Haven's Farm

The land had been in the family for generations, a nice few acres worth. It started with a modest two-story house, fit for five, out near the front before expanding, like a drop of syrup spilled on the table.

Now, Haven's Farm boasted an immaculate single-story, elevated ceiling barn, fresh fruit orchards, a corn maze, and even a pumpkin patch for the Fall time. There were year-round farmhands that lived in some lovely houses at the edges of the property, far enough away to be private but still close for emergencies.

During the peak seasons, Spring and Fall, the farm was open to outsiders for business. Families and tourists could come in and pick their own apples and peaches; the pear trees were too few and not nestled in the orchard with the rest, so people didn't normally get those.

Though the orchards were popular, Meemaw's barn was the red, beating heart of the whole shebang. It was the first and last stop to any visit. People could go in and buy jams and marmalades, pies and cakes, all homemade by Meemaw herself. (Of course, there were some farmhand’s wives who helped along, but everything was okay’d before being set out for sale; licensing and all.)

If the breeding seasons were good, there was even a small pen inside the barn where children could go up to the gate and feed the animals; goats, lambs, chickens freely roaming from their inside coop, and sometimes even a few rabbits.

And despite having that little pen inside the barn, it managed to smell fresh and fruity. A farmhand, usually Jason, was available to clean up the muck from the pen, and Meemaw usually brought out a fresh pie or four every couple hours; they were normally sold by the slice, unless someone asked for a whole pie specifically and gave Meemaw time to cook it.

Visiting Haven's Farm became a tradition for several of the big city and small-town folk. Especially during the Fall when all the trees were bleeding orange and yellow leaves, and the pumpkin patch was growing gorgeous gourds. Meemaw would have pumpkin pie at the ready in her barn, as well as her usual apple jams.

But the Fall highlight was the corn maze. Oh, people loved it. The thrill of being lost without actually being lost, the adrenaline of trying to find a way out. And, somewhere deep down, people had the fear of not knowing. Everyone assumes that when the stalks of corn rustle on the other side of the wall, it's probably another person, right? Can't really tell though, the stalks grow so thick together.

There weren't any farmhands to keep track of the entrance and exit, but every now and then, Jason would do a search through the maze to find any lost souls.

With the way the maze got set up, people would enter near the orchard and exit out the side by Meemaw's barn. People worked up a hunger when trying to escape, that bit of adrenaline and all, and those pies and fresh fruits were the perfect temptation.

What people didn't notice as they burst from the maze, laughing and ecstatic, was another spot of red off in the distance; Grandaddy's Barn. They would walk right through the well-worn path leading away from the house to go grab their treats.

If anyone did spare a glance that way, they probably wouldn't think twice. The barn, while a story taller than Meemaw's, wasn’t out of the ordinary; a little run-down maybe, but it wasn't gifted with a fresh coat of paint each year. No one was allowed in that barn, so there wasn't a need to keep it pretty. It was purely functional.

Scarlett's bedroom was on the second floor of that modest house and had two windows. From one, she had a stunning view of the orchards and corn maze; sometimes she'd take a break from helping in the kitchen, wander up to her room, notice some people seemed a bit turned around, and would let Jason know he needed to make a lap.

Grandaddy had even set up a cozy bench under that window, since he'd see her little face peeking out of it just about every time he was in the orchard. The sun never shined directly through the window and the breeze tickling through the trees swept the scent of fruits into her room when it was open.

Her other window had a set of thick velvet curtains she kept pulled back during the day, but shut come sunset. The sun poured in like it had to make up for the time it couldn’t get in through the other one, and it made everything so hot.

She'd get up to close her curtains and catch a glimpse of Grandaddy's barn.

"Don't you be going near there, Scarlett Jane," His voice echoed in her head, as clear as if he was standing at her door. "Ain't nothing in there for you."

The sun burned against the black rooftop and lit up the side walls as bright and red as the hourglass on a black widow’s belly. Once white accents over the windows and trimming had faded away, leaving the naked, tarnished wood.

Visitor's might think it's just another barn during the day, but at night, with the yellow lights in the window and the sun breathing life into it, Grandaddy's barn came alive.

Scarlett was a good girl, mindful. Her grandparents were good to her; she had to do daily chores, but it wasn't anything she hated, and she often got a slice of pie or cake on Friday's.

All this to say, she didn't disobey Grandaddy. She kept a distance from his barn.

But there were times when she went to give the hogs their dinner (Jason was kind enough to let her scoop their food into the trough, but only after a firm reminder to keep out of their pen), and the air blowing out from the barn was...thick.

She'd only helped feed the hogs a handful of times, not even that, and it seemed like every time she did, that same taste was in the air. It wasn't exactly muck, though there was no denying that was there too, but it wasn't really anything she'd smelled before.

Curiosity got the best of her one evening, so she came into the house and asked, "Meemaw, why does it smell so bad near Grandaddy's barn?"

The moment those words left her mouth, she froze. Meemaw threw her a look so venomous, she doubted a rattlesnake could hold a candle to it. And she thanked the good Lord above that Grandaddy wasn't inside right then to overhear her.

"I didn't go inside!" She said, quick as a whip. "I was...by the corn maze and it just smells...I don't know, Meemaw. It doesn't smell nice like your barn does."

Meemaw's frosty look thawed after a moment, and she shook her head.

"You'll know when you're older," she said.

What an unsatisfying answer.

True though, Scarlett was young, barely double digits, but the prospect of having to wait years to know the name of that ugly smell was agony to her curious mind.

As fate would have it, it wasn't years she had to wait. In fact, it was only a few months later that she was sitting in her room for the evening with a good book and the curtains drawn to keep Grandaddy's barn from smiling at her all night.

There was a loud crashing from downstairs, so sudden and sharp that she jumped from the bed with a pathetic little yelp. She rushed down as fast as she could, pausing at the bottom step when Meemaw went running into the bathroom, shouting for Grandaddy.

"Jason!" She shrieked, once again rushing from the bathroom. "Jason, c'mere, Bob needs help!"

Jason didn't need to be called a second time; he was already headed passed Meemaw into the bathroom.

Scarlett was rooted to her spot, something twisting in her stomach, not letting her feet move, no matter if she wanted to. Her eyes followed everything, almost as if watching the television. It was real but…not. She saw Meemaw's reddened apron. It wasn't normally red. And her hands were red too. As bright as the barns.

Meemaw spotted Scarlett, ran past, seemed to think twice, and then rounded on her.

"You stay put right there, Scarlett Jane, right there." Then she was gone.

The walls were thin, Scarlett could hear the rumble of the old truck throwing gravel as it came to a stop outside. Jason emerged from the bathroom, holding Grandaddy up with their arms tangled over each other’s shoulders. A towel, pink at the moment but deepening fast, was being held up to Grandaddy's head. They shuffled outside without a word, but Jason gave her a small smile that threw her back to reality, shifting her focus.

Scarlett was a good, mindful girl. But she was curious. So, before the truck door could slam shut, she tiptoed to the bathroom; looking back, this was the first time she ever noticed her heart thumping in her chest, her freezing hands slick with sweat, her fingers trembling. Anxiety, she'd later learn this feeling was; anxiety and fear.

Steam was still dancing out of the cracked bathroom door when she stole a look around it. The bathroom was red. The mirror was fogged up like it usually was after a shower, but the pale blue tiled floor had a puddle as vibrant as a candied apple, slowly expanding toward her feet.

Blood. She knew what blood was.

And it hit her then, as she was peeking into the bathroom. That smell. Like Grandaddy's barn. Hot, humid air, thick as syrup, and that nasty smell she couldn't name? Blood.