goes and gets herself into trouble, now she's the center of attention.”

  Once she reached the top of the hill, she made her way across the field of bluebells, before finally reaching the old shed that stood in the shadow of the nearest trees. She often headed out toward the abandoned shed when she felt like getting away from the rest of the family, and today was definitely one of those days; she knew that Elizabeth meant well, but she was convinced that the best way to deal with Sara was just to haul her out of bed and put her to work. Still, she also knew that no-one ever listened to her ideas, so the spoiled little brat would be mollycoddled for weeks.

  Feeling a little out of breath after the climb up the hill, she stopped as she reached the shed, and finally set her basket down. She knew she was a little early in the season for picking raspberries, but she figured she just needed something to keep her occupied and the bushes around the shed tended to be ready just a shade earlier than the others. Making her way past the entrance to the shed, she examined the nearest bush and found plenty of plump, ripe raspberries waiting for her. Picking one, she slipped it into her mouth and found immediately that it was ready.

  “Great,” she said to herself with a faint smile. “Now -”

  Hearing a faint rustling sound, she stopped and looked along the side of the shed, half-expecting someone to step into view. She figured it'd be just her luck
if some annoying kids from school turned up.

  “Is anyone there?” she called out.

  Silence.

  “See?” she muttered, as she began to pick more raspberries. “You've even got me feeling all jumpy now, you spoiled little brat.” Turning, she headed over to grab the basket, but she stopped suddenly as she passed the doorway. Looking into the darkness of the shed, she realized she could just about make out some rags on the floor, and after dropping the raspberries into her basket, she stepped inside and went to take a closer look.

  After a moment, she realized that there were a couple of items of clothing in the shed, and that a little further inside there were some burned logs, as if someone had lit a fire at some point. Over by the wall, a knife was glinting in the sun.

  “Is someone here?” she said out loud, unable to hide the hint of indignation in her voice. “You're not allowed to camp on my father's property, you know! It's illegal!”

  She waited, but no reply came.

  Storming across the shed, she emerged at the other end and looked around, but there was still no sign of anyone.

  “Do you hear me?” she shouted. “I'm going to tell him what you're up to, and he's going to come up here with a shotgun! I don't care who you are, but if you've got any sense in you at all, you'll damn well scurry off and not come here again. Is that understood?”

  She waited again, listening to the sound of the trees rustling in a faint breeze, but there was absolutely no sign of anyone nearby.

  “Well, let that be a warning to you,” she continued, turning to head back inside. “This is my father's -”

  Before she could finish, she was grabbed from behind and a hand was clamped firmly over her mouth.

  “Hush now, pretty little girl,” a voice whispered in her ear. “I need you to help me remember something important. Unfortunately, I'm going to have to start by borrowing your eyes.”