Diana's Enchanted Barn

Good grief! Who the hell rammed the old barn full of empty pickle jars? Did I miss truckloads of the flaming things arriving and strangers secretly stashing them in there while I visited mom in the hospital? Well, you've all got to go. And why exactly would a perfectly sane person be talking to a barn full of glass jars?

I'll have to make a start on clearing them out, Joseph thought to himself. So he did. He swept the ones he'd smashed into a pile in the far corner. Trying to carry ten pots at one time had proven to be four too many.

Exhausted, he couldn't quite make it through the last hundred-odd jars. They would have to wait for the next day.

He tiptoed through the tiara of bulbous bottles he'd arrayed on the dead grass in front of the old building's rickety boarded door. He opened the nearside door of his car, reached in, and grabbed his wash kit. He brushed his teeth and rinsed with bottled water, then gave the grass nowhere near enough refreshment.

Next, he changed from his dusty cobwebby work clothes into his pajamas. He stowed the shaken and folded builder's work trousers and a cotton t-shirt in the footwell of the far backseat.

Lastly, he dragged out his deflated lilo and sleeping bag. He changed his mind, stuffed the lilo back in the nearest footwell, and shook the sleeping bag out across the back seat. Unzipped enough for him to crawl up over and then sit on and fold his legs into the opening. Then, like a giant caterpillar stuck in its cocoon, he undulated to the open door, knelt forwards, reached out, and slammed it shut.

Once settled, he lay there, and his mind flitted to the look in his mom's eyes earlier in the day. She tried with all her remaining strength to pull the shutters down over the pain and despair but not fast enough to stop him from glimpsing it a nanosecond before she grinned at him. Sun shone from her face and brightened his thoughts. Maybe he mistook what he saw. She must need to sleep after her operations. He'd given her an awkward one-armed hug and kissed her cheek.

He knew she'd masked her actual state from him. He did the same; he'd learned from the best.

Sleeping in the cramped car was better than the gloom of the old storage barn. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and gave him the shivers.

The following morning, Mal unzipped his warmth and flung open the car door on a kaleidoscope of light beams bouncing off the glass. Magical. The fifty-six-year-old decided he'd get dressed, splash some O2 on his face, and get stuck right into the last section of bottles he needed to clear before he could start the renovations.

Inside the stone building, Mal shone his torch then placed it on the flagstones to shed light on the objects of his task. Wait a minute, what happened to the broken bits? He picked the torch back up and shone it on four perfect glass vessels complete with screwtop lids. What the? That's not possible. Another man might have spent hours figuring how this weirdness occurred. Mal decided to hit the chore head on and get over to the hospital to see his mom.

On his return, he admired the deep red flames of the slow-setting sun catching the extended tiara - more like a laurel wreath now as it disappeared behind the old stone outhouse.

Mom had never used the barn when she still had the house. Soon he'd care for her in it when she came home. They had little choice after the fire gutted their home. He struggled to understand why his mom had fought to save it. She'd have died if the firemen hadn't carried her out in the nick of time.

Back in his car that night, a not quite complete idea niggled at his brain. He wriggled out of his backseat bed and took himself and the lilo into the barn. He slung it inside and shut the door.

Somehow he slept in the car. He awoke, excited. He dashed over to the building skittering sunbeam jewels as glass rattled and rolled. He flung open the door, pointed his torch at the floor, and found the lilo where he expected it. He also found what he half-suspected. The inflated lilo barely touched the ground!

Mal dressed, then cleaned the strange old construction while he waited for the deliveries to arrive. He'd ordered everything two people could need for a temporary stay in a place without most modern conveniences. They had a head start with an outdoor cold water tap. But they'd need a transformer for electricity and lighting—a camping gas stove for cooking and a fridge for fresh food.

Also, multiple rugs would arrive to cover the floor, like in the days of Ghengis Khan and living in tents. Come to think of it; they could have had a big pit in the middle of the floor if the barn possessed a chimney!

Throughout the day, items arrived, and Mal assembled and positioned them. By the time darkness fell, he'd cleared the front area of all obstacles. He'd got the lights and fridge working and hooked up a family-sized portable gas stove to a gas bottle stored under a table big enough for them to sit at for dinner.

A couple of single beds and six plush rugs provided the finishing touches.

After he watched the sunset, Mal closed the renovated door and latched it securely. He intended to enjoy a comfortable sleep on his new bed.

In the morning, the young man leaped from bed, fully refreshed. Mal couldn't remember the last time he felt this much vitality. He also couldn't wait to fetch his mom from the hospital. He wanted her to feel this invigorated.

The doctors didn't want her to leave; they said she needed more time to heal. Mal knew what he wanted, and his mom agreed. She waived the hospital of any liability, and her son pushed her wheelchair through the hospital corridors to the car park. He then transferred her to the front passenger seat of his car and drove them home after stowing the chair in the trunk.

That night, after a light supper, they got ready for bed. Well, Mal helped his mom, Diana, get into bed. Her skin, still crusted from second-degree burns, wore her frail frame like crackling on a pork roast. And her lungs still labored under the effort of the day. Mal gently draped her top sheet under her arms. The heat lamps hanging from the rafters would keep the chill off overnight.

As Diana dropped off with a swiftness usually reserved for new moms, she believed her son had thought of everything.

The next day, Diana knew her son had thought of everything. She looked across at her sleeping child.

He seemed so angelic, swaddled tightly in his sheet.

She swung her legs out from under her covers and strode over to pick him up.