I live alone in a converted barn across from an old farmhouse, with a small dirt path that connects the two. The farm used to belong to my grandparents, but it was divided into two parts when they died. My mum’s sister, my aunt Claire and uncle Gary took the house with my cousin, who has since moved across state. My mum inherited the barn, which I rent from her.
The whole area is susceptible to flooding, which made it near-impossible to run the farm. Most of the animals had been gone for years now with just one cow and a small chicken coop left. Covid hit us hard - we lost my aunt to the disease. That was pretty much the final nail in the coffin for the farm since she was the one who did all the work while my uncle spent most of his time drinking.
This led to a battle over the deed to the house. My aunt and uncle weren’t married, so my mum insisted that the house was hers. I honestly couldn’t tell you who was in the right, but we were all grieving, so no one was in the best state, mentally. My uncle ended up selling the cow, which struck up a huge blow-out between him and my mum, and eventually Gary agreed to move in with my cousin.
When the lockdown measures were introduced, people were crying out for new homes, so my mum thought it’d be a good idea to rent out the house. As I couldn’t work or pay rent, it was decided that I’d look after the chickens until Covid was over. My new neighbour moved in almost right away. He was… odd. Each morning as I tended to the chickens, he’d stand at the back door of the farmhouse, slurping a cup of coffee as he watched me work. And then came the rain.
The water filled the fields inch by inch, engulfing the area around the farm, leaving only an hourglass shape. There was a few feet of land left around each building and the path was still clear enough that I could walk from the barn to the coop at the back of the farmhouse.
The next morning as I collected the eggs, he was there again, staring at me. I felt like a prisoner being watched by a guard. He looked suspicious of me, and I definitely had my suspicions about him, but I thought I’d give a peace offering. I mean, we were pretty much trapped now so it was a given that he was going to be my only form of human interaction for a while. I couldn’t take the eggs to the market and there was no use letting them go off, so I held out a basket with half a dozen.
He immediately rested his coffee on the side and reached for them. There was plenty of space on the handle for him to grab, but instead he brushed my hand, trying to play it off like an accident. He reached into the basket and pulled out two eggs. It creeped me out, but lockdown made people lonely I supposed, so I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.
“You can take more,” I told him.
“These will do… for now,” he replied, suggestively. I gave a nervous laugh and skipped away before it got weirder.
Later that night as I tried to pass excruciating boredom, I began to hear creaking noises around the barn. I didn’t think much of it - old barns tend to squeak. But the noise persisted as I tried to sleep. Eventually though, I managed to drift off.
That was until I heard the unmistakable sound of the front door slamming shut. I instantly thought of my neighbour. Country girls are tougher than they look, and not a chance in hell was I gonna feel threatened in my own home by that creep. I reached for the baseball bat beside my bed and stormed to the door. Grabbing the handle, I pulled, but it was locked. It was a solid door with a pretty hefty lock, so no one was getting in without a key. Coming to my senses, I laughed and went back to bed.
Morning rose and hunger set in. I slumped down to the kitchen and brewed some coffee as I started to prepare breakfast. I reached into the basket for two eggs, and as I cracked one into the pan, I came to a haunting realisation - the basket was empty.
I took six eggs at collection yesterday, my neighbour took two, so there should be two left. My legs shook - both through fear and adrenaline. The authorities wouldn’t be able to make it through the flood, so I’d have to take measure into my own hands. I left the barn and stormed up the path towards the farmhouse. I stepped up onto the porch and before I had the chance to knock, I slipped, falling flat onto the wood.
I tried to push myself up, but slipped again from the thick liquid that pooled beneath me. Holding my hand towards my face, I saw red. It was blood. I resisted the urge to scream, burying my mouth into my bicep. I began to inch back, tiptoeing to try not to make a sound. Looking around, I saw the blood trailing over to the chicken coop.
I looked up to the heavens, praying for strength before advancing towards the hutch. There, piled up with their heads cut off, the chickens had all been killed.
“Thanks for the eggs,”
A familiar unsettling voice croaked from behind me. I slowly turned to see my neighbour in his usual spot, casually leaning against the door frame, coffee in hand. There was no need to hold in my scream any more - I let out a distressing shriek causing him to drop his mug. With the distraction, I ran.
He followed after me. I got to the barn and closed the door, bolting it shut behind me. I felt another wave of fear as it hit me - he’d been in the barn before - and he managed to get into the coop without breaking it - he must have had a key. I ran up to my room and retrieved my bat and my phone as my neighbour pounded on the door as relentless as my heartbeat. I called my mom.
“Mom, what keys did you give the new tenant?” I screamed.
“I - I don’t know. What’s wrong?”
“Mom, did you give that psycho the key to the barn?”
“No - I - Gary gave him the keys, but I told him to make sure he took the barn key off. What’s going on?” she fretted, but I didn’t have time to answer. I hung up and dialled my uncle Gary to ask him the same question. The pounding stopped.
There was long vibration, followed by a fumbling sound emanating from the kitchen. As the sound stopped, the dial tone pierced my ears. I crept towards the kitchen and like a scene from the most horrific slasher, my uncle Gary stood, gripping a knife covered in blood.
I shot to the front door and unbolted it, but before I had chance to escape, I felt my hair being pulled back. I tried swinging the bat, but Gary just tore it out of my hands and tossed it to the ground before throwing me down.
I panicked, thinking surely my fate was sealed, but then the door swung open.
My neighbour stood in the doorway with the sun beaming behind him, illuminating him like a knight in shining armour. Reacting quickly, he picked up the discarded bat. Gary moved towards him, but he avoided the attack, stepping to the side and swiftly striking Gary in the temple. As my uncle fell down, my new hero grabbed me by the hand and this time, it was welcomed.
He pulled me up and we both ran to the farmhouse. My neighbour called the police as I kept watch. They responded a lot faster than I was expecting - probably because half the world was on lockdown. From the window, I could see the red and blue lights reflecting off the water on the ground, but the police just stood at its border, too scared to get wet. It wasn’t long after that that my uncle emerged from the barn looking defeated. With his arms in the air, he began wading through the flood towards them, handing himself over.
I’ll be honest, I almost felt sorry for him. Looking back I don’t think he actually intended to hurt me, but with the state he was in, who knows what would’ve happened if my neighbour wasn’t there. He was sentenced to one year for battery and is now back living with my cousin, who I still keep in contact with.
We have a restraining order on my Uncle Gary, but I do see him occasionally drifting through the background when I’m on Zoom with my cousin. He’s apparently quit drinking and has gotten his life back on track, but I’m still not ready to forgive him just yet. Maybe one day I will - it’s quite hard to blame him entirely - grief can turn people into animals.