Barley grass Hill

It was there still standing. Nestled upon a hill of barley grass, a barn.

An aged place, built of wood from the old-growth forests of yore. High in places and low in others, with rustic paned windows, fit right into its rough, weathered look. And it was here that my family moved when I was very young.

I remember being so happy to see the barn for the first time as that was the day I remembered being there with my mother. A faint memory without substance or form, like murky water that I couldn't quite drink down no matter how hard I tried.

It was the same place she brought me to as a child, out into her field to play and rest. And it was also the same place she brought me to meet with my father. The warmth of a voice I didn't recognize and the gentleness of hands that felt like an embrace when he picked me up.

As I thought about it, memories started to emerge from beneath the rising haze in my mind; the way that they were both happy on days when I was there. The memory was vivid for a moment and then suddenly distorted, turning joyful grins into fowl and cracked smirks.

A chill ran up my spine as I realized that they were both mad. That was why the memories seemed to shift at times; from real to hope, to darkness and fear. The whisper of a memory grew louder still, calling out from beneath the soil for someone it could never reach again.

My thoughts scattered to the breeze. The behemoth of a structure before me howled with many creaks and groans, and the air itself seemed To want to wrestle with the horror. The sound fills me with an unknown dread as though something cruelly tugged at my heart.

The barn was different from the way it appeared in my memory.

It still stood tall; however, even though it looked to be painted a solid red on the outside, many cracked and peeled off parts of the paint. Like something that had been burned or melted numerous times over, the surface was scarred all over with burn marks.

It was as though the thing stared at me, or more so stared through me with disgust. The falling window covers gave it the distinct visage of furrowed, disapproving brows. I remembered that look from someone else but from somewhere that I could not recall.

Trying to think about it stirred a fierceness of heat from within me, and the summer air did me no favors. So heavy were the hands which laid themselves upon me on that day. I can still feel the flame of the cigarette and the scent of my skin as it singed and festered.

I had allowed myself to forget the scar in its entirety. To some, it was a birthmark. To others, it was some dirt—a circular dark brown mar on my flesh eclipsed my more yellowish-tan skin.

Here I am, and here I was when the beast burned, but the beast still stands. The wretches of the past are still haunting this place and me. Their horrid yells and shrieks of that night eat into me and continue to hunger at my sanity.

I feel as though my nerves are on edge, and everything before me is a blur. I try to fight the fog that seems to envelop my mind and the memories it coaxes out from within me. Only I seem like an intruder, walking into what should be the comfort of my old home; yet somehow feels as though I am visiting a place that I have never been, yet at the same time felt it so familiar in that moment of lost consciousness.

I lie, and I break apart with feeling. The memories of that night are as though they have been seared into my soul and slowly suffocated the part of me that could feel hope. Now I can only feel as if I am buried beneath the earth for all eternity, with no chance to scream out, no one to hear.

The same way it had come before festered within me once more—the horrid smell of their bodies rotting in the house with me; filthy hands wrapped around my neck; a burning cigarette on my arm; fire everywhere...

My mind began to race again. Thoughts darted back and forth between past and present with haste like an ocean tide, causing immense discomfort within myself as waves crashed against the shore. I reverted back to the barn as it was on that day, covered in ashes, broken glass, and smashed furniture. My heart began to thunder, and bells rang in my ears as if my mind were a siren warning me of a final flash of death before all else would vanish beneath the abyss.

I seemed to have forgotten everything: friends, school, hobbies...

Slowly but surely, the world just collapsed upon itself until there was nothing left but myself—buried with a mark upon me like some sort of scarlet letter denoting sin and guilt while I slowly bled out from within myself. Time passing was like sand in an hourglass cascading down through the hole which had been formed by grieving hands.