The Farm

by Amy Cross

  “Thanks for letting me know.”

  Stepping back, Sara took a deep breath, although she knew that the hardest part of her plan was yet to come. “I'm going to go fetch Elizabeth now, okay? I'll only be a minute or two.”

  She waited for a reply.

  “Kari?”

  “Fine!” came the irritated response. “Fetch her, for all the good it'll do. She'll just tell you the same thing I'm telling you. This is stupid!”

  Turning and running to the other end of the barn, Sara stopped for a moment and looked back. She could see Kari's shadow on the side of the makeshift tarpaulin tent, silhouetted against the lamp. Everything was going perfectly, just the way the voice had promised, so she turned and ran all the way to the house before finding the window to Elizabeth's room and picking up some small stones from the ground. Taking careful aim, she threw the first stone, hitting the window right in the middle. When there was no response, she tried again, and again, until finally she saw a light flicker to life in the room.

  A moment later, the window opened and a weary-eyed Elizabeth appeared.

  “Quick!” Sara shouted, waving at her. “You have to come!”

  “What the hell are you doing?” Elizabeth asked.

  “This way! You have to come to the other side of the shed with me and Kari!” Without waiting for an answer, she turned and ran across the yard until she reached the corner of the barn. Stopping, she looked back, and a moment later she saw Elizabeth stepping out the front door.

  Sara giggled as she ran around to the other side of the barn. As soon as she saw the tent, with Kari's shadow still visible on the canvas, she slowed down and picked her way carefully to the storeroom.

  “Sara?” Kari called out from the tent. “Elizabeth, is that you?”

  “I remember when the three of you were born,” whispered the voice in her head. “When Kari could see, before Elizabeth was a murderer, and before you made friends with that horrible man down by the river. Don't you want all three of you to be happy again, the way you were?”

  Forcing herself to stay quiet, but unable to stifle an expectant smile, Sara stepped into the shadows and reached out, finally locating the ax she'd hidden earlier. Although it was heavy, she managed to lift the ax and turn it around, just as she saw Elizabeth heading around the far corner of the barn.

  “Hello?” her older sister called out, making her way to the tent. “Sara? Kari?”

  “In here!” Kari replied.

  “What the hell is going on?” Elizabeth asked, getting down onto her hands and knees and peering into the tent. “It's three in the morning!”

  “Sara brought me out here,” Kari replied. “She said something about wanting to make things the way they used to be.”

  Sighing, Elizabeth crawled all the way into the tent, until her silhouette could be seen with Kari's on the side. “This is ridiculous,” she muttered. “We're going back to the house, right now. You're in no fit state to be out here in the middle of the night.”

  Hurrying to the tent, Sara stared for a moment at the silhouettes, as Elizabeth began to help Kari out.

  “You know what to do,” the voice whispered in Sara's ear. “They'll thank you for it later.”

  Raising the ax high above her head, Sara stared wide-eyed at the silhouettes of her two sisters for a moment longer, before bringing the ax swinging down as hard as she could manage. She immediately felt it striking something under the tarpaulin, but she didn't have time to check; she pulled the ax back up, struggling for a moment to get it high enough as she heard a gurgled cry from inside the tent.

  “Elizabeth?” Kari said, as her silhouette could be seen leaning forward. “What the -”

  Crunching the ax down again, Sara felt another impact as the ax-head struck a skull, followed by a scream that lasted just a couple of seconds before being cut short. She knew she didn't have much time, so she raised the ax again and sliced down against the top of the tent; once again, she felt it hitting something beneath the tarpaulin, and this time the ax-head managed to slice all the way through a piece of fabric; when she pulled it up again, there was blood on the metal, but she knew she couldn't stop now.

  “They're on their way,” the voice told her. “Let them finish their journey.”

  “This is to make everything better again!” she shouted, before swinging the ax down again.

  For a fraction of a second, she saw a mangled silhouette rising up the side of the tent, accompanied by a stuttering gurgle. The silhouette seemed wrong somehow, as if it was partly human but with a huge section having been sliced away and other pieces hanging from strips of flesh and broken bone. The ax quickly fell again, hitting the silhouette and causing a loud grunting sound as one end of the tent collapsed.

  “More,” the voice whispered to Sara. “Don't stop.”

  Although her arms were tired, she knew what she had to do. Raising the ax again, she stared down at the tarpaulin and saw that there was still movement inside, as well as a low, whimpering sound, although the silhouettes no longer looked remotely human, even as they desperately tried to escape. Closing her eyes, Sara slammed the ax down again, then again, and then several more times until her arms could no longer take the strain. Letting out a gasp, she dropped the ax and stepped back, and finally she saw that nothing was moving under the tarpaulin.

  “Oh,” the voice continued, “that's even better than I ever imagined. You've more than made up for your betrayal, little girl, but there's still one more thing I need you to do.”

  Staring at the tent, Sara suddenly felt a sickening sense of horror as she realized her sisters were dead. Tears began to form in her eyes, and she felt as if all her blood was turning cold.

  “Stay strong,” the voice insisted. “You've done good work.”

  “Are they really...” Pausing, Sara took a step back. “Are they really dead?”

  “Of course they are.”

  With tears in her eyes, Sara began to realize the full enormity of what she'd just done. “And are they... Are they happier now, where they are?”

  “Where do you think they are, Sara?”

  “Heaven,” she replied. “That's what you told me. You said they'd be happier after they were dead, because they'd go to heaven and they wouldn't have to live with the pain I caused them. That's why I sent them there, because I wanted to make it up to them. I made them so sad here at the farm, I thought they'd be happier up there.”

  “Maybe they would be,” the voice continued, “but they're not in heaven. People don't get to go up there if they still have something to do down here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Have you never seen a ghost before?” the voice replied, with a hint of laughter.

  Spinning around, Sara looked at the darkness, terrified that she might see figures moving closer.

  “They're going to want their revenge first,” the voice told her. “They're coming for you, little girl. Your two sisters are going to want to make you pay.”

  Taking a step back, Sara realized with horror that she could see two silhouettes near the other end of the barn, and she recognized them immediately.

  “There's only one thing for you to do now,” the voice added. “Run! Hide or they'll get you!”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Today

  “So there was some newspaper coverage of the girls' deaths, then,” Paula said, holding up a faded old newspaper from 1979, with a headline about the funeral for Elizabeth, Kari and Sara Olesun. “I thought you said information was pretty much contained.”

  “It was,” Sebastian replied, as he continued to sort through another box on the other side of the garage. “They had to put something in the local paper, but there's always been a group of people in this town who think they know what's best for everyone. That story is a garbled mix of truth and lies.”

  “There's another photo,” Paula added, seeing a picture of Elizabeth, Kari and Sara. She felt a shudder pass through her body as she realized they were sta
nding in the yard of the farm, just in front of the house's main door. “They look so happy,” she added, trying to imagine the children when they were still alive. “I can't believe something so awful could happen in a place like...”

  Sebastian glanced over at her. “In a place like this?”

  “One of the reasons my father brought us here was to get us away from all the crime in London,” she replied, before correcting herself: “Well, actually, he brought us here so he could try one of his idiotic schemes and become an organic farmer, but the crime thing was one of the excuses he used.”

  “There's crime everywhere in the world,” Sebastian told her, pulling out more newspapers from one of the boxes. “The problem with a place like Bondalen is that there are people who think they control everything. Sure, there are police around, but there are powerful people who really have the final say on things. The stories in the local papers are just what they want people to believe. The truth is nastier, and it happens behind the scenes.”

  “You're starting to sound like a conspiracy nut,” she pointed out, looking back down at the newspaper. “Do you not think Jonah Lund killed those girls?”

  “I've just lived here long enough to know how it goes,” he replied, “but to be honest, I've got no interest in challenging the status quo. I just want to do my job, get my pay each month, and one day get the hell out.”

  “Where will you go?”

  “No idea. The city, maybe. There are more opportunities in Oslo.”

  “For a plow-driver?”

  “I'd like to think I could do something a little more interesting.”

  “Here's one about the fire,” she said, holding up another old newspaper. “Looks like the leper hospital burned down not long after the girls were killed.”

  “Doesn't help us much,” he pointed out. “I don't even know what we're looking for. I guess I was just hoping that something would give us a push in the right direction.”

  “It still might,” she said, grabbing another box and pulling it open, before picking out another newspaper. “Not these ones, though,” she added. “This paper's from 1950.”

  “My grandfather really didn't like throwing anything away,” Sebastian admitted. “I'm sure there are some even older ones around.”

  “Wow,” she continued, seeing a photo on the front page. “That's the farmhouse. It looks almost exactly the same!”

  “What did you expect? Time moves slowly around these parts.”

  “Looks like someone used to keep pigs there,” she said, trying to read the text under the photo before giving up. “Damn it, I really need to learn Norwegian.”

  “There are some more boxes in the basement,” Sebastian replied, getting to his feet and heading over to the door. “I'll see what I can find.”

  Once he was gone, Paula found herself still looking through the old newspapers from the 1950s, even though she knew there was unlikely to be anything of use. She was searching for old photos of the area, hoping that she might be able to recognize the farmhouse or a few of the other buildings, although for the most part she simply came across pages of text she didn't understand, alongside photos of people or pictures of fields. From the images alone, she got the impression that not too much really happened in the area. It felt good to take her mind off things, though, and after a while she took out her phone, hoping that she could start translating a few of the articles.

  And then, picking up another paper, she saw him.

  The text under the photo confirmed it: Jonah Lund. He looked young, maybe just a teenager, and the image staring out of the paper's front page seemed like a police mugshot. Using her phone to translate the beginning of the story, she realized she was right:

  Jonah Lund, 18, of Bondalen was finally arrested on the night to Monday, after a farmer reported seeing a suspicious figure in his fields. Lund has been wanted by police for some time in connection to a pair of deaths in the area, and he is now being held at a psychiatric facility while a decision is made on his future.

  Flicking through to the next page of the newspaper, she found more photos of Lund, including one of him being led along a street by two police officers. Just as she was about to turn to the next page, however, she noticed something on Lund's right hand. Using her photo's camera, she zoomed in and realized that she could just about make out some lettering.

  “What the hell?” she whispered, getting to her feet. She stared at the image for a moment longer, before turning and hurrying to the door, almost tripping over one of the other boxes in the process.

  As soon as she got outside, she hurried to the front door of Sebastian's house, before spotting the basement door hanging wide open.

  “Hey!” she shouted, hurrying down and finding him pulling some more boxes away from a cupboard. “I found something!”

  “About the sisters?”

  “Not directly, but -” Handing him the paper, she waited for him to pick up on what she'd noticed. “Well?”

  “It's Lund,” he replied. “Great, but Paula, we already knew what he looked like, and the -”

  “Not his face,” she continued, pointing at one particular spot on the photo. “His hand!”

  “What about his -” He stopped suddenly, finally seeing what she meant.

  “17019,” she read out loud, before turning to see the shocked look on Sebastian's face. “It's a tattoo. He must have been a patient before this photo was taken, but not just any patient.” She paused, as a shiver ran up her spine. “17019. Jonah Lund was the ghost we saw in the forest last night, the one who'd escaped from the leper hospital!”

  Grabbing the newspaper for a moment, he read the first few blocks of text.

  “I'm right, aren't I?” Paula continued. “It was him last night!”

  “You're right,” he replied, turning to her, “but that doesn't make a lot of sense. Jonah Lund was a lot of things, but he sure wasn't a leper.”

  “Then what was he doing there?” Paula asked. “What the hell was going on up at that place?”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  1950

  “No!”

  “Jonah, calm down!”

  Twisting his whole body around in an attempt to get free, Jonah Lund let out a cry of pain as he felt the manacles digging into his flesh. He was young and athletic still, with a wiry body that was used to fighting and running; he strained at the ties that held him back, feeling them starting to stretch, and he felt absolutely certain that he'd break them if only he could find an ounce more strength. At just nineteen years old, he'd spent his life causing trouble and then trying to avoid the consequences, and he hadn't yet accept that today was the day the running stopped.

  One of the orderlies stepped forward and pushed firmly on his chest, forcing him down onto the bed while another orderly quickly attached the manacles' main brace to a metal frame. As soon as they were done, both orderlies stepped back a few paces, as if they weren't quite able to hide the fact that they were scared of the new patient. Big, bulky men with plenty of experience at the hospital, it had been a long time since a patient had caused them to even break a sweat, but now they glanced at each other nervously, as if each was thinking: “Thank God we got that one tied down at last.”

  “You can go,” Doctor Steiner told them. “Wait outside in case I need you. And one of you get the tattoo kit. I want this one marked as soon as possible.”

  As the two men left, Steiner made his way to the foot of the bed and watched as Jonah struggled with the manacles, still trying desperately to get free. He couldn't help but smile as he saw the young man's sheer determination, and as he watched his patient's strained muscles, he began to wonder if eventually he might do himself an injury. Time, he felt, to intervene.

  “What exactly are you trying to achieve?” he asked finally.

  Ignoring the question, Jonah tried to kick the bed's metal frame apart, with enough force that the manacle around his right ankle began to dig into his flesh.

  “Jonah,” the doctor continued, s
napping his fingers. “Come on, look at me.”

  Letting out a gasp of pain, Jonah paused for a moment, as if he was finally listening, before unleashing his strongest kick yet, rattling the entire bed. He cried out again, this time at the pain in his foot.

  “Do you think this is going to work?” the doctor continued, forcing himself to stay and sound calm. “You're a strong young man, Jonah, but we've had strong young men at the hospital before and we've learned to deal with them. You might cause us a few extra headaches, but you certainly aren't going to break your way out using sheer force. There's -”

  “This is a leper hospital!” Jonah shouted, kicking the bed even harder. “Get me out of here! I don't want to turn into one of them!”

  “A leper hospital?” the doctor replied, raising an amused eyebrow. “Is that what you think?”

  “I saw!” Jonah screamed, his face turning red now as panic built in his chest. He kicked the bed again, but it was clear that he'd started to realize he needed a different approach. “When your men dragged me in, I saw where we were! Why the hell did you bring me to a goddamn leper hospital?”

  “You were found guilty of hurting that little boy, Jonah.”

  “This is a leper hospital!” Jonah yelled, so loud that the veins on the side of his neck seemed more prominent. “I don't belong in a leper hospital!”

  “You're not in a leper hospital. Jonah, we tell certain small lies to people. The ordinary inhabitants of Bondalen don't need to know the truth about what we do here, so we give them something more palatable, we tell them this place is a leper hospital. They believe it, which is good. Plus, the lie about having lepers here means that we're less likely to be bothered by unexpected visitors. After all, no-one wants to come anywhere near a leper hospital, do they?”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Jonah shouted, filled with a cold white fury that seemed as if it might explode again at any moment. “What the hell is this place, if it's not a leper hospital?”