When I was a kid I was scared of the dark. I’d lay in bed all night analyzing the creeks and moans of our hundred year old farm house. I’d think about the old headstone in the far field and the number of people that must have lived and died within these walls over the years. Movies would play in my head of ghosts and demons crawling up from the stone cellar clawing their way up the staircase and into my room. My mother told me none of those things were real and that I had nothing to worry about.
I’d let my eyes wander into the pitch black void my closets became when the lights went out, thinking about what horrors could lurk in those shadows. The voices of my parents talking down the hall transformed into the moans of the dead looking to retake their home. Retreating under the covers was the only protection I could find. Huddled up and exhausted from the constant fight or flight responses brought on by every little note this old home could play I’d lay awake praying for daylight. Again, my mother ensured me that none of those things were real and that I was safe.
Eventually, my fear of the supernatural dwindled to make way for new anxieties. Nightmares of the woodstove causing the house to burn down, thoughts about having to jump from my second floor window onto the icy ground nearly fifteen feet down. Imaging laying in the snowy grass with both of my legs broken while I wait for firetrucks or ambulances to make the thirty minute drive to my families property. That’s assuming anyone would even call. These visions extended into the day. I’d dread doing any work on the farm, constant images of my father or brothers being mangled by farm equipment painted the canvas in my mind with blood and guts. My father promised that as long as we were carful and did thing safely nothing bad would happen.
As I grew older nothing changed other than the thing that scared me most. I had a perpetual feeling of impending doom whenever I was around the farm. The remote location and aging buildings crafted the perfect set for any series of horrific events and my ever turning, creative mind could write scripts from the tiniest of mishaps.
Being homeschooled didn’t help, I had little to no experience within the outside world. We didn’t travel into town much, my oldest brother and my father would take the farm truck in once a week for supplies but I only went to town for doctor or dentist appointments. My whole life was the farm. I dreamed about being in the city where nothing could go wrong and help was always right next door. No one in my family left the farm. My older brother lived in the guest house and my sister and her boyfriend lived in a camper near the field while everyone helped them build a house.
I looked up to Robin, my sisters boyfriend, he knew things about the outside world. He’d talk about his home town and the people he knew. My father would always say if they spent a week in the farm they’d never go back to town. But none of them ever came to visit.
One fresh spring day day I was tasked with checking the mail. A big brown envelop was dangling from the mail box and to my surprise it was addressed to me. Inside was my high school equivalency diploma. My mother had sent in my paperwork and test scores and I was granted the equivalent of grade 12. My Dad was ok with me being home schooled, but he didn’t like the idea of me getting my diploma. He credited the farm for all our learning and didn’t think the Government tests were important.
My desire to apply for college was met with harsh words from my father. You cannot leave he said, there’s no life for you in the city. We have everything we need here. He begged me to stay, warned me of the things I’d experience and the irrevocable sins that were common place is their society.
But, against his wishes I packed my things and had my mother drive me into town. I took a bus into the city and applied for jobs, attended school and even made friends.
At first, everything seemed grand. But as time progressed I realized the cracks and whispers of the old farm house had city slicker cousins in the form of sirens and tires pounding the pavement at all hours. The all consuming darkness of the farm was replaced with the tight spaces of inner city alleyways. My days were spent working to the point of exhaustion, followed by mind numbing binges of television to distract myself from mounting bills and an ever increasing workload. Hobbies snuffed out by chores. Less time for friends, less calls home, living took a back seat as the cost of being alive enclosed me in a cubical of misery, torturing me with thirty second clips of beach vacations and luxury cars. Taunting me, if you just work a little harder.
I would dream of the simple days on the farm working hay in the summer sun or feeding horses handfuls of oats. Frightened of the things that could happen and what might be lurking in the shadows, I didn’t realize the real monsters were yet to come. They swell up inside your soul clawing their way into your consciousness engulfing everything you feel. They take the shape of regret and guilt, serving as permanent reminders that although tomorrow is a new day today can never be undone. Shackled by unbreakable chains of debt I’m forced to serve my time in this fleshy husk manning the machine, stoking the ever burning fires of society. Even if my contribution is nothing greater than a flickering ember drifting too far from the flame, doomed to cool and dull. Left to slowly drift down towards the bed of ashes.
As I tuck myself into bed and turn out the lights, fears of deadlines and layoffs send me into spiral nearly impossible to recover from.
I’d trade this for the demons in the cellar anytime.