Farmer's Grove

by CJ Puccia

Hopefully Mrs. Johnson will answer. I'll just make a little small talk and see how it goes."

  Fourteen

  We listened to the chanting long into the night. We lay awake in bed even after it stopped. The sun was bright in the sky by the time we got up. In the light of day it was had to believe what we had seen and heard during the night. I made coffee and toast, dreading the call I needed to make.

  "Well, here goes nothing," I said to Tim as I dialed the Johnson's phone number. It rang five times, and then a recorded message came on. After the beep I left a short message. "Hello, this is Katie Taylor. My husband Tim and I bought your house and we have a few questions. Please call us back as soon as you can." I hung up after giving my phone number. "I guess we'll just wait to hear from them."

  In the afternoon Ron called again. Tim saw the caller ID and hesitated before answering. I paced around the room impatiently, listening. "Hello? Hi Ron. Yes, I'm feeling much better. No, I haven't had a migraine in months. Sorry I had to leave. Next Friday? I'll have to let you know. I've got a project that I need to finish up in the next few days. Alright, I'll call you back as soon as I know." He hung up and turned to me.

  "Let me guess. Another Men's Club meeting?"

  "Bingo. Now what?"

  "I have no idea. We could go away for a few days."

  "Then what? Do we get out of town every time there's a meeting?"

  "Maybe."

  "And what do we do about the chanting in the woods?"

  "We don't actually know they are even related. We've just assumed they were."

  "True, but what else could it be? It's too odd to be another fluke.

  "I'm calling the Johnson's again." This time Mrs. Johnson answered. I chose my words carefully, but I got right to the point. There was silence on her end. "Mrs. Johnson? I know it sounds crazy, but I'm a little scared. There's something strange going on here."

  Mrs. Johnson spoke so softly that I could barely make out her words. "That's why we moved. It was bad enough what they did to my husband, but they did it right in our woods."

  "Mrs. Johnson, is it a ritual," I started, but she cut me off.

  "I've already said too much. I need to hang up."

  "Can I just ask you?" The phone went dead. I was shaking like a leaf. "They are doing it in our woods!" Tim had turned ghostly pale.

  "This is like some bad horror film. What should we do?"

  "I had an idea the other night. Maybe I should invite some of the ladies over and somehow broach the subject."

  "Think you can get them to talk?"

  "I can try." So I decided to contact Craig's wife. She was the perfect person to call since I had never thanked her properly for the fruit basket.

  Craig answered. "Hi, Craig? This is your new neighbor Katie Taylor. I was wondering if your wife is home."

  "My wife?" He sounded surprised.

  "I'm thinking about having a little get together with a few of the ladies. I haven't met anyone since we moved in, so I thought I'd extend an invitation, but I don't know anyone. Maybe your wife could give me a few names and phone numbers."

  "She's not here."

  "Ok, could you ask her to give me a call?"

  "I guess I could," he said. I gave him my phone number and hung up.

  "That was weird."

  "What do you mean, Katie?'

  "It was awkward. He sounded suspicious or something."

  Fifteen

  So while I waited for Craig's wife to call back, I started planning a menu. I dug through the last unpacked boxes looking for my grandmother's china. I wanted to make a good impression, after all.

  There was still no phone call after a week. I checked my phone for missed calls every time I took a shower or stepped out into the yard. I tried to work, but I was preoccupied with the mystery that surrounded me.

  I talked Tim into walking through the woods with me, searching for any signs of people or rituals. I had been a little afraid to go out into the woods after the torches. We didn't find a thing.

  That night I heard the chanting again. I had had enough. I quietly slipped on a sweatshirt and some jeans, careful not to wake Tim. I tiptoed downstairs without turning on any lights. I slid on my loafers and felt around on the kitchen cabinet for the flashlight. I slowly slid open the patio door. I saw the torches disappear into the woods as I stepped outside. There was a half moon, so the lawn was dimly lit. I stayed in the shadows as much as I could until I reached the woods.

  As I entered the woods I could hear the chanting. I stayed to the south of the sound, carefully picking my way through the brush as quietly as I could. The chanting grew louder and I heard someone sobbing.

  I was scared to death, but determined to get to the bottom of this. I didn't think anything would happen to me. The men were the targets. I needed to do this for Tim. So I crept along, trying to stay hidden. Trying not to make a noise.

  I stepped on a twig, which snapped loudly under my foot. I stopped in my tracks, holding my breath, but the chanting continued.

  I could finally see the lighted area through the trees. There were a dozen hooded figures standing in a circle. Their red cloaks rustled in the breeze. Their heads were bowed as they chanted over and over. I couldn't make out their words. It was the eeriest thing I had ever seen. It was surreal and ominous watching these people. I couldn't see what they were doing, but two of the figures moved into the center of the circle, where I saw a shirtless man huddled on the ground crying.

  I was suddenly filled with anger. The anguished man was genuinely afraid of this group. How dare they do this? And on my property! I turned my flashlight on and rushed into the clearing. The chanting stopped as the crowd turned towards me. One of the hoods fell back and long blonde hair spilled out. It was a woman!

  I searched the faces of the hooded figures. They were ALL women! One of them approached me slowly, a folded red cloth in her extended hand. "We've been waiting for you." It was a hooded robe. In her other hand I saw a flash of steel. In the flickering flames of the torches it took me a moment to identify the large meat cleaver. There was blood on the blade! I looked back to the woman's face and heard screaming, loud and guttural, like a wounded animal. The screaming echoed from the trees. The noise filled the clearing, enveloping me.

  I fell to my knees and felt the damp earth through my jeans. I closed my eyes and lowered myself down, as if in slow motion. I could smell the rich soil as my face touched the ground, and realized the screams were my own.