The Farm

by Amy Cross

  “Jesus,” Paula muttered as she dropped the soaking wet rag onto the barn's concrete floor and watched as water mixed with her father's spilled blood. Some of the blood began to spread through little rivulets that ran through the concrete's pattern, and a moment later Paula felt something wet on her knee.

  Getting to her feet, she saw that she already had blood on her jeans and her hands.

  “I can't do this,” she whispered, taking a step back as she felt tears building behind her eyes. “I can't...”

  Turning, she took a few steps out toward the yard before stopping as she saw the farmhouse. For a moment, she felt absolutely certain that something was watching her from inside. She wanted to stop cleaning and go in, to just take her mind off things by watching a movie, but at the same time she didn't like the idea of being alone in the house. Figuring that she could delay going inside for a while longer, she picked the best of the two bad options and knelt back in the watery blood, ready to finish wiping away the mess from her father's accident.

  ***

  “No, I'm okay,” she said a few hours later, sitting in the dining room and eating a bowl of pasta while she talked to her friend Jane online. “It was just a shock, that's all.”

  “Your Dad's mental,” Jane replied over the video-link. “What kind of machine was it, anyway?”

  “I don't know, something with big blades and rust everywhere. I think it's to do with cutting corn.” She paused for a moment, thinking back to the moment when she'd found him on the floor, with all that blood everywhere. “It cut this really big slice into his arm,” she continued, “like, almost enough to take the damn thing all the way off. And it got him in other places too, like all the way down the left side of his body. From what the doctor said, it's a miracle he -”

  Hearing a bump from upstairs, she looked up at the ceiling.

  “What was that?” Jane asked.

  “Did you hear it too?”

  “What was it?”

  Paula looked over at the window for a moment, and at the darkness outside, before turning back to the laptop screen. “Nothing,” she said finally. “It's just an old wooden house, so it creaks at night. You know, wood expanding and contracting with the temperature, there's really a proper scientific -”

  She heard the bump again, and again she couldn't help looking up at the ceiling.

  “That would creep me the hell out,” Jane said. “Seriously, are you alone in there?”

  “Yeah,” Paula whispered, still watching the ceiling, waiting for another bump.

  “You're braver than me,” Jane told her. “Especially with the other stuff you told me.”

  “Maybe I can do some experiments,” Paula continued, looking back at the screen. “Remember when we used to talk about getting proof of ghosts?”

  “Yeah, but...” Jane paused. “It's one thing to do that kind of stuff together, but when you're all alone out there... I don't know, it seems like you're so isolated.”

  “Let me show you something,” Paula said, picking up the laptop and carrying it to the hallway. Unlocking the front door and pushing it open, she turned the screen so that Jane could see the snow-filled yard, with more snow falling all the time. “This is where I live, for God's sake,” she continued. “I mean, how can a place like this not seem spooky?”

  “That looks immensely cold,” Jane replied. “It looks, like, minus a million degrees.”

  “Minus twenty-two,” Paula said, glancing at the temperature gauge on the wall. “It's so cold, it actually hurts to breathe in.”

  “You'd think even ghosts would freeze in a place like that,” Jane said with a smile. “Hey, what's that flashing thing in the distance.”

  Looking across the yard, Paula saw the familiar orange light from the snowplow as it appeared on the horizon.

  “That's the guy who clears all the snow,” she explained. “He just drives around slowly all night, pushing snow out the way.”

  “That sounds like the ultimate most pointless job ever. I mean, what kind of loser ends up doing that for a living?”

  “It's kind of cool, in a way,” Paula muttered, allowing herself a faint smile as she saw how slowly the plow was moving. “I met him the other day, I don't think he hates his job. I think he's the kind of guy who doesn't mind being by himself for long periods of time.”

  “So he's probably a mass murderer or something?”

  She watched for a moment longer, as the plow continued to move slowly along the road, and finally she realized she could hear the grinding sound of vast amounts of snow being forced out of the way. As a gust of cold wind blew through the doorway, however, she pulled it shut and carried the laptop back to the dining room.

  “Dad should be out of the hospital next week,” she continued, setting the laptop on the table again, “and even then, he's not going to be at his best for a while. I don't know...” Suddenly feeling as if she was on the verge of bursting into tears, she paused for a moment. “Anyway, I should go,” she said finally. “We've been talking for, like, two hours. It's almost ten, I should get to bed.”

  “Are you sure you're gonna be okay all by yourself in that creepy old house?”

  “I'll be fine,” she continued, keen to end the call before Jane realized there were tears in her eyes. “Talk soon, okay?”

  “Sure. Oh, did you hear -”

  Cutting the call before Jane could launch into another tranche of gossip, she closed the laptop lid and headed to the bathroom, where she looked at her reflection and saw that her eyes were just starting to glisten slightly.

  “I will not cry,” she said firmly, taking slow, deep breaths as she tried to calm her nerves. “I will not cry, it's just a house, Dad's going to be fine, and I will not cry like a goddamn baby.”

  She paused.

  As if on cue, a faint creaking sound came from the stairs.

  ***

  “Stop!” she shouted suddenly, sitting up in bed and realizing, after a few confused seconds, that she'd been dreaming. Somehow, against all the odds, sheer exhaustion had triumphed over fear.

  Breathless and filled with panic, she reached through the darkness and fumbled for her bedside lamp. Once she'd found the switch and turned the lamp on, she took a series of deep breaths and tried to think back to the dream: it had been something to do with her father's accident, and there had been more blood, and -

  Hearing a faint sound nearby, she listened for a moment and realized she could hear voices from downstairs.

  She waited, terrified that someone had broken in, but after a few seconds she could tell that the voice were female, and that it sounded like two girls were arguing. Her first instinct was to rush down and try to see them, but she knew what would happen: she'd simply reach the room and there'd be nothing there, no voices at all. Instead, she carefully climbed out of bed and made her way as quietly as possible to the door, which she pulled open so she could lean out onto the landing.

  The voices were still talking downstairs.

  Taking care to make as little noise as possible, she crept to the top of the stairs. She could make out the voices more clearly now, but since they were speaking Norwegian she couldn't understand a word they were saying. Cursing her slow progress with the language, she paused for a moment, trying to decide what to do, before realizing that she had to try to see the figures. She put a bare foot down onto the top step of the stairs, trying to make it creak as little as possible, and then slowly she made her way down, managing to make almost no noise at all until she reached the kitchen and stopped again.

  The voices were coming from the dining room, and now it was clear that they were two girls around her own age.

  For a moment, the fear returned to her chest and told her to stop, to keep from going any further in case she angered whatever was in the house. She'd read enough about ghosts over the previous few years to know that in some instances, people reported that if they drew too much attention to themselves, the ghosts would start causing trouble. If she'd remembered her d
icta-phone, she could have started recording the voices and maybe translated them later, but the damn thing was back up in her room, so she decided she had only one option: daring herself to go on and try to see the figures, she crept across the dark kitchen until she reached the door that led to the front room, and then she peered through the darkness and saw the door to the dining room.

  The voices continued.

  Telling herself to be brave, Paula crept through, approaching the dining room door and bracing herself for whatever she might be about to see. Her heart was pounding and there was still a part of her that desperately wanted to turn and run, or to go back to bed, or to leave the house completely, but she felt as if she was on the verge of making a genuine discovery. If there were ghosts in the house, that meant there must be ghosts in other places, and that meant...

  Reaching the edge of the door, she paused for a moment, listening to the voices that sounded so close now. Finally, she peered around the corner.

  The voices stopped.

  The room was dark.

  Immediately, her fear switched to relief, and then to disappointment, and then -

  Suddenly there was a loud bump from above, louder than any noise she'd heard in the house to date. She took a step back and looked up, just as he heard a second bump, then a third, each one a little further toward the far wall. A moment after that, there was a scraping sound and then a softer thump, and a creak that she recognized all too well: it came from the loose board next to her bed.

  Someone was in her room.

  A moment later, she heard another bump, and then several creaks heading back across the room and out onto the landing. Whatever was in the house, it seemed far more willing to be heard now, angrier even. Making her way through to the hallway, she realized she could hear more footsteps at the top of the stairs, but although she told herself she should go and take a look, another part of her felt there was no point, as if she'd just get there and there'd be nothing.

  “The window,” she whispered, suddenly realizing that she had another option.

  As quietly as possible, she slipped into her coat and boots, before unlocking the front door and stepping out into the yard. Snow was falling as heavily as ever, and she felt freezing cold before she'd even got the door shut again, but she was determined to test her idea. Heading down the steps, she began to fight her way through the knee-high snow until, when she reached the middle of the yard, she turned and looked back at the house. She watched the dark windows above the front door, waiting for some hint of the presence she'd heard a moment ago, but there was nothing.

  And then she spotted movement in one of the other windows.

  Her father's room.

  Staring in stunned horror, she realized she could just about make out a dark figure walking across the room. The figure disappeared from view a moment later, but it had definitely been there and she felt her heart beating like a hammer in her chest as she realized she'd just seen her first, incontrovertible proof that there were ghosts in the house.

  Either that, or she was losing her mind.

  Pulling her coat tighter around her body, she waded through the thick snow until she reached the side of the house closest to the road. She looked up at her own bedroom window, but there was no sign of anything moving so she headed to the next window and looked up. For a fraction of a second, she spotted two figures as they slipped back from the glass.

  “Oh God,” she whispered, seeing her breath in the air, “they're real, they're -”

  Suddenly she realized there was a voice coming from the house, as if a girl was shouting for someone.

  “Sara!” the voice called out, followed by something in Norwegian, some kind of question.

  Taking a step back, Paula felt as if she was about to faint.

  Hearing a distant scraping sound, she looked along the road and saw the flashing orange light of the snowplow. Although a part of her wanted to go back into the house and face whatever was in there, another part of her was terrified, convinced that she might end up seeing the little girl again and getting her face scratched. Keeping her eyes fixed on the windows, she stumbled back through the snow until she reached the edge of the road, at which point the snowplow was much closer.

  Turning, she saw a dark figure sitting in the plow's cab as it ground to a halt. A moment later, the figure reached over and opened the door.

  “Paula?” Sebastian called out.

  Hurrying through the snow, she got to the edge of the plow and looked up, seeing his puzzled face staring back down at her.

  “Do you see them?” she asked, turning to point toward the house. “Look at the windows!”

  She waited a moment, before feeling a sinking sensation in her chest as she realized that most likely the figures wouldn't appear, not now there was someone else to see them. She watched the windows, hoping for some sign of them, but they were gone.

  “Are you okay?” Sebastian asked after a moment. “Scratch that, it's three in the morning and you're out here in just a coat. You're definitely not okay. Where's your father?”

  She turned to him. “In hospital.”

  “Hospital?” He glanced at the house for a moment longer, before slipping across in his seat. “Get in.”

  “But -”

  “Get in!”

  Pausing for a moment, she finally reached up with trembling hands and grabbed the edge of the door. Climbing into the cab, she immediately felt warm air blowing on her from the heater, and as Sebastian reached across and pulled the door shut, she tried to stay calm. Everything felt so strange and surreal, and she had no idea what she was supposed to do next.

  “You're freezing,” he said, reaching behind his seat and grabbing a blanket, which he quickly laid over her shoulders. “Here. You'll soon warm up.”

  “I saw them,” she replied, staring out at the dark farmhouse. “I heard them, too.”

  “So you were in there alone?”

  “No,” she said, turning to him. “That's the whole point, they were in there with me!”

  He stared at her, as if he wasn't sure whether to take her entirely seriously.

  “I'm not crazy,” she continued, as she started to feel a little warmer. “I know that's the first thing crazy people always say, but it's true! You've seen them, haven't you? When you've been driving past in the middle of the night? Please, tell me you've seen them. You have to -”

  “Hang on,” he replied, putting a hand on her knee for a moment before, thinking better of it, pulling the hand away again. “Just calm down for a moment, okay?”

  “Don't tell me to calm down! Not after what I just saw!”

  He leaned past her, staring at the farmhouse and the dark yard.

  “I'm not insane,” she continued. “I swear, I heard voices and then I saw figures at the windows.”

  “I believe you,” he replied. “I know you're not nuts.”

  “I wanted to see ghosts for so long,” she told him, her voice trembling with shock. “I swear, for the past two years I've wanted nothing more in the whole world than to see absolute proof that ghosts are real, and now...” She paused, trying to work out if she was shaking more from cold or from fear. “I should be happy,” she stammered. “I should be ecstatic, but instead...”

  Her voice trailed off as she turned to look at the house again. There was no sign of anything moving in the dark windows, not now, but she had absolutely no doubt that they'd been there a few minutes ago.

  “Do you want to come with me?” Sebastian asked suddenly.

  She turned to him.

  “Rather than going back in there right now,” he continued, “you can always stick around in the cab, at least for this stretch. Besides, there's something a little way off that I think you should see.”

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “I can't really put it in words. You need to see it, or you'll be the one starting to think I'm crazy.”

  She paused, fully aware that it was maybe not the best choice to just go off in some
random guy's snowplow. At the same time, she didn't like the idea of going back into the farmhouse, not while it was still dark outside, and deep down she felt as if this Sebastian guy was trustworthy.

  “Okay,” she said finally. “I mean... Sure. Can you at least give me a clue what you're going to show me?”

  He reached down and pushed a lever, and the snowplow's engine began to roar as the entire cab shuddered.

  “Driving around at night like this,” he said after a moment, “all alone, I see things that other people don't see. And the truth is, some of those things are way, way stranger than anything you've encountered in that farmhouse.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  1979

  Sara turned as she heard a rifle being fired in the distance, followed by another. Far away, birds scattered from the trees.

  “Does that mean they found him?” she asked, her voice low and uncertain as tears continued to dry on her cheeks.

  “Maybe,” Elizabeth said, sitting on the front step as she peeled potatoes. “Or they might just be trying to scare him out. They probably don't want to go storming into the barn, in case he's set up traps.”

  “Traps?” Sara asked, turning to her.

  “The man's a psychopath. There's no way of knowing what he's up to. Do you really want Dad and the other men to go storming in there and maybe get hurt?”

  Frowning, Sara wandered back across the yard until she reached her sister. Looking down into the bucket of water, she paused for a moment.

  “You did the right thing,” Elizabeth told her. “If you're feeling bad that it took you too long, there's no point worrying about that now. You made the right choice in the end.” She paused, before reaching out and putting a hand on Sara's shoulder. “I'm proud of you.”

  “But he made me promise not to tell anyone he was at the barn,” Sara replied, sniffing back more tears. “I thought I was never supposed to break a promise?”

  “Well, you made a bad promise, to a bad man. And the consequences -” She paused, before offering a faint smile. “I'm sorry for scaring you earlier. I didn't know Kari would do that, but I wanted you to see what Jonah Lund had done to her. You understand why I was tough with you, don't you?”