The Farm

by Amy Cross

  “Don't worry,” Sebastian whispered. “We're perfectly safe.”

  “We should help him,” she replied.

  “No!” He grabbed her arm, holding her back.

  “He's hurt!”

  “It's too late to help him.”

  “You don't know that!”

  “It's too late by many, many years,” he added. “These are either ghosts, or echoes from some traumatic event that happened here.”

  Turning, she stared at Sebastian for a moment, and finally she realized that he was serious. Hearing voices shouting in the distance, she looked back toward the struggling figure and saw a couple more people in the distance, running through the trees and shouting something in Norwegian.

  “Orderlies,” Sebastian whispered, leaning closer to her. “Sent out to take him back to the hospital.”

  “But the hospital -”

  “Now do you understand why I brought you here?”

  Wide-eyed with shock, Paula watched as a couple of men in white uniforms reached the fallen man and grabbed him, pulling him up out of the snow. The man cried out, but he was quickly restrained, as the orderlies began to drag him back the way they'd come.

  “He probably just wanted to die out here,” Sebastian whispered, “alone, and without being made to get into a bag so they could throw him on the fire after.”

  Reaching into her pocket, Paula pulled out her phone, but Sebastian put a hand on her arm before she could use it.

  “Don't,” he said firmly.

  “I just want proof.”

  “You won't get it,” he continued. “I've tried before, this kind of thing just doesn't let itself get recorded.”

  Hearing more cries, Paula turned and watched as the running man was dragged away, receding into the darkness until all that was left were a few more shouts of terror and then, finally, silence returned to the forest.

  For several minutes, they stood without saying a word, as if neither of them wanted to be the first to speak. Paula turned, looking around, constantly alert in case anything else happened, but finally she realized that the forest had fallen still again. Turning to Sebastian, she saw that there was a hint of sadness in his eyes.

  “This forest,” he said after a moment, “runs for miles in every direction. Why do you think those figures just happened to come right to us?”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Asparagus.”

  She paused. “What?”

  “When people eat asparagus,” he continued, with a faint smile, “their pee smells funny. Except some people claim theirs doesn't. The problem is, the smell's always there, but only some people can actually pick it up.”

  Staring at him, she realized she was completely lost. “I have no idea,” she said finally, “why you're suddenly talking to me about asparagus and pee.”

  “It's the same with this kind of thing,” he told her. “It's always there, but only certain people can detect it. I wanted to make sure that you're one of those people, because it explains why you were able to see those things at the farm.”

  “And the asparagus -”

  “Was an analogy. That's what you call it in English, isn't it?”

  She nodded.

  “Maybe it was a bad one.”

  “Maybe.”

  “But the point stands,” he continued. “You wanted to know that ghosts are real. I think that question has been settled tonight, don't you? Other people might not see them, maybe your father, for example, doesn't see them, but that doesn't mean you should doubt yourself. Everything you see and hear at that farm is really there. I wish it wasn't, I wish none of this was real, but it is. This forest, with so much pain and death over the years, is just a good place to test out who's responsive and who isn't.”

  “So you've brought other people here?”

  “A few.”

  “And how many of them saw things?”

  “Only you.” He smiled. “Lucky, huh?”

  “I...” Pausing, she looked around, but there was still no sign of any other figures. “I thought I'd be happier when I realized I was right about ghosts,” she said finally, before turning back to him. “But why isn't the world filled with ghosts? Why are there so few?”

  “In my experience,” he replied, “the only ones that show up tend to be the ones who have something left to settle in this world. They might not actually have any hope of doing it, but some kind of trauma or pain is keeping them from leaving. Maybe they just didn't get the death they wanted or deserved, or maybe there's something they feel they still have to do?”

  “So the ghosts at the farm,” she continued, “want... what?”

  “You know about the three girls who died there, don't you?”

  She nodded.

  “But do you know exactly how they died? Do you know the specifics, and do you know what happened to them in the days before it happened?”

  “I looked online, but -”

  “You won't find the truth online,” he continued. “Again, there are people in this town who work very hard to sanitize the history of the place. The truth only gets whispered, from person to person, but it persists. Maybe that's another reason why there are so many ghosts around. Maybe they're a reaction to all the lies and secrets.”

  “So what happened to the three girls?” she asked. “Why are they still there at the house? What do they want?”

  “There were three sisters,” he reminded her, “three girls who died. And like I said, I've seen shadows of children in the yard when I've been passing during the night, but not three. Only ever two. Sara Olesun's' body was never found, remember?”

  “Two ghosts?” She paused, as she began to realize that she'd only ever sensed two presences at any one time. “But if there are only two, what happened to the third? Why isn't Sara's ghost at the farm?”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  1979

  Screaming, Elizabeth dropped the still-smoking rifle as she fell to her knees. She put her hands over her face, as if to hide from the horrific sight of the dead man in front of her, whose head and neck had been blasted away.

  As Elizabeth continued to sob, Sara watched from a little further back. There was blood all over her, along with pieces of bone and brain matter that had been sprayed across her when the man had been shot. Whereas Elizabeth was crying out in shock, however, Sara was standing completely still, not reacting at all, not even as blood dripped down her dress and onto the muddy ground.

  “Elizabeth? Sara?” Racing around the corner, Elena Olesun stopped suddenly as she saw the horrific sight. For a moment, it was as if she couldn't process the horror.

  “I killed him,” Elizabeth sobbed, staring in horror at the bloodied corpse of Jonah Lund right in front of her. “I shot a man.”

  “Was it him?” Elena asked, running over and kneeling next to her daughter. “Elizabeth, was that the man who did those awful things to Kari?”

  Slowly, Elizabeth nodded.

  “Then you did the right thing,” Elena continued, taking hold of Elizabeth's face and turning her so she could see her eyes. “Listen to me, you did the right thing! Do you understand?” She waited for a reply, but Elizabeth seemed to be in shock. “You did the right thing!” she shouted again. “Listen to me, you did what you had to do!”

  Slowly, Elizabeth began to nod.

  “And you -”

  Before she could finish, Elena spotted Sara standing a little further away, with blood still dripping from the little girl's dress.

  “Sara?” she called out. “Are you okay?”

  Ignoring her mother, Sara continued to stare unblinkingly at the body.

  “Sara? Sara, say something!”

  “I'm glad that man is gone,” a voice whispered in Sara's mind. “Now it's just you and me, and we can achieve so much more.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Today

  Suddenly aware that the sound of the snowplow's engine had stopped, Paula opened her eyes and sat up, only to find that daylight had return
ed and that they were parked in the farm's yard.

  “Morning,” Sebastian said with a faint smile, but his voice sounded extremely muffled and distant.

  “What?” she replied, startled and still not quite sure what was happening.

  Reaching up, he tapped his ear.

  Suddenly remembering the earplugs he'd given her for the journey home, she pulled them out and finally she was able to hear properly again.

  “You fell asleep,” he told her, “and I didn't want to wake you, so I just carried on plowing through the night.” He checked his watch. “It's eight now, so my shift is officially over. Some other poor bastard has to plow in the daytime.”

  “I fell asleep?” she asked, sitting up. “How's that even possible in a goddamn snowplow?”

  “You must've been exhausted.”

  Looking toward the house, she shuddered at the thought of those things having spent the night alone in there, having the place to themselves as they drifted from room to room. In some strange way, she felt as if she'd been driven out of her own home, as if the ghosts had won, but as she watched the house now, she realized she wasn't sure if she could ever go back inside. It just seemed easier to surrender and let the ghosts have the place to themselves.

  “Come on,” Sebastian said, opening the door on his side of the cab. “I'm out of coffee. Aren't you going to invite me in?”

  ***

  As soon as she opened the front door, Paula realized that something was different. The house felt stiller, quieter, as if the ghosts had somehow reclaimed it as their own. In fact, as she stepped into the hallway, she was convinced she could sense something screaming at her to get out, telling her that she was no longer welcome.

  “Are you okay?” Sebastian asked.

  Turning, she realized she was glad that he was with her. She almost felt as if she was too scared to be in the house alone, and although she knew she'd be able to manage alone, she found it much easier with someone around.

  “I...” She paused, before taking her phone from her pocket. “I need to call the hospital and see how he's doing. What do I say? I still don't speak a word of Norwegian.” Fumbling with her phone, she saw that there was no signal, and finally she realized that her English phone had stopped working, which meant she'd have to find and activate her new Norwegian phone.

  “Paula?”

  “I can't do this,” she whispered, suddenly feeling as if her body and mind were seizing up. “I'm in the middle of a foreign country, my father's fighting for his life and -”

  “Here,” he replied, taking out his phone. “I'll help.”

  She shook her head.

  “You can do it,” he told her. “Just stay focused.”

  A few minutes later, after Sebastian had begun the call and put her through to an English-speaking doctor, Paula listened to a report of her father's progress during the night. She felt an instant sense of relief when she was told that he was responding positively, although that relief began to fade when she learned that he hadn't been brought out of sedation yet due to some kind of complication with his temperature, and a possible fever. After telling the doctor that she'd be in to visit during the day, she ended the call and then stood in the dining room for a moment, trying to work out how she was going to get everything done. Glancing up at the ceiling, she realized that the thought of going upstairs was too much to handle, that she hated the idea of being in the house now she knew she wasn't alone.

  “I thought I'd get a fire going for you,” Sebastian said, heading through from the kitchen.

  “We don't have any lighters,” she told him.

  “I think I'll manage.”

  Following him, she stopped in the doorway and watched as he crouched in front of the wood-burner and got to work.

  “Aren't you tired?” she asked finally.

  “I'm okay,” he replied. “Unless... I can leave if you prefer. I only thought -”

  “No,” she said quickly, filled with a sudden sense of panic at the idea of being left alone. “I mean, I understand if you need to sleep, but... No, please stay. I'd like you to.”

  Reaching into the oven, he arranged several logs and then added some scrunched-up newspaper.

  “You can't get it going like that,” she told him. “I tried, but you need -”

  Before she could finish, she saw that he'd got the newspaper burning, and to her surprise she realized that the fire seemed to actually be taking hold.

  “It just requires some practice,” he told her, closing the front of the oven and then pulling the lever on the side to open the vents. “You'll get the hang of it eventually. The key thing is dry wood, lots of air, and preferably several smaller logs to begin with, to help with the flow. I grew up doing this stuff.”

  “Huh,” she replied, impressed by the fact that he'd got the fire going so quickly. Heading over to join him, she held her hands in front of the oven's glass window, and she felt a shiver run through her body as the warmth began to reach her skin.

  A moment later, she heard a faint creak from above. She looked up at the ceiling, filled with dread.

  “I think that actually was the building,” Sebastian told her. “It's been cold all night and we just put the fire on, so there are bound to be a few sounds.” As he spoke, another creak could be heard, although this one was definitely coming from the chimney. “See?”

  “The things I saw last night,” she replied, still staring at the ceiling, “before I came out and met you... They were real, weren't they?”

  “I think so.”

  “There are two ghosts here. Two of the Olesun sisters.”

  “Are you scared?”

  She turned to him. “Shouldn't I be?”

  “Depends what you think they want,” he replied, getting to his feet and heading to the door. “You've been here, what, almost a week? They don't seem to have actively targeted you.”

  “The little girl scratched my face,” she pointed out.

  “But that was outside. That was on the other side of the yard.” He paused for a moment as he made his way to the next room and looked up at the ceiling. “It's also strange that she could actually touch you. That kind of physical contact isn't usually a feature of hauntings.”

  “And you're suddenly an expert?” she asked, although she immediately realized that she was perhaps being a little harsh. “I've got the scratches to prove it,” she continued. “Whatever else you think might have happened, she was definitely there and she definitely came for me.”

  Still looking up at the ceiling for a moment, Sebastian finally turned to her. “Then maybe she isn't a ghost.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  1979

  “No,” Inspector Dybendal said as he reached over and placed a hand on Elizabeth's shoulder, “you're not a murderer, and no-one is going to see it that way.”

  “I shot him,” she replied, with tears in her eyes as she stared down at her trembling hands. “Right in the chest.”

  “It was self-defense.”

  “I warned him, I swear...”

  “No-one has to hear about this, do they?” Elena asked, sitting on the other side of her eldest daughter. “If word gets out...”

  “Word isn't going to get out,” Dybendal replied. “As far as anyone else is concerned, Jonah Lund was shot and killed while trying to escape from the men who'd gone out to track him down. It's a perfectly believable story, no-one's going to challenge it. Hell, no-one's going to want to challenge it. The sooner the whole Lund mess is put to bed, the better. Besides, it's clear Lund was never going to come quietly. This is for the best, Elizabeth.”

  Still staring at her hands, Elizabeth found herself reliving the moment over and over again. She could still feel the way the rifle had jumped in her hands, and she could still see, in her mind's eye, the sight of Lund falling back in a shower of blood. She'd heard him grunt, too; he hadn't cried out, he hadn't screamed, but he'd grunted, and there'd been another sound too, as if she'd been able to hear bone being shatte
red.

  “In some ways,” Dybendal continued, “you're a hero -”

  “Don't say that,” Elizabeth replied, turning to him with horror in her eyes.

  “It's true.”

  “It's not true! I killed a man in cold blood!”

  “A bad man. A killer. A man who already hurt your sister.”

  Staring at him for a moment, Elizabeth finally looked back down at her hands.

  “Is it true?” Sara asked, standing in the doorway.

  Elena looked over at her. “Is what true?” she replied with a frown.

  “That Elizabeth's a hero.”

  “Go to the bathroom,” Elena replied. “You still have some blood on the side of your face.”

  “I knew you'd kill someone,” Sara continued, staring at Elizabeth. “I told you, remember? I saw it on your face the other day.”

  “Go to the bathroom!” Elena shouted.

  Taking a step back, shocked by her mother's tone, Sara loitered for a moment longer, listening to the adults talking, before turning and heading across the hallway. By the time she got to the top of the stairs, she was starting to feel as if something was lurking in her thoughts, something dark that was threatening to push through and fill her mind.

  “I used to hear these voices,” she remembered the man telling her by the river, on the day they first met. “They told me to do things.”

  Voices.

  “You betrayed him,” she heard her own voice saying suddenly, even though she hadn't meant to think anything at all. “You made a deal, and you broke it.”

  Instinctively she opened her mouth to reply, but she held back at the last moment.

  “He warned you what would happen if you went back on your word,” the voice continued. “He told you that he'd find a way to come back and punish you. I warned you, too, when you came to see me in the barn.”

  She shook her head.

  A moment later, she heard Kari coughing in one of the bedrooms.