The Farmhouse

I had found an old tree swing, and after tugging on the ropes to make sure it wouldn't snap, I slowly eased myself onto it. My hand was badly injured, and the deep wounds had slowed the flow of blood, but they were still bleeding. The rocking motion of the swing was calming, and my mind had a chance to deal with the swirling questions bombarding it. There was something about this farm that had begun to nibble at my memory.

My mind still blocked anything of use though, and my questions about why I was here were to be left unanswered for the moment. The strange creatures I had encountered confused me still, and no scientific analysis of the situation could explain why these creatures were, in loose terms, alive.

I couldn't understand why there were attacking me either; it was as though they all had personal vendetta's to fulfil with me. The strangest thing of all was the clock and the flashbacks I had encountered, they were obviously my memories, and the clock had represented something in my past, that much I knew; though nothing more was clear to me.

The drive to find someone, anyone, still burned inside of me. My hopes had somewhat diminished though, as I realized the possibility of a living being here was quite impossible. The idea of this stunned me, as I never would have thought I would be questionning the existence of human life over the reality of the supernatural. Human life had become the supernatural aspect in this baron place, as all else seemed natural here. I knew I would have to watch my step from now on, and I needed some type of weapon; as I had lost my shovel.

I scanned the gloomy lawn for anything that I could pick up and swing, that would provide me with blunt force. I couldn't see anything in the current vicinity, so cradling my injured hand, I got up from the swing and slowly made my way towards the farmhouse.

I nervously threw a look at the pen, but the zombie bull had seemingly disappeared. Either that or it had gone back around to the side of the barn that I could not see, lying in wait for me to stumble in its pen once more; I wouldn't make that mistake twice.

Making my way up to the veranda of the house, I spotted something long and heavy looking up against the wall beside the front door. I slowly made my way up the small flight of stairs, each step creaking under my weight, announcing my presence to anything hiding underneath it or inside the house. I cringed at every creak, but my mind was set on having something on hand to defend myself with and I pushed on until I reached the top.

The veranda was wide and long, reaching each length of the front of the house. It had an old love swing, which had long since collapsed due to rusted chains. My surprise was in the fact that the chains had given way before the rope on the tree swing. The fabrics in any rope would have long since worn down from weathering, before this covered chain. The thought had no help towards my current situation though and I quickly let it pass.

I was relieved to find the item I had spotted was a large iron crowbar. It had possibly been left here by someone intending to tear away the boards, nailed to the windows and the door. Although, why anyone would have wanted to go into a house on an insane zombie farm was beyond my understanding. I took hold of the crowbar with my good hand and swung it back and forth a few times. It was a good weight, and it would cause a good amount of damage to anything that decided to cross my path again.

As I was swinging the crowbar back and forth I suddenly became aware of a soft ringing noise. As I stopped my swining I held my breathe and listened hard; there was silence. Then it was there again, a distinct ring, periodically breaking every few seconds. It took me a moment to recognize the sound; it was a telephone. A telephone, finally, I had found a communicae with the outside world.

I felt my stomach turn as I realized where the ringing was coming from; quite obviously from inside the boarded up house. The ringing persisted, it seemed almost louder. It taunted me from inside the house, as though I would never reach the goal of contacting someone to come save me.

My frustration began to boil again, and I felt my arms pulse in anger. I grabbed the crowbar with both hands and swung it hard into the boarded door. It clanged as though it had hit metal, and the vibrations shook my entire body. My mind was far gone in rage though, and I continued to hit the boards, each time the bar rebounded off of them with a clang, never leaving a chip. I tried to fit the tip of the bar into the space between the board and the wall and pry it away. I tried with all my might to pull, but the board did not move an inch, and my pulling only drained my anger, until there was nothing left.

Defeated I dropped the crowbar on the deck and listened to the persistent ringing, as it jaunted and laughed in its singular tone. I realized it was never going to stop, unless I got in there somehow and picked it up.

I grabbed the crowbar once more and ran down the steps. Quickly chosing a side to run to, I sped around the side of the house moving away from the barn. The windows were all boarded up tight and they were too high from the ground for me to reach. I continued to jog around the house until I had reached the otherside, closer to the barn. My eyes fell upon a moldy looking cellar door.

I stared at the old double doors that lead down to the darkest of all places on this farm with dismay. There was no other way in, and these doors were not boarded up, or even locked. The rusted iron handles on each stood naked of any chains or bolts.

My hand idly tighted and loosened my grip on the crow bar. My injured hand was throbbing from the abuse I had put it through when trying to break the boards on the door. Inside somewhere, the phone continued to ring softly. I reasoned with the situation; there had to be some type of old bandages inside, or even a sewing kit that I could fix up my hand with. There was also the phone; it clearly worked and I could call for help.

The problem was that every dark corner explored so far had come up with bloodthirsty creatures that were near impossible to defend myself from. Logic also stated that if the pen held a cow, and the farm held chickens and a horse, then this house would hold people; or rather, what was left of people. My life had suddenly become a sadistic zombie movie, and I was actually considering putting myself into further danger.

The pros didn't outweigh the cons by much, but if I didn't do something I would be stuck on this farm, forced to face whatever decided to pop out next. Or maybe whatever was inside the house would get tired of waiting for me and come out to find me. I would have an advantage in that situation, but still there would be no win for me.

The ringing egged me on, and finally I came to a decision; I would venture into the house and find the phone and something to bandage up my hand. Reluctantly, I moved forward and gingerly grasped the iron handle attached to the moldy door. I pulled hard, expecting some resistance, but I eased off as the door surprisingly came up with with no resistance. The hinges made no sound at all, which surprised me as well, as they looked extremely rusted over.

I pulled the door all the way open, it screeched much to my dismay, and groaned with protest. I then leaned it on the ground, then grabbed the handle of the other one, as I spied the steps leading into the dark cellar. Easing the other door onto the ground I examined the opening. There seemed to be twelve cement steps and then I could make out the cellar floor; which was just a dug out cellar with a dirt floor. Beyond that, the small square of light did not produce anything more to my vision.

I leaned down and listened, but all I could hear was the ringing of the phone, now a little louder as the sound slipped into the cellar from inside. I found a rock nearby and picked it up; it was heavy enough to make a fair bit of noise. So without a second though, I chucked it down into the cellar, and watched as it bounced into the darkness. The dirt accepted it into imprints though and the rock did not make any noise; nothing moved.

As I waited for something to jump out at me, in menace, I noticed an object a few steps down, that glittered against the gloomy light. I examined it, it was long and cylindrical, widening out at the bottom. I realized suddenly what it was; a flashlight. Quite an old flashlight at that, but still it was a flashlight. I was excited but then suddenly suspicious.

How convenient it was for this flashlight to be placed at the only entrance into the house. Then again, I realized that if some creature had wanted to attack me, it would have rathered the element of surprise in the dark, than being blinded by a flashlight. It was possible the last persons in this house had simply placed it there as a convenience to themselves if they wanted to enter the cellar.

The idea made more sense to me than the thought of zombies placing the flashlight at the entrance to lure me in. I reached in and grabbed the flashlight, but as I did something scurried across the floor down below, and I yelped in surprise dropping the flashlight. It clanked down the twelve full steps with loud cracks as it went. Each time it hit a step I cringed. Finally it hit the dirt and rolled sadly across the floor up to the edge of the light from outside; half emersed in darkness.

I cursed at my clumsiness; I had planned to use the flashlight to scope out the entire basement halfway down the steps before moving completely down. Now if I wanted to use it I would have to go all the way down and grab it leaving myself unprotected to the darkness. Also there now was something down there, though it hadn't looked big, so it was possibly just a rat. Although I reminded myself, there wasn't just normal animals on this farm; so what I thought was just a rat could end up being some slathering little menacing creature, with friends.

My mind was getting the best of me and I needed to come to a proper analysis and plan of the situation. Yes there was definitely something down there, but it was also small and no matter what it was I would more than likely be able to fend it off with the crowbar. The best plan right now was to get inside the house, and if I had a flashlight and a crowbar I was one up on anything that was inside. It was settled, I would venture inside.

Gripping my crowbar tightly I moved my feet forward, though they felt like cement blocks, onto the first step. As I felt more courage begin to build I moved quickler until I was four steps, then six, then ten, and finally I made it to the ground. I stopped and looked around before blinding reaching for the flashlight. There was still not enough light to see much of anything but I looked anyways.

Nothing moved once again, and no sounds pierced me. I realized suddenly what I was hearing, or rather not hearing. The phone; it had ceased to ring. I spun around, realizing the trap instantly, but it was too late. The doors swung shut in a swiftness that I could never have done with my own strength, and slammed down. There was the sound of something sliding through the iron handles, and I saw a bar move across the slit of light that was left between the wooden planks.

The attack was swift but it wasn't physical; from all corners of the room screaming and moaning was thrown at me in waves. Hundreds of voices screaming in unison of unholy pain and torture. I could hardly take the noise it was breaking my eardrums. I frantically fell to my knees, the crowbar forgotten, and grasped for the flashlight. It was then that I heard the unmistakeable thudding of something very heavy tromping towards me on the dirt floor. The screaming continued but I could hear it over all of that; heavy footsteps loudly and slowly coming towards me.

In desperation I flung my arms around the floor trying to search for the Goddam flashlight that evaded my blind hand. Finally my hand touched over cool metal, and I pulled it to me flicking the switch; nothing happened. The room stayed dark and the screaming and thudding continued, closer now, almost on me. I cried out and slammed the flashlight against my hand, screaming at it to work; why wouldn't it work.

Finally a beacon of light shot out of the device and hit the ceiling in a brilliant and blinding display. Instantly the screaming and thudding stopped. I swung the beam of light around, looking everywhere for the bodies to the voices, and to the thudding. The room was empty though, save some barrells and an old work bench there was nothing but me and the old dirt floor and silence once more. I felt my heart pounding out of my chest, moving a mile a minute, my blood rushing through my veins.

My light fell across my heavy crowbar and I clammered over and grabbed it up, holding it to my chest protectively. Still nothing moved once more, and the basement, the entire house stayed silent.

I wasn't wasting anytime, I climbed up the stairs two by two, I realized the door had been blocked but I remembered they were old and moldy, and they shouldn't hold against my locamotive speed.

I hit the door with all my force and bounced back as though it were made of brick, sprawling me down the stairs; the flashlight flew from my hand and fell on at the bottom of the stairs shinning a beacon across the floor to the old workbench.

I was sprawled downwards halfway down the stairs staring at it, when I saw a black robe flash across it with lightning speed; something was down here again, and it was playing games with me. I spun around so I was sitting on the steps, and held the crowbar out in front of me. Slowly I slid my bottom down the steps one by one until it hit the dirt floor again. Swoosh, once more the black robe crossed the light; dancing through it playfully.

Ever so slowly I inched forward, slowly and intently until I was close enough to reach out and grab the light. This time the robe swooshed again, but I was ready for it. I grabbed the flashlight and quickly followed the figure with the light. It screeched as though in pain, and hit the wall falling to the ground in a heap. I held the light on it, and it smoked and smoldered, screeching louder until finally it burst into flames and then turned to ashes, as though it were made of dry wood.

I stood up and moved forward pushing my toe into the ashes and moving the pile around in the dirt. There was nothing left of the mysterious creature, and I had no way of knowing what it had been. I just had to hope there wasn't more of them.

I was clasping and unclasping the crowbar again in a sort of a tic, when I realized that my bad hand no longer hurt. I pulled it up to the light to examine it and saw that it was no longer gashed and bloody. It was in fact a healthy pink colour once more, with no scars or signs of a wound. It made me remember my ribs and how they had seemed to be broken but once I had somehow entered the barn they were fine once more.

I wondered about this, but my brain was once again interrupted when I heard the phone ringing once more, loud and jangling. It was at this point I realized this was a trap, there was no doubt. The thing was, I had no way out of this basement, and I would probably feel a lot more comfortable upstairs where I had some light filtering in, than down in this basement with strange robe-covered creatures flying around in the darkness. My mind was made up, I would have to venture upstairs and hope that by some slim chance the phone worked.

I quickly spotted the wooden stairs, leading up to the boarded-up house; as I walked over and began to climb the creaking boards the darkness behind me welled up in a large space once more, and out of my vision the walls bubbled out and slowly followed me up.

The End

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