It’s always been a dream of mine to run off to some podunk town where I could find a big piece of land for cheap and build up my own quiet slice of paradise. I envisioned finishing up a hard day of chores and seeing the light softly kissing each leaf on a tree, emitting a lambent yellow glow that soothes the soul. I knew that each moment wouldn’t be as beautiful as my daydream, but I never imagined how truly off base my reality would turn out to be.
I should probably start with telling you what brought me to the farm in the first place. I had a successful career and wasn’t hurting for anything, but then one day I got the heart shattering news that my wife had been in an accident. Whenever the two of us felt life had gotten too overwhelming we’d joke about escaping the hustle and bustle by moving out to the country, getting a few cows, chickens, and baby goats, and living the simple life instead. When faced with the most overwhelming moment of my life I felt like there was only one option for me; I couldn’t bear to return to our shared home, let alone our routined life while staring into such a gaping, black hole that ripped into each familiar place. Our life died with her, and I found myself draining my bank accounts, selling off everything, and packing up my essentials and a few keepsakes to bring with me into the unknown in honor of everything I had loved.
I arrived in the town that would become my new home just as the sun crested the hills on the horizon. I drove down the long road leading toward main street with my windows rolled down, feeling the brisk morning air tousle my hair while country played quietly on the radio. As I pulled onto main street I spotted locals funneling hungrily into what I’d come to find was the local breakfast spot. The town seemed to congregate into this one small hole-in-the-wall restaurant, and I decided to park and join the droves.
I walked into the cafe and was immediately hit by the smell of sizzling bacon and coffee, the atmosphere jovial with people packed in like sardines while sharing a certain camaraderie I hadn’t seen since my childhood. It felt instantly like home, and for a short time I felt the heavy dark clouds that loomed over me evaporating. For the first time since I’d received the news that ruined me I felt hopeful that I would find a place in the world again after feeling so lonely.
I waited for a barstool at the counter to open up, and once I finally got a seat my stomach was growling like a grizzly that hadn’t had a meal all winter. I ordered the biggest breakfast plate on the menu while the smiling waitress filled a cup with a steaming stream of coffee.
“You must be the bloke that took over Mama M’s old farm,” she said to me, eyes earnestly searching my face for any glimmer of information.
I wondered who “Mama M” was, but knew enough to know that I’d taken possession of the only farm in the area.
“I guess so,” I mused, smirking while taking a big gulp of bitter brown liquid.
“You must be brave,” she said to me, with a knowing look in her eyes.
I didn’t know how to respond. I opted for a shrug and a smile, and she moved on to the next hungry customer. Her silence left a strange pit in my gut that I couldn’t quite place, and I ended up chalking up to hunger.
My plate arrived quickly and I devoured every last morsel and crumb, truly becoming a member of the clean plate club. I found myself wondering if this is how farmers always ate when the man next to me, who had been eyeing me for the entirety of my visit to the cafe, decided to finally strike up a conversation.
“You buy Mama M’s old spot?” he inquired.
I didn’t know how to answer. I still had no idea who Mama M was.
“I bought the old farm down on Willow,” I decided to answer.
He seemed satisfied with that, and offered a knowing grunt. He seemed to need time to answer.
“Don’t bring any goats onto that land,” he offered after a few moments of silence.
“I wanted to get some baby goats,” I replied.
“Don’t. One of Mama M’s rules was to never have goats. We always knew to listen to Mama M and you’d do good to listen to her too.”
I nodded, but in my mind thought Mama M sounds like an old bat. I didn’t give much weight to the warning, because as far as I was concerned the land was mine now and I could do what I wanted with it. The stranger seemed to read my thoughts.
“I’m telling you, don’t buy any goats. They’re more trouble than they’re worth,” with his words he stood up and threw $15 onto the counter, nodded to me, and worked his way through the crowd waiting for a table and out the door.
The rest of the morning passed in a blur. I made my way to my plot of land with its run down house, barn, and chicken coop. All three structures could do with a little love. I decided to unpack and evaluate everything the next morning, deciding I could instead do with a good bit of sleep before embarking on my new journey.
In the middle of the night I awoke to a noise. In my sleep fog I couldn’t immediately recognize it, but quickly registered the scratching right above my left ear. I figured there must be mice in the walls and quickly succumbed once again to sleep. When I awoke the sun was streaming in through the derelict curtains, poking me in the eyes as if they were a white hot fire poker.
I struggled out of bed, looking at my phone, which read 9:12 am. I’d slept much later than I meant to, and sprung out of bed, knowing I had to evaluate the buildings before my scheduled animal deliveries arrived. Most people wouldn’t dive so head first off into the farming deep end, but I wanted to get into my new life right away.
I was in the barn patching a few holes in the siding when the animals arrived. I had bought a rooster, a few hens, a few cows, and multiple, varying colors of baby goats. The strangers warning registered in my mind once again, but I shrugged it off and accepted the delivery without objection. I got acquainted with my animals, and my favorite goat was the one that was jet black that seemed to speak to me with every noise he made.
After settling the animals into their new homes I was sufficiently tired and decided to retire to my room for the night. I could feel a storm rolling in and made sure that everyone was safe and sound before wandering to my room and hunkering down.
I awoke with a start, assuming the culprit was thunder, when I heard the scratching again. But this time it was more earnest. More insistent. It even sounded panicked if I listened closely enough. The mouse must really want out of those walls. Maybe it smelled food. Maybe it had just gotten used to the house being empty. Either way, I wasn’t that worried about it, but for some reason I wasn’t able to fall back to sleep.
The scratching persisted and even got louder as it continued on and on. Unrelenting, whatever was in the wall insisted on getting to me.
I decided to get up and get a glass of water since it didn’t seem like I’d be getting sleep anytime soon. As I stumbled down the stairs and through the dark halls something caught my eye just out the window.
There stood a figure, completely unmoving. At first I thought it was just a figment of my sleepy imagination, but I rubbed my eyes and looked again, and there it stood, completely still. I couldn’t make out much except for the silhouette. It stood tall, with horns and knobby knees, and arms that ended in two points instead of five. I rubbed my eyes again, willing the vision away, and looked to find that my hopes had been dashed and the figure was still there. I couldn’t tear my eyes away, and as I stared I began to hear the scratching again, knowing that though I saw the silhouette in front of me, there may be others working, trying to get through the walls to me.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Something hammered on the walls and I no longer felt safe in my little slice of paradise. I glanced out the window again and the silhouette was nowhere to be seen.
Bang bang bang the sound continued to shake the thin walls of my house, making me question the integrity of the building and wonder if they could break through.
Bang bang bang the sound continued, more insistent, shaking the walls around me, when suddenly it came to an abrupt halt.
I held my breath, wondering if the insistent sound would resume. I sat, staring out the window, straining for any glimpse of the figure I could get, until the sun once again crested the surrounding hills. This time I didn’t feel the same warmth I’d felt when I found the restaurant. Instead I felt a persistent itch to find out who Mama M was and exactly why I can’t have goats on my farm. I thought about immediately getting rid of them, but I can’t bear to until I get answers, especially my jet black little friend who greeted me with a friendly grunt this morning. When I speak to someone I’ll write again, but I feel in my gut that there’s something very wrong with this farm.