Old Carl's Barn

    There was a barn on Old Carl’s land that was notorious for being haunted. You could call it a shed, and many of us did, but according to Old Carl it was a barn and we needed to mind our business. It’s not like we were mean about it or nothin, but it was pretty daggum small. You couldn’t even fit a tractor in there let alone the rest of necessary tools to run a farm. But Old Carl was particular about his barn. People in town used to talk about it; about how when he was younger, Young Carl, I’m assuming, was building the barn with expectations of grandeur. But was constantly picked on for how small it came out to be. How could a farmer make such a mistake? They picked on him all these years even though nobody alive saw him build it. Old Carl never talks about how it came to be; just insists it’s a barn. His absent truth of the matter is what drew all us kids to the sight. We concocted many a stories about it. 

    “I swear it musta been soma kind of aliens tryna be like us humans! They tried ta blend in but couldn’t even builda proper barn! I betcha Old Carl is a alien wrapped up in flesh!”

    “What if it’s just a fake? What if it goes deep deep into the earth! Like them Mole People!”

    “Maybe he has a butt ton of dead bodies down there! I bet he does! You aint never seen no smile on Old Carl’s face! He eva been happy?”

    “I bet he has a shrine in there of his dead wife! Going out there every day to pray to the Devil to bring her back! That’s why he won’t let none of us in there to see!”

    These stories went on and on. There was a nice little girl named Mellissa that could’ve been the only young one with a soft spot for Old Carl. She would say he was just picking on us and it was just a game, or that maybe he had dyslexia and got the numbers backwards making it half the intended size, or maybe his dad built it and it had sentimental value. Whatever any of us said, we never had no truth to the matter. We would sneak out there frequently on summer nights and camp a little ways away from Old Carl’s view and sneak around the barn but we never got too close. There were usually odd sounds coming from the inside that seemed to grow the closer we got. One time a new kid named Billy wanted to show off how cool and brave he was by walking up and peeking in that window but he took off running so fast afterwards that he had to chase him down. We never got no good answer to what he saw cause all he did was stutter and shake for near bout ten hours. He still has that daggum stutter to this day and that been like two years ago; any time we bring it up he clamps his trap shut and won’t speak a word of it. We left him alone, he stopped being fun after that night. 

    Something always bothered me about the barn that nobody else every talked about, if Old Carl was so adamant about that barn, why did he let it rot away? It was in no good shape to store nothing and was holding together by mere magic it seemed. Boards were falling off everywhere and there was a big hole in the side he tried to cover up with a old canoe and a screen door. Then there was the fact that the front door wasn’t even no door. It was a piece of wood leaned against the entrance from the inside. It was right peculiar. 

    We never did get no truth, like I said, but that was because Old Carl died a few days ago. None of the grown-ups wanted to tell us how he died though. They just said cause he was old, which makes as much sense to us kids. The night after the funeral we went out to Old Carl’s barn to camp out as a kinda goodbye. We neva made no fire when we used to go out there because Old Carl would start yellin at us to get off his property but this time we made one since he was gone. We brought hotdogs and s’mores stuff and some sodas and had a good time. We never did talk too much about the barn, though. It was as if we just was next to it and that was good enough. Some time in the early morning before the sun gets up, some time after midnight, we didn’t have no watch or nothin so I’m just guessin, but we was getting tired and began falling asleep we heard a knock from the barn. 

    It made every single one of us jump up and shake off our sleep. We all stared at the barn questioning what we heard. After a few minutes went by and no more sound, we all figured it was a raccoon or something and began to get comfortable again. The fire crackled here and there in kinda lullaby and we all started to drift to sleep. But once again, we heard a loud banging on the door except this time it went on for bout twice as long. I had a shiver go right down my spine. We looked at each other wondering what to do. One kid named Joey was already wrapping up his sleeping bag and got up to leave. We called him a wuss and other such names, of course, but deep down I think we was all jealous. We were all feeling nervous now. As we was sitting there throwing more wood on the fire to keep it big it started back up again. The whole barn started to bang from the inside! The table that was leaning against the boat fell over, the screen door slid down, and the boat even moved a bit. The glass in the window was shuttering like something was tryna get out! There was no light at all inside and we couldn’t even see inside. Someone suggested there must be an animal stuck inside and that we should knock down the door to let it out so it would leave us alone. It musta seen us from the window. The banging never stopped this whole time neither. It had been going on for about ten minutes before we stood up. The moment we got to our feet the noise stopped so we figured it must of been an animal. We marched our scared butts over to the barn and picked up a big stick on the way. We figured we’d knock the door down with the stick and then run away! Except none of us wanted to be the ones to knock down the door. 

    We decided to grab a broken tree branch instead so most of us had to hold it together, that way we did it as a team. We felt braver that way. The noise hadn’t come back yet which was good but we was still shaking with nerves. We counted from five. 

    Four.

    Three.

    Two.

    BAM! The door was burst down and a high pitch scream could be heard all around us. The worst part is, we wasn’t the one that knocked down the door! Something else done it! We dropped the tree branch and bolted like we was about to die! And that’s what it felt like! We took off to grab our sleeping bag and kept running! I looked back only one time. It’s hard to say it was accurate cause I was so scared but I swear I saw Old Carl laughing his butt off inside his barn. 

    We never went back to that land and nobody there that night ever talked about it with nobody but the ones that was there. We knew it weren’t no animal but had no proof so the grown ups would only brush us off. 

    The following year, some young couple moved in the house and started to fix it up. It was about three months since they moved in that we all heard the fire trucks headed that way. Of course we all got up to see what had happened. We saw it before we even got to the land. Old Carl’s barn was on fire. There was the wife sitting in the middle of the field with a empty look on her face but we could see there was blood all over her. Her dress was daggum near covered innit. She wasn’t even moving but she was holding a torch. The fire fighters put out the fire but found something truly awful inside the barn. Us kids looked each other again and shivered like it was yesterday we was camping that night. The woman’s husband was hung from the middle rafter of the barn with a smile carved into his face. There was also a ton of blood all over his clothes too. A girl next to me turned around and threw up. Parents started to shield us kid’s eyes, and rightly so! Suddenly, the wife saw the husband and started screaming! She ran towards the barn and tried to burn it down again. She kept screaming like it was a monster in that barn. It gave us all shivers of fear and we decided we couldn’t take it no longer. We went back home and battled nightmares for months. 

    The town wasn’t ever the same after Old Carl died. He never let us forget him, neither. 

Author's Note: After I finished writing this story, I noticed I'd forgotten to put my signature on the painting. Soon after painting that in, my cup of coffee was knocked over and enveloped the whole painting in liquid. Which is terrible for watercolor. But despite that, the barn is still clear and in tact. Old Carl get his revenge even to this day. 

The Suburban Hunter

The Suburban Hunter

    “I’m bored,” he thinks.

    It’s a quiet night in the neighborhood following a plethora of quiet nights. Only a few times a year does it spark some form of unexpected life. There are two extremes; the silent and immense emptiness of noise or the impactful explosion of sound from all sides. But, for the most part, it is quiet. 

    This is good for hunting but boring for adventure. Old houses line the streets with various foliage. Each home offers a different environment with different creatures, obstacles, smells, and sounds. They show signs of years of living from cracks to worn paint to overgrown vines covering sides and blocking windows. The trees are fully grown and large providing some great spots to hide and watch. From time to time a vehicle will drive by with blinding lights throwing shadows against walls and giving life to darkness; then things settle down and the wind creates the only sign of life. That is, if you don’t know where to look or how to listen. 

    “Where can I go tonight?” he asks himself looking all around from his favorite hole. He has many options to survey surrounding environments but only one that he repeatedly goes to. It has more protection from intruding guests and light; plus, it’s quite comfy inside. He settles himself on the edge and gazes about the yard. It’s empty of options; mostly because they know he’s there, they just don’t know exactly where. But there are signs, despite his best efforts to keep it secretive. 

    He begins his search going West since the previous night he went East. When faced with uncertainty teetering on the rim of blandness, just do the opposite of what you did yesterday; maybe it will shake it up enough to bring some spice. He passes several houses without much care or detailed scrutiny. He decides to swing left and extend his search already. The change immediately proved to not work and he was feeling restless even as the hunt just started. This wouldn’t bode well since he usually had to find a new home after a serious case of boredom dug its claws in his mind. He sighed but didn’t have anything else to do so he kept going until he was about a mile out. This isn’t too far from his usual home range but enough that it’s been a while since he refreshed his memories with the landscape. This worked.

    He felt a new sense of attention and curiosity come over him as he looked around; things were familiar yet different at the same time. Right off the bat, he spotted a small mouse running through an overgrown yard to his right. He pulled up to a tree a good distance away and kept his eye on it. It was young and barely sizable for consideration. 

    “Besides,” he thought, “I’ve grown tiresome of mice. Boring.”

    He took off again to look around other areas but didn’t find anything else exciting. There were a couple of other mice, one being hunted by a prowling feline, a raccoon happily piling on a stack of treats from someone’s treasure box he had toppled over, and some kind of  hideous armored ball thing hopping around that was foreign to him. He plopped down in a tree to be still and observe hoping to catch something he would have missed on the journey. Many times this helps; it was important to stay silent and let life continue on around you and to simply observe and learn. It is a key skill when hunting. Do not rush but be strong in your patience. 

    A brother in arms called out from a distance away giving greetings and exclaiming joy in his successful hunt. One mouse down. He replied in politeness but kept his focus and cocked his head around to check his back when he spotted movement. An unexpected movement. The moonlight reflected off a small pond in tiny ripples. It wasn’t unusual for bodies of water to be around the area but rarely did they ripple like this one. He decided he needed a different view and took off for a closer tree that offered a much better perspective. There were creatures inside this body of water constantly moving around in mesmerizing patterns and suddenly he realized he had found fish! Strange orange, black, white, and red spotted fish of varying sizes. His curiosities piqued his hunter instincts; he had found his prey. This was a more attractive option to the daily mouse. He looked around and noted no one else had found the secret pond; it was all to his taking. 

    He prepared himself on the branch and stretched out his body in excitement of the catch. 

    He took off! He made not a sound as he moved with skilled speed. He focused intently on his chosen prey. A medium sized orange spotted fish with only a few speckled black dots. He wanted something not overly big in case it tasted foul. As he got close everything slowed down and time seemed to stop. He stretched out his talons, corrected his approach with his wings, watched the fish unknowingly swim right to the spot he needed it to be. His brilliant eyes caught every move with precision from the abundant light of the moon. He reached out and plucked out his prey with ease and without making the slightest noise even as the fish wiggled in his claws. 

    He perched in a large tree and devoured his dinner. It was delicious; a rare delicacy! He had truly found a golden spot and began searching for a new hole to prop himself closer, but stopped after a short while when a thought occurred to him. 

    “I don’t want this to be wasted. I will stay in my usual home and only come out for treats.”

    He realized quickly that was an impossible aspect for him. He went back to the pond every night for the following six days. He took a fish every night until there were no more left in his secret pond. But he did not give up hope. He continued to go back for weeks afterwards searching for more. This turned out fruitless when at last, after his fourth week of looking, he ended up with another mouse and an unsettling amount of disappointment. He may have to find a new home after all. 

    The following night, he went out for one last chance and landed in his hunting tree by the pond. There was no movement to indicate any extra fish and his powerful eyes saw nothing moving under the waters edge. He let out a sigh of acceptance; he would be going out further in search of a new home range tonight and he would miss the fun he had hunting those delicious fish. On a table to his left he spotted an odd shape that reflected the moonlight around a rim in interesting patterns. There wasn’t anything usually there throughout his time hunting.

    He finally found a comfy hole in a large leaning tree with exquisite life growing around the entrance. He had his own little lawn just like the other creatures with their large square homes. He looked down to his left and saw the object from the table. He decided he would copy the raccoon and take a treasure with him so he would never forget the joy of finding such delectable food. It would be a reminder to never give up the search. He hooted in happiness as light began to creep up around him, so he sank back into his area and got himself comfortable to sleep in preparation of tomorrow’s hunt.