Like everyone else here, I live in a small town. It’s a depressing place, as most are nowadays. It never had an economy other than agriculture, but that died out. The soil just dried up. Crops failed, and the people did too. The unemployment rate hit damn near 80%. There were no other jobs and nothing else to do. Most folks just numbed the pain with alcohol.
The opioid epidemic destroyed us. The town got flooded with heroin a couple years ago, and some gave in. There was nothing else for them but drinking and depression. They gave it a chance. They walk the streets, eyes of glass, seeing but not taking in the world around them.
Other than that, there’s an abandoned main street, a few lightly used truck-stop amenities near the interstate, 3 Dollar Generals, a bar, and an incredibly sketchy motel. Population, 464. It’s surrounded by fields that used to be beautiful. The huge acreages that people bought in the 1800s when land was cheap and life was good lie vacant. The exit to get here is unmarked, save for a heavily graffitied sign declaring our population. You can see the whole town from that spot.
Around where the town ends, across from our bar, there’s an old barn. It’s well preserved, even though it’s been abandoned as long as anyone remembers. It doesn’t look abandoned. It looks like a snapshot of what everywhere looked like in the old days. Even the land around it is still fertile. It sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the decay. You have to pass it to get to and back from the highway, so every traveler making a pit stop drives right past it. Well, they do on the way in.
A good number of people come right through town, maybe one a day. Pretty much anyone with an empty tank of gas and an emptier stomach can convince themselves to make a quick pit stop in some random village in the middle of nowhere. It’s miles to anywhere else.
Except for the truckers. The truckers never stop. They know.
Most lost travelers get freaked out around here. They were hoping for a standard overgrown truck wash, but they got… something.They end up a little shocked by the place. You would too, if you saw it. It’s the exact opposite of a sight to behold. We don’t make ourselves very tourist friendly. The bravest ones stop and get some food, but not much else. Some folks only see the heroin addicts sitting on the porch of boarded up businesses, staring at the car with cold, dead eyes before they decide to pull a U-turn and get the hell out of dodge. I don’t blame them.
But they all have to pass the barn. They all do.
No one’s quite sure why, but every lost soul drives up the dirt road leading up to it. Those in here on business, truckers who restock the stores, are able to resist. It only comes for the travelers. They stop for a second, before slowly moving towards the barn. They move like they’re trying to leave, but they can’t. They move like they’re encountering resistance. But something pulls on their wheels. They drive up, park, and walk right into the barn. If they’re in a group, they let the door slam after each one.
Something happens in there. No one knows what, and no one asks. A sound emanates, a low hum that permeates the town. Everyone hears it, and we know what has happened. It lasts about an hour. Sometimes, they walk right out, just as they walked in. They get into the car, and just start driving as fast as they can, away, as far as possible. But most never leave. A tow truck comes in and drags any empty cars to the dump every other Monday.
Everyone in town has a story about warning someone coming through. Usually, the unlucky visitor dismisses you. That’s understandable. Some people believe you, and then get pulled in anyways. I’ve told many, many people, but it never worked. Eventually you stop talking. You learn that the barn takes whatever it wants.
Today, a little girl tried to warn someone. She told him the whole deal, even about how his car would get towed and he would be left stranded. He blew her off.
That one made it out, but his car was already far, far away. A look that was equal parts sadness and terror crossed his face. It froze, before contorting into a huge grin, like fish-hooks at the corner of his mouth. He just started laughing. He laughed until his lungs gave out. And then he walked back in.