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UNHOLY GROUND, A GHOST STORY

This is a ghost story with a few twists I hope you enjoy. It is reproduced here, with some minor editing, as it was accepted for publication by Books To Go Now in February 2011.

                 Unholy Ground

                  Walt Trizna

Copyright 2011-Books to Go Now

For information on the cover illustration and design, contact bookstogonow@gmail.com

First eBook Edition –January 2011

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without momentary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously.

                UNHOLY GROUND

                  Zeke Young

 Shaking his head, John Taylor said to newcomer Zeke Young, “I wouldn’t build on this land if I was you.”

Zeke was a lean man, his face weathered from years of working someone else’s property.  Now he would have a farm of his own.  The year was 1754, early spring, and the men were standing deep in the western Pennsylvania woods.  Zeke was not a man to be easily dissuaded.  He fixed John Taylor with a hard stare, and asked, “Why would you say that?”

“Heard tell of strange things happening here on this land at night.  People have seen a kind of glow in the trees, a moving glow.  Them that seen the glow heard ungodly sounds too.  Like a kind of moaning.  People say this place is damned.

“Even the savages that live in these parts avoid this ground.  They say it’s cursed, always has been.  They speak of the Ancients, a tribe of demons that live here underground.  These devils come to the surface to take those that violate their land.  The Indians avoid this area like the plague.  I would steer clear of it too if I was you.”

Zeke Young responded, “Sounds like just the place I’m looking for.  Snooping neighbors and Indian raiding parties will pass me by.  I recon, in the wilderness, a man needs help to survive, but I like my privacy.  I’ll offer help when asked, but I’ll not pass the time of day in idle talk.  Indians, I can do without.”

John Taylor warned again, “Don’t take it so lightly, Zeke.  I tell you the Indians say there are devils living in this here ground.  They say that sometimes if you put your ear to the ground, you can here the devils moan.  I wouldn’t settle my family in this place.”

“You might not,” Zeke said, “but I sure as hell will.”

                    * * *

Zeke, his wife Martha, and two sons – Jake age eight and Thomas age twelve – cleared the land.  Martha, five years younger than Zeke, had a rugged beauty.  Her sons were the image of their father.  As they worked the homestead they did, in fact, hear strange sounds.  In the depths of the woods there were sounds of unknown origin magnified by the quiet.  Sounds that would set the hair on the back of your neck standing, but of course the noise had to be natural, and the source someday discovered.

But Zeke had also seen strange apparitions in the woods.  He chose not to tell his family of the ghostly figures he caught glimpses of at night amongst the trees.  Once, just before retiring, he left the tent the Youngs were now calling home and set out [DJR3] to ensure that all was secured for the night.  In the distance he saw one of the ghostly figures wandering among the trees.  Suddenly, the figure jumped into the air and ascended toward the canopy of the forest.  As he made his way back to the tent, Zeke found he was bathed in a cold sweat.  John Taylor’s warning echoed in his brain.

While constructing his barn, another ominous sign brought to the surface Zeke’s realization that all was not right with this land.

Zeke marked out the placement of the barn.  Before the barn was built, he would dig the root cellar.  Most mornings found Zeke digging, but one day he changed his routine.  It was after supper when he told his wife, “Martha, the root cellar is almost done.  I’m going to finish it tonight and then tomorrow I’ll start getting help to build the barn.” 

The forest was strangely quiet as Zeke approached the area where the barn would stand.  He climbed into the hole that was to be the root cellar and began to dig.  As the shadows of the trees lengthened and the sun dipped below the hills, Zeke became unusually anxious.  With darkness came a heavy fog shrouding the forest with a ghostly haze.  His fears grew until he could no longer work.  He gathered up his tools and began walking back to the tent when he happened to glance back to the root cellar pit.  An eerie red glow filtered through the trees from the hole and something moved within the misty crimson light.

Men from the area helped Zeke raise his barn.  The Young family now lived in it while a house was constructed.  With the barn in place the family could now work to establish a farm in this hostile environment.  Food would be grown and their future more secure.  The barn was a two-story structure with a loft to store hay and three stalls on each side of the main level.  The root cellar was under the rear of the barn.  It provided storage and a hiding place in case of an Indian attack.  But John Taylor was right; Indians steered clear of Zeke’s land.  Jake and Thomas made their bed in the rear of the barn while Zeke and Martha slept near the stalls up front.

It was mid-summer when Zeke made a major purchase in establishing his farm.  He called out as he approached his property, “Martha, boys, come see the new member of our family.  Zeke led a roan mare toward the barn.  The boys were excited at the prospect of a horse to ride, until Zeke said, “This mare will make the farm more productive and release the boys to do more chores.  Hopefully, she will also fill some of these empty stalls with her foals.”

As Zeke approached the entrance to the barn the horse reared, a wild look in her eyes replaced the calm demeanor she had exhibited up until then.  He tried for all his worth but could not get the horse to enter the structure.  In frustration he tied the frightened animal to a tree and let her graze.

That night Martha told Zeke, “At times I feel a strange presence in the barn, like I’m being watched.”

“Nonsense,” said Zeke, “now get to sleep.”  The confidence in his voice belied the growing fear in his heart.

                   * * *

Months later, John Taylor saw Zeke working in his fields preparing for fall planting.  He decided to stop and see how his neighbor was doing.  “How’s it going, Zeke?”

The sight of Taylor caused Zeke to recall the man’s warning which he had to admit was constantly on his mind.  Zeke did not want to reveal the strange occurrences on his land.  He pulled his horse to a stop and laid down his plow.  “Going well enough, John.  The only problem is this damn horse.  She won’t go into the barn.  I’ve tried everything but she stays outside, even in the rain.  I figure when the weather turns cold, she’ll smarten up.”

Taylor asked, “Notice anything strange on your property?”

“Can’t say I have,” answered Zeke, already thinking that he had said too much.  “Sure, there’s the occasional strange sound but when you’re deep in the woods and all’s quiet, lots of normal sounds seem strange.”  Zeke kept his sinister observations to himself.  He feared the ridicule and scorn his fears might provoke.

Taylor nodded in agreement. “You’re right there, Zeke.  Spent some time camping in the deep woods myself.  Heard some weird things.

“That sure is a fine-looking barn you got, Zeke.  Going to start the house soon?”

“The farm’s keeping me pretty busy right now.  Reckon I’ll start the house after fall harvest.”

The two men said their good-byes. 

John Taylor never saw Zeke Young again.

                    * * *

Jake approached his mother one afternoon as she was preparing dinner.  He wanted to talk to her before his father came home, sure that his father would call him a baby for the fears that were on his mind.  “Mom, can’t I sleep toward the front of the barn with you and dad?”

Martha looked at her youngest.  She knew how little Zeke would enjoy company in their bed.  He wanted more sons to work the land and Jake’s presence wouldn’t help in that matter.  “What is wrong with the back of the barn, Jake?”

Jake struggled with what he wanted to say.  Finally, in a quiet voice he said, “I’m afraid when I’m back there at night.”

Martha knew Jake had a vivid imagination.  “There’s nothing to be frightened about, Jake.  You have your brother for company.  Nothing will harm you.”

Jake struggled again to explain his fear.  “There are people in the root cellar.”

Now Martha was sure the problem was Jake’s imagination.  “You saw people in the root cellar?”

“I didn’t see them, Mom.  I heard them.  They said they were coming and that I was on their land.”

She could see that Jake was trembling and wanted to comfort him.  She hugged him, but at the same time knew that Zeke would not tolerate talk like this.  “It’s just your imagination, Jake.  You’ll have to sleep in the back of the barn with Thomas.  We’ll talk tomorrow if you are still worried.”

That night, before going to bed, Martha said, “Zeke, Jake is afraid to sleep in the barn.  Maybe we could let him sleep in the tent?”

Zeke suddenly became angry, “Damn it, woman.  There’s nothing wrong with this barn.  I’ll make no allowances for Jake.”

Zeke seemed so on edge lately.  Martha decided to drop the subject – for now.

                     * * *

That night Jake heard the voices again, but they had now grown louder.  Unable to sleep, he waited for them to begin moaning and calling to him.

“Come join us,” shouted the haunting voices.

There was a new horror this night.  The outline of the door of the root cellar took on a blood-red glow, as if the entrance of hell had opened up beneath the barn.

Jake screamed, “Thomas, Thomas, wake up!”

Thomas stirred from a sound sleep.  “Quiet, Jake!”  What is wrong with you?” he shouted.  But his eyes and ears quickly determined the source of Jake’s fear.  He heard malevolent voices and saw the glow coming from the cellar door.

Before the boys’ unbelieving eyes, the seam along the double doors brightened as they were lifted from below.  The slow creak of the doors intensified as the barn began to fill with the eerie light ushering up from the root cellar.  Long, sinewy arms slowly parted the double doors.  A ghastly face of gray-green flesh came into view.  The two boys screamed for all they were worth.  Zeke and Martha came running toward the rear of the barn seeing the glow and fearing that the barn was on fire.  They stopped dead in their tracks and confronted the horrible visage of the monster rising from the root cellar.

“Boys, come to me!” shouted Martha.

The family huddled together near the stalls, unable to take their eyes off the demon rising from the cellar.  The horror now stood in the barn.  It smiled, revealing pointed teeth, and spoke.  “You have violated the ground of the Ancients.  For this you shall spend eternity guarding the entrance to our domain.”

Suddenly, a host of ethereal figures emerged from the cellar.  They flew to the heights of the rafters and descended upon the family.  One by one the spirits penetrated each member.  As the spirit emerged, the victim fell; their bodies grew indistinct and then disappeared as the phantom they now were shown with intense light.  Zeke was the last to fall victim to the spirits.  His last earthly thoughts were the warnings and signs he refused to heed.

The Young family flew among the rafters, then into the cellar to begin their eternal vigil.

                     * * *

John Taylor woke during the night to make his water.  His eyes were drawn in the direction of Zeke’s place.  A small hill stood between the two properties and beyond the hill a red glow filled the sky.  John was sure that Zeke’s barn was ablaze.  But as he watched, the glow diminished, and then disappeared.  No need to go to the Young place tonight, he thought.  Tomorrow he would visit Zeke to ask him about the light and make sure there was no problem.

                      * * *

The sentries posted by the Indians living in the area observed the red glow in the distance and woke the elder of the tribe.  He came out of his lodge and looked to where the sentries pointed.  His weary eyes saw the distant glow.  Shaking his head, he said, “The Ancients are awake and walk the Earth.  They have claimed new victims to protect their sacred ground.  We must hold council and speak of this matter.”

                      * * *

The following morning John Taylor paid a call to Zeke Young’s place.  As he approached the barn, he was relieved to see that it stood undamaged.  He was sure he would find some member of the family within and knocked on the closed door.

There was no reply.

John slowly opened the door, hoping to find no sign of tragedy.  The barn was empty save for a heavy sulfurous odor.  John left the barn and called out Zeke’s name, still no response.  He walked Zeke’s fields and was unable to find him or any member of his family.  The four had vanished without a trace.  The roan, still tied to a tree, was dead with her eyes wide open, a mask of fear and agony.

                      * * *

Two sentries from the tribe were sent to observe the white man’s barn built on unholy ground.  The usually brave warriors were terrified.  They knew this was land possessed by demons.  On the second night of their vigil, they saw four images, glowing with an unholy light, emerge from the structure.  Then, before the sentries’ startled eyes, the two adult figures took flight and came towards the cowering Indians who fled for their lives. 

No further braves were dispatched to this blasphemous ground.

                      * * *

John Taylor’s son, Simon, age eight, heard his father tell his mother of the mysterious disappearance of the Young family.  “They are simply gone.  They left behind everything.  All their tools, clothes – everything is still in the barn.”

Simon had spent some time in the Young’s barn playing with Jake.  He remembered a ball that Jake had.  I wonder if that ball is still there, Simon thought.  His excitement over finding the ball overshadowed any bad feelings he had for the disappearance of his friend.  He decided that that night he would sneak out of his room and visit the barn.

It was two in the morning when Simon climbed through his window and headed for the Young homestead.  The full moon made finding his way easy.  As he came within sight of the barn Simon realized that his father had been mistaken.  There, before the barn, stood Zeke Young.  Zeke studied his property, and then suddenly focused on the spot where Simon stood.  Simon noticed that Zeke appeared to glow, brighter than the moonlit countryside.  Then Zeke jumped into the air and began to fly directly at Simon.  The boy screamed and ran for all he was worth, stumbling over bramble and bushes, daring not to look back.  After running a good distance, he finally found the courage to look in the direction of the barn.  There, hovering above the building was the glowing specter.  Simon never set foot on that property again.

                    Chris Walters

Zeke Young’s barn stood as a sentinel in the dense forest for two hundred years, pristine, untouched by time or the elements.  Over the years there had been disappearances of those who thought the haunted barn a legend and chose to investigate.  It had been one hundred years since the demons occupying the unholy ground claimed their last victim.  The stories of the property became myths, part of the legend of the area, one that none of the locals dared test. 

Development had yet to march through these rolling hills of Pennsylvania, leaving the countryside spotted with farms and stands of virgin forest.  The surrounding communities shared the legend of the barn from generation to generation.  There was talk of mysterious light and phantoms flying through the sky.  Each generation produced boys seeking to test the legend and dare each other to visit the barn.  Those that made the pilgrimage experienced a strange presence as they approached the structure.  And no matter how brave and daring they felt before they reached the site, none would walk up to the barn, and they never ventured there after dark.  The barn was left alone for years, that is, until Chris Walters moved into a neighboring farm community with his family.

                    * * *

Chris Walters, fourteen, was a recent arrival to the rural town of Pinebrook.  His dad, Bob, and mom, Rachel, were originally from the area.  Shortly after they were married, they decided to move to Philadelphia and start a new life.  They created a new life; his name was Chris.  In the meantime, their dreams of a life in the city were in shambles.  They both had high school degrees but found their education lacking and the city unforgiving.  Bob stumbled from one job to another.  And being the most recent hire, whenever there was a layoff, he was the first to go.

Rachel found work as a secretary, until Chris came along, then the cost of daycare was more than she earned, so she quit her job and became a stay-at-home mom.

Then Bob’s father died unexpectedly.

After Bob received the news, he sat with Rachel in their tiny kitchen and discussed their future.  “You know, Rach,” Bob said as he put down his coffee cup, “we’re not living the life I thought we would.  I’ve got to be honest.  We’re not making it here.”

    Rachel responded, “You are your dad’s only living relative.  His farm will go to you.  With the money we should get for it, we could build that better life.”

“Rachel, the money won’t last long.  Then we’d be back to where we are now.  I don’t want to sell the farm.  I want to work it.  The land is good, and I helped my dad enough years that I could manage it and make it pay.”

There were many more discussions about their future, and gradually Rachel weakened.  In reality, she was not all that fond of Philadelphia.  And Bob was right.  The money would not mean much of a change to their long-term future in the city.  The more they talked, the more she discovered how much she missed her family and friends.  One night, as they lay next to each other, Rachel said, “It’s hard to admit defeat, but maybe we should move back to Pinebrook.  I think the move would do us good and it would be good for Chris too.  He’s been spending time with some bad company lately and I don’t like the direction he’s heading.”

Bob smiled at his wife, and then caressed her.  “We’ll tell Chris in the morning,” Bob said.

They made love as a full moon illuminated the bedroom.

                    * * *

“Bullshit,” Chris screamed when his parents told him of their plan to move to the country.  “Philadelphia is my home.  I don’t want to live with a bunch of hayseeds that get their kicks watching corn grow or whatever the hell they grow out there.”

Chris was tall and lean with a shock of red hair and a face full of freckles.  He resembled his dad and had his dad’s forward manner.  Bob was irritated at how much his son was like him, especially in ways he wanted to change in himself.

“Now listen here,” Bob said.  “The decision is made, so you might as well accept it.  And watch your language.  The attitude you’ve taken lately is one of the reasons we made this decision.

“And furthermore, I’d rather see you keep company with hayseeds than those hoodlums you call your friends.  I did not enjoy picking you up at the police station after you and your friends were caught spraying graffiti on that old warehouse.”

Chris said sarcastically, “We were just being artistic.”

“Well son, your form of art is considered vandalism.  No two ways about it.  We’re moving to Pinebrook to make a new start.”

Chris grumbled up to, during and after the move was completed.  His attitude improved when he met Junior Dawson.  Junior had a talent for getting into trouble and nothing scared him.  Well, almost nothing.

                    * * *

In his fifteen years, Junior Dawson had never strayed far from Pinebrook.  For vacations, his family would seek out campgrounds in nearby Pennsylvania state parks.  He seldom visited a big city.  When Chris moved to Pinebrook, he brought Junior a window to a world he barely knew.

Junior liked Chris’ swagger, his whole attitude.  No one in Pinebrook had an attitude, that is if you didn’t count old-man Alexander, who was perpetually pissed off.  In Pinebrook there was no reason to have an attitude.  People just lived their lives and accepted what came their way.

The two boys were neighbors, but with the size of the farms, their houses were not within sight of one another.  Although they were in different classes at school, they became fast friends.  One lazy Saturday afternoon, Chris asked Junior, “What do you do for kicks around this place?”

“Oh, we hike and fish.  And when it gets warm, we swim in the lake.”

“Shit, John-Boy, I’m talking fun, not Boy Scout camp.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Junior replied.  “There’s not much to do around here.”

“No shit,” answered Chris.

“Listen, when I lived in the city, me and some of my pals used to get cans of spray paint and decorate the walls of some vacant and not so vacant buildings.  Then you could walk by anytime you wanted and look at your artwork.”

Junior said, “I know what graffiti is but what are you going to paint around her’, the trees?  All the farms are busy places.  You can’t even sneak up on them at night for all the dogs.  There aren’t any vacant buildings except…                                         ‘

“Except what?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit!  Except what?”

“Well, there’s this old barn.  Sits all by itself in the middle of the woods about a mile or so from here.  People around here don’t talk about it much.  It’s a strange place.  I’ve been to it once and don’t want to go back there again.”

“Man, it sounds perfect.  What could be so strange about an old barn in the middle of nowhere?  I bet it’s just screaming for a paint job.”

“No, it’s not, Chris. Believe me, it’s not.  No one knows how old the barn is, but it looks like it was built yesterday.  And although no one tends to it, the forest just grows up to about twenty feet from the barn and stops.”

“Oh, that sounds scary,” Chris said with all the sarcasm he could muster.

Junior said, “I’ve been there once, with a couple of friends during the day.  The place gave me the creeps; a strange feeling like someone was watching me.  Like someone was about to yell at me.  We all high-tailed it outa there.  We all felt the same thing and it didn’t feel good.”

“Now you’re really getting me scared, Junior.  There’s an old, abandoned barn in the middle of the woods that everyone around here is afraid to visit.  Shit, it sounds perfect.  We can paint to our heart’s content, and no one will ever disturb our work.  Maybe we could make it into a kind of clubhouse, a kind of drinking and smoking clubhouse.

“I don’t think it’s such a good idea, Chris,” Junior said.

“I do.  Let’s go.”

After more arguing, Junior finally gave in.  The boys headed down the dirt road that separated their properties.  Fields of wheat and corn bordered the road, with an occasional stand of trees.  The air was full of the smell of a country afternoon and insects, which the boys would swat away.  Once past their farms, Junior slowed and began looking for a trail that would lead off to the right.  He finally found what he was looking for.

“Here’s the trail to the barn.”

“You call that a trail.”

“I told you no one comes out here.  We shouldn’t be here either.”

“Don’t pussy-out on me now, Junior.  Take me to your scary barn.”

Following the path was not easy.

“I can’t believe how dense this forest is.” said Chris.

“You want to turn back?”

Chris shoved Junior in the back and said, “Keep going.”

They walked for half an hour, crossing streams and glancing up at the giant canopy of trees blocking the sky.  If anything, the trees became denser as they walked making the going extremely difficult.

“Oh, Junior, this place is so scary even the bugs won’t come here,” Chris said.

This only added to Junior’s fears because the bugs really were gone.

Suddenly, up ahead there appeared a clearing.  In the middle of the clearing stood a barn, painted white.  The doors and shutters surrounding the window of the loft were painted black and closed.

“You are sure this barn is old, Junior?  It looks brand new.”

“I told you this was a strange place. And I’m sure it’s old.  My grandpa said his grandpa told him about it.”

Chris immediately observed how clear the area was around the building, and asked, “Who keeps the area around the barn free of trees?”

“No one,” answered Junior.  “I told you.  It just stays clear on its own.”

The boys stood at the edge of the trees. 

“Can you feel it, Chris?  Like we’re being watched.  Like we’re not alone.”

Looking off, Chris pointed to a figure emerging from behind the barn and said, “We’re not alone.”

                Old-man Alexander

 “Get the hell out of here,” came a shout.

“Shit,” said Junior.  “It’s old-man Alexander.”

“What the hell is he doing here?  I thought this place was sooo scary.”

“I don’t know,” said Junior.  “Let’s get out of here.”

Chris replied, “This is turning into a regular convention.  I want to know what he’s doing out here.”

The old man stumbled toward the boys dressed in his standard uniform.  Years ago, the sweatshirt he wore had been gray; now it was a mottled camouflage of grime.  His worn stained bib overalls completed the outfit.  As he approached, he took sips from a large bottle.  The boys could see that his eyes were glazed, and they could smell the alcohol on his breath as he weaved toward them.

“I said what the hell are you doing here?”

“What the hell are you doing here?” asked Chris.

This stopped the old man; his withered face formed a grizzled smile.  Swaying, he said, “I like places where no one else is.  I likes my privacy, my drinking privacy.”

                      * * *

As a teenager, Kermit Alexander had few friends.  He was a loner, kept to himself and was already making his way down the road to alcoholism.  He was sometimes teased, “Go out to that old barn in the woods.  No one will bother you there.”

That’s what he decided to do.  He had heard strange stories about the barn.  None of which he believed.  Kermit decided to trek out there and check things out for himself.

He had trouble finding the structure.  He eventually stumbled into a clearing and there it stood, looking like it had just been built.  As soon as he entered the clearing, he felt strange, frightened.  He couldn’t figure out why.  Kermit’s fear became so intense he ran back into the trees.  “Shit,” he said to himself, “What the hell is wrong with me?”

Kermit had recently developed a taste for wine.  “Next time, I’ll fortify myself on the way through the woods.”

From then on, during his journeys to the barn, his fear was replaced by numbness, a numbness he would maintain for the rest of his life.

                    * * *

Aren’t you afraid to be out here alone?” asked Junior.  “Doesn’t this place give you the creeps?”

“Nope,” said Alexander.  He held up his bottle and said, “I bring along my courage.”  The old man mellowed as he began to talk about his past to the boys.

“Started coming out here when I was about you boys’ age.  Matter of fact started drinking about that time too.  First couple of times I come out here I was sort of scared; don’t honestly know why.  Then I started priming the pump as I walked through the woods.  By the time I reached the clearing, I wasn’t scared of nothin’.  ‘Cept one time had a little too much courage.  Fell asleep.  Voices woke me up.”

“What voices?” asked the boys in unison.

“Don’t rightly know.  It was near dusk.  The voices were coming from the barn, strange voices.  They were calling me.  Got my ass out of there fast.  Never stayed late again.”

Chris asked, “Sure you weren’t hearing things, old man?”

“Don’t shit with me, punk.  I know the stories about this place.  Damn barn sits on unholy ground, Injun ground.  No one comes out here at night no matter how much courage they had.”

“Let’s go home,” said Junior.  “I’ve still got chores to do.”

The boys turned and left.  Behind them, they could hear old-man Alexander laughing.

Once they were deep into the forest, Junior remarked, “I told you that was a scary place.”

“Right,” Chris said sarcastically.  He was pissed that the old man was laughing as they left.  It only made him more determined to revisit the barn.  Chris could not get those pristine white walls out of his mind.  Those walls were just screaming to him to be decorated.  And now that he knew they were protected during the day, so daytime visits were out.  He also knew that no one would be there at night.

“What do you say we visit the barn at night?” Chris asked Junior.

“Are you crazy?  I’m not going there at night!”

“You’re going to let the stories of an old drunk scare you?  Didn’t you hear how he was laughing?  He was laughing because he thinks he frightened us away.  Let’s check out the barn at night and see what’s really going on inside.”

Junior replied, “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

“I do,” said Chris.  “I’ll meet you on the dirt road tonight.  Bring a flashlight.”

Junior shook his head and turned for home knowing he could not let his friend down.

                  The Barn

 Moonlight illuminated the night.  A full moon hovered over the rolling Pennsylvania hills as Chris and Junior snuck out of their houses to carry out Chris’ artistic callings.  As Chris made his way down the road, he could see Junior up ahead.  Finding the barn by daylight was difficult enough, at night, if Chris was alone, it would be impossible.

“How’s it going, Junior?  Ready to do a little painting?”

“I’m telling you, Chris, this is not a good idea.”

Junior could see the determination in his friend’s eyes.  Armed with five cans of spray paint and flashlights, they made their way down the dirt road toward the barn.

Initially, the boys let the moonlight guide them.  Crickets filled the night with their song, joined by the occasional frog.  When they were farther along, they illuminated the forest to their right with their flashlights.  Chris knew it would be difficult to find where the path branched off the road.  Junior told him, “There are two tall maple trees, one on either side of the path.  Keep a lookout for those trees.”

The walk seemed longer than the last time to Chris.  Maybe it was the night or maybe it was doing something that Junior and old-man Alexander warned him against.

Junior found the two maples.  Now their flashlights have become a necessity.  The dense forest blocked the moonlight just as it did the sun.  The nighttime forest had an intensified air of mystery, more sinister than during the day.  The soft rustlings on either side of the path only served to increase the sense of dread.  More than once, Chris considered turning back.  But he could not, would not give in to the seeds of fear planted by the locals.  As he walked next to Junior, he sensed a tension in the forest, something he had not felt during his daytime visit.  He also knew Junior was terrified.  At one point his friend was actually whimpering.  Then the boys thought they heard distant voices.

“You hear that, Chris?  Let’s turn back.”

Chris shoved him in the back.  “Keep going,” he said.

Up ahead, Chris saw a moonlit area through the trees.  He knew he was approaching the clearing and the barn.  The boys stepped out of the forest.

Chris walked up to the barn.  Junior hung behind shaking with fear.  From his backpack, Chris produced the cans of spray paint and began to deface one side of the wooden structure.  He laughed as he painted his name in outlandish letters and added a multitude of designs.  The painting went on until the cans ran dry.

He turned to Junior.  “Now that is what I call art.”

Junior’s response was, “Let’s get the hell out of here!”

                     * * *

For the next week all Chris could think about was how great it felt to spread his graffiti over the white walls of the barn.  With the image of the three remaining virgin walls in his mind, he decided to purchase more paint and complete the project.  He approached Junior and asked, “What do you say we decorate the barn a little more?  I’ll let you share bragging rights when we go back to school.  I’ll meet you tonight.”  Chris turned, not giving Junior a chance to reply.

The boys met on the road.  This time the moon was only a sliver and they had to use their flashlights much earlier.

“This will be awesome,” Chris told Junior.  He could see his friend shaking with fear while he experienced an adrenaline rush.

The boys made it to the clearing and the barn.  Junior elected to remain amongst the trees while Chris approached the barn.  “Shit, what the hell?” Chris said.  He looked in disbelief.  There wasn’t a sign of the painting he had done.  The wall of the barn glowed a pristine white.

Then he heard voices coming from within.  He could see blood-red light through the joints in the wall.  He wanted to confront whoever spoiled his artwork.  Something was taking place in the lower confines of the building.  Suddenly, the place just didn’t feel right.  Chris’ courage dissolved in a need for flight.  That’s when his eye caught a figure standing before him where none had been a moment ago.

It was a boy dressed in an odd costume – old fashioned.  Even more peculiar was that the boy glowed from within.

“My name is Thomas Young.  My family and I have been waiting for a visitor, someone to help us protect this ground”

Junior shouted, “Chris, run!”  But Chris was frozen to the spot.

The boy continued, “I welcome you to the land of the Ancients.  You have angered them, and it is with them that you will dwell forever.”

The glowing youth stepped closer.  Soon the boys stood face to face.  As Chris stood stark still, the boy took another step and went through Chris.  He suddenly felt cold; falling to the ground he underwent the conversion to a sentry of the Ancients. 

“You are one of us now.  You will dwell in this barn and guard the land.  To leave this clearing is to enter oblivion.”  Thomas turned and walked through the barn wall.

Chris stood alone in the moonlight, unable to comprehend what had happened.  He looked toward the welcoming forest, and in an instant, felt the loss of his life and his future, feared the existence that awaited him.

Junior ran back into the forest, never to enter the territory of the Ancients again.

                      * * *

Junior never told anyone about the incident at the barn, even when the police questioned him about his friend’s disappearance.  Never said a word until one day his grandson asked, “Gramps, do you know about the haunted barn?”

                      THE END

January 10, 2024 at 9:24 pm Leave a comment