Recently I found out that I have, or had, a grandfather on my mothers side. I know that sounds dumb, obviously everyone does. But what I mean is that I had always assumed that no one really knew who he was. My mother never spoke about him and my uncle was dismissive of the topic. I think it was their secrecy that fuelled my curiosity about him.
I managed to find out that he lived on a farm in Missouri and, with the help of some phone directories, I was actually able to find his address! I went to see him as soon as I could.. but, what I found was strange. The farmhouse was completely abandoned with everything still in place. An old tractor sat as junk metal half way out in a field and the front door to the house was unlocked.
Inside was like a time capsule. A coffee mug and newspaper sat under a layer of dust on the kitchen table, bed linens were moth eaten but still largely there. I called out knowing I would receive no answer and began to nosily poke around. I know that maybe I shouldn’t have, but I was this man’s grandchild so I didn’t see the harm.
The old nick nacks were interesting and I spent way too long looking through old photographs. That’s when I came across the box of letters. After reading the first one I knew something unusual had happened here.
It read:
This farm has been in our family for three generations. Started off farming cattle, but something kept eating them and when raising cows became more akin to feeding the local wildlife we switched to farming crops. Corn, soybeans and cotton mostly, depending on the season. That seemed to calm things down.
Most days I wasted shooting at inanimate objects, or anything that I thought moved, and moonshining. I met my wife at church back when I still had faith. God she was beautiful, a natural blonde with rosy cheeks and a talent for sewing. That woman could mend anything. We had two kids, Louis and Everlyn, I never got to tell them, but they were great kids. I would have liked for Louis to take over the farm one day.
However, regrettably, I was a different person back then, young and stupid. I thought I was tough and by the time I came around it was too late. My family was long gone. I was a mean drunk and I drank often. I have so many regrets, there are some mistakes that there’s no forgiveness for as the scars run too deep.
My kids refuse contact with me, I doubt I’ll ever hear from them again. Especially now. It gets lonely sometimes, there’s a lot of work to do for one person and at night well.. At night you stay indoors on the farm. Don’t open that door for no voices or commotion you hear. Just drink until you don’t hear ‘em. Anyway, it was the middle of February, 1943, the snow was on its way to melting off and I had work to get done in preparation for the next season.
I had spent the day out mending fences, didn’t want no trespassers, and when I got back to the house I could tell something was off. The chickens were going berserk and my horse anxiously turned around on me more than once making it clear to me that she was spooked. Ahead of us the barn door was slightly ajar.
Initially I thought maybe I had left it open by mistake and a coyote or bear had wandered in so I grabbed my shotgun then went to investigate. I nudged the door open cautiously with the barrel of the gun and peered inside. Sunlight filtered in through the cracks between the timber in slivers, creating an array of intermittent light into the dim interior.
Nothing seemed out of place. All the tools still hung on the walls and I was certain that everything was messy in the same way I had left it, not messy as if something had rummaged through. It took me a moment to notice the rust coloured smears in the dust and as I looked closer I realized they were blood.
That gave me the willies. Not too many animals creep into a barn bleeding to hide. I reckon I was so tense I could have crushed walnuts with my ass. I removed the safety on my gun and spoke up. “Are you going to come out, or am I going to start shooting until I find you.”
No response.
I chose to hold off for a moment and instead stepped carefully, tracking the blood trail to see if I could get an angle on my intruder. When I felt I was close I followed it with my eyes only, didn’t want to get too near, and came to find the unwelcome visitor crouched at the back behind some feed barrels.
There was an old mirror toward the back there, it was tarnished and cracked, but through it I could see him lean back to watch me approach. He was young, late teens. If I had to guess I would have said maybe 18-19, though all youngins look about the same when you get to my age so it was hard to tell.
However, what I could say for certain, was that he held a sword in his left hand and was ready to attack. That surprised me somewhat, I hadn’t seen anyone carrying a sword since the wars, and even then it was rare as most were bayonets instead. Either way, not willing to risk it, I decided to take aim. “Drop the weapon kid, only chance I’ll give ya.” I warned.
A look of confusion crossed his face, then annoyance as he spotted the mirror and realization dawned. However, he made no move to follow instruction so I let off a warning shot. The bullet hit near him, ricocheting off the steel barrel beside him and splintering the wooden pillar ahead.
His expression then was one of pure shock, as if he had never before known of a gun. He covered his ears from the sound and I supposed that was probably enough to scare him. “Come out.” I repeated and this time I could see him think. Weighing up his options for a moment before moving.
“Alright.. Just.. Don’t do that again. I don’t mean to harm you.” When he spoke his voice was strange. Not un-American exactly, but softer than expected with slightly rolled r’s. It was almost similar to German, but I had heard German accents before and this wasn’t it. Moreover the English was so American in expression that it confused me, I truly couldn’t tell what it was though I assumed it was foreign.
“Easy does it. Come out slowly, hands up. No sword.” I instructed.
My directions seemed to distinctly bother him but he followed the orders carefully. He allowed the sword to drop from his hand and limped slightly as he stood to face me with his hands raised. Looking at him then I assumed he was some kind of transient. He was too thin, covered in dirt and blood which trickled slowly down his side to drip onto the ground.
His clothes were unusual to say the least, those of fancy folk you see in museums, only entirely worn out, torn and dirty. I wondered if he stole them. Additionally he had messy dark hair which covered his right eye and wore one long glove. It covered his right hand and most of his arm, even so, I could still tell it was heavily bruised.
“What’s your name son?” I asked now.
He hesitated and so I raised the gun. I heard him draw a sharp breath in as he squared up expecting to be shot. “It’s Eric.” He stated finally through his teeth.
“Well, Eric, where are you from?”
Again he took a moment to think, “Georgia.” He lied poorly.
“That so? That’s just north of here right?”
“Yes.”
I couldn’t help but laugh, I was sure he didn’t even know where Georgia was. “It’s in the south, boy.” I informed him and he tensed. I could tell he was nervous as he glanced down at his sword. “Uh-uh. Leave it.” I told him firmly.
“If you’re going to kill me, just do it. Don’t play games.” He snapped back.
That was a bit extreme. I realized then that he was more afraid than I had initially thought. In fact, I wasn’t sure if he’d even taken another breath since the first. “You can breathe. You’re alright.” I assured now.
“Am I?” He asked bitterly, eyeing me with suspicion as I slowly lowered the gun.
“It looks like you could use some help. But I don’t want to hear anymore lies alright?”
“I’m fine. I don’t need help.” Eric muttered. He reminded me of myself when I was younger, I didn’t need help either. However, the color draining from his face made it clear that he was close to passing out and I was just beginning to wonder how much longer he would hold up when he fell.
***
While he was out I called in my neighbor, Josie, to check him over and patch him up. She was a widowed nurse, and a good friend, so I trusted her.
“The kid is pretty banged up, Robert, did you beat him?” She asked me sternly.
“What? No!” I answered innocently, “He just showed up in the barn like that.”
She eyed me off for a long moment, staring directly into my soul before she seemed to believe me. “Alright. You want me to call the sheriff’s office?”
“Nah, I don’t need them cops coming around here poking through my stuff.”
“What will you do then?”
“I’ll talk to him when he wakes up. I could use a farm hand for a bit.” I grinned.
“Make sure you pay him fairly then. I’ll bring around a pie in a couple days alright?” Josie had a unyeilding way with words that made it difficult to argue.
“Yes ma’am.” I agreed, “And ahhhh… Thank you. For you know. I’m not much of a doctor.”
“You’re welcome! Call me if he gives you any trouble. I’ll come right over and give him a piece of my mind.” She assured me.
I couldn’t help but smile at that. What a woman.
Anyway, I reckon the boy didn’t wake up for another day or two. I found his cane in the barn, and hid the sword, but other than that he seemed to have nothing else with him. I was sitting in the kitchen reading the newspaper when I heard the floorboards creak and looked up to see him standing in the doorway.
“‘Bout time you got up.” I commented as I resumed reading. Truthfully he had startled me, creeping up so quietly like that. If the house hadn’t been on my side I doubt I would have noticed him approach at all.
He didn’t say anything and after a moment I realized he wasn’t going to. He just stood uneasily waiting, as if he wasn’t sure what to do. “You don’t talk much do you?” I commented, “Well don’t just stand there. Come, sit down and have some breakfast. There’s eggs, bread, cheese and oranges. Take your pick.”
“Why.” He demanded.
“Because you look like you haven’t eaten in days.” I answered simply.
“No. I mean, why help me?” He asked more quietly as he picked at his bandages and avoided my gaze.
I immediately felt awkward, “It’s just what you do. You see someone that needs help, you help them.” I grumbled. I didn’t want to elaborate and tell him about my journey to ‘being a better person’ or any of that kind of nonsense. Those struggles are something a man keeps to himself.
“I don’t understand.”
“Yeah well, it’s not for free, so don’t you worry about that. You owe me at least a week’s work on the farm.”
“I don’t know anything about farm work.”
“I’ll teach you.” I assured, “Now eat, you’ll need your strength.”
It was odd, but for a moment I thought he was going to sit on the floor. So I pushed out the chair opposite me with my foot for him to take instead and he finally moved to join me. He ate like a starved dog, went through half a dozen eggs and an entire loaf of bread, all without any kind of flavoring, not even salt.
When he was done he spoke, “Where’s my sword?”
“Hidden somewhere safely. Consider it a security payment until you work off your debt.”
“Security payment?” He asked, confused.
“You know. So that you don’t run off.”
“Right.” He answered, though I could tell the concept was foreign to him.
After breakfast I showed him around the farm. The chickens didn’t like him at first, never seen them run so fast from something, but they came around with a bit of corn. He looked lost when I showed him how to spread it for them, it was obvious he had never done a day’s work in his life. The horses were equally uneasy, I couldn’t get them to come in from the yard.
“Why do you keep all these animals?” He queried eventually.
“They’re working animals.” I explained, before realizing he probably didn’t know what that meant, “Like.. pets, but they serve a purpose. You never had no pet growing up?”
At this his expression turned somewhat cynical, “No. I never had a ‘pet’..”
***
Over the next few days he seemed to regain his strength rapidly. By the time Josie came around with the pie she’d promised he was essentially at full health again. I allowed him the use of my son’s room and he ended up staying for quite some time. Weeks passed and he helped me in the fields with the crops. He never did speak much about where he came from, wouldn’t even tell me so much as his family name but that was alright.
It didn’t really concern me for the fact of it is I was just glad to have him there. He was my second chance at raising a son. I taught him how to shoot, though that was a challenge in itself as his right arm was damaged by a birth defect or something (I didn’t ask much about that either).
I gave his sword back after three months and came to find his room empty the following morning. Disappointment sat heavy in my gut when I realized he was gone. I had at least expected that he would say goodbye and I felt a dull ache of pain, my family before him had left the same way without any warning. However, as I sat outside to have my morning cigarette I could hear metal hitting something and went to investigate.
To my surprise I found Eric training, beating the stuffing out of a scarecrow. He may not have known the first thing about tractors and crops, or seed and animals but I realized immediately that he was specialty trained with that sword. Thinking back to the first time I had met him I was glad I had the shotgun on me. If I had allowed him to take up his weapon, I’m sure he would have cut me in two.
“You’re up early?” He commented as he tilted the blade downward.
“And you’re very fancy there with that sword.” I responded.
“It’s not as fast as a bullet. But I prefer it.” He answered whimsically.
“You ever going to tell me where you came from?” I inquired.
At this he smiled slightly, “North.”
“Very funny.” I stated flatly.
His unwillingness to give details about himself was only one of the many strange things about him. For example, he slept on the covers of his bed rather than under them. He refused to eat meat and had little idea of practical knowledge while simultaneously having a firm grasp on combat skills beyond my understanding.
I confided all of this to Josie and she suggested he had escaped from some kind of gang or another. However, I doubted that was the case for there were other things I didn’t tell her. I never mentioned how fast he had recovered from his injuries or how strong he was. I understand that he was young and fit, and that I’m old. But he once lifted the tractor slightly with one hand to remove a stick that had become caught under it and it seemed to take him no effort at all. In fact, he was surprised to learn that I couldn’t do it. Bastard even had the nerve to taunt me about it. Told me I was just weak.
Similarly, I myself ignored one overshadowing fact. Since his arrival there had been no unusual activity on the farm. Not one eerie voice beckoning you to come out into the dark forest, nor any other kind of commotion. This lot of chickens were the longest lived I’d ever had. More often than not I would awake to find my flock slaughtered after a night of harrowing bird screaming, not this bunch, not while Eric was around.
I realized there were only three probable reasons for this. The first was that he was somehow protecting the estate.. And the second was that his presence was scaring everything else away. The third was the most unsettling, and it was that perhaps he was the thing that called to me in the darkness. Like so many other abnormalities, I stubbornly turned a blind eye to this possibility. That was until one evening in early October.
The corn fields were almost ready for harvest, the plants were tall and beginning to dry out. It was the edge of dusk and we were making our way back to the house after inspecting the crop when I began to feel watched. Eric must have felt it as well for he stopped and almost instinctively turned. I don’t want to think about how he knew where to look.
However, following his gaze I felt a chill run down my spine. On the hill not far off was what appeared to be, at first glance, an abnormally large buck. It stood perfectly still, its antlers were silhouetted against the dim sky and I noticed that the animal was burned. Blackened skin gaped from its frame exposing the pink flesh beneath, from a distance this resembled tattered cloth, and then it slowly, painstakingly, stood up on two legs.
Out of the corner of me eye I saw Eric push back the hair from his face. Under it his right eye was strange, purple and almost cat-like. I might have been going senile, but it seemed to me that he was looking at the deer specifically with that eye and that the animal was looking back at him with just as much purpose.
“What is that?” He muttered under his breath. I couldn’t tell if he was talking to me or not, regardless, he didn’t give me the chance to answer before he started moving. The boy went to draw his sword and headed directly toward the creature and it in return let out a long bellow.
“Whoa hey! Don’t, boy!” I said quickly as I moved to stop him, I grabbed a hold of his arm and held firm. I’ve lived on the lands long enough to know that this was the kind of thing that you were supposed to ignore. Natives say that acknowledging them in any way gives them power and I was sure that running directly at it was a form of recognition.
“What are you doing? Can’t you see it?” He demanded.
“Listen to me carefully, boy. I don’t see anything and you don’t see anything neither.” I told him with intent.
At my statement I could see him calculating, he recognised what I was saying and with a final glance back at the thing nodded to me, “If that’s the case. We should return to the house, quickly.” He stated calmly.
“Indeed we should.” I agreed not realizing that it was already in vain. Behind us the thing screamed, its pitch changed from a low animal tone to a the shrill shriek of a woman and it took everything in me not to run. I realized too late that the boy wasn’t following me. The little shit had lied to me and turned back to face the thing.
It shambled toward us, Eric stood ready with weapon in hand and as it drew near I could see more detail. Beneath the outward appearance of the deer was a gaunt creature with hollowed cheeks and gray skin. It didn’t have any eyes as such, rather pinpoints of light that shone unnaturally from empty sockets. Though it’s most disturbing feature was the mouth.. Not located on its face as any of god’s creatures, but rather it was inserted into the open cavity of its throat.
In addition to this, up close the fucker was bigger than I was expecting. It towered over Eric and I knew there was nothing I could do to help him. The boy was arrogant and he was going to die, or so I thought.
Instead, he moved quickly and met the creature more equally than I had been expecting. I watched as they fought, crushing several of my corn plants in the process. The thing attacked with hungry movements, it was predatory and hunting, while Eric was cautious and trained. The boy faltered as it cut him with long claws and I saw its limbs begin to fail as steel cut through flesh.
Finally Eric blocked an attack with his right arm and ran the thing through the chest with the sword. In response it reeled back and away, blood spilling freely from the wound, I thought it was over then.. However, as it recovered it regarded Eric differently than it had before. It now seemed cautious. It let out a tremendous screech and began to back away as Eric stood unflinching.
I don’t know how it survived, but it did. It melted back into the rows of corn and as Eric moved to pursue it a cacophony of sound erupted around us. There were voices, dozens of voices. All speaking at once, some screaming incomprehensible sounds while others pleaded for help in disjointed sentences with alternating pitch and tone. I could taste fear in the back of my throat as I realized just how many there were.. and, how close they were.
“We need to get back inside. Now.” Eric stated firmly as he backed up toward me, scanning the area immediately around us as he did. I don’t want to know what he could see, but I couldn’t see anything more than a few feet in front of my face.
By some miracle we made it back to the house and barricaded the doors. We sat up all night as the things prowled outside, calling for us to come out in a thousand different voices. Occasionally I heard the wooden boards of the porch straining under weight as one would come up onto it to look in through a window. It was the most terrifying night I had ever experienced.
When morning came, they gave up and departed but I knew it was far from over.
****
The letter ended there and it’s getting dark so I’m going to call it quits for today. I’m not really keen on staying here overnight after reading that.