Olly Olly Oxen Freed

Oliver whistled a jaunty tune as he methodically pitched hay up into the loft of his family's old barn. The scent of bales freshly reaped in the sunshine was calming, bringing to mind hot summer days spent on the farm. As was the same every morning, Oliver had a long list of chores to complete. He'd already mucked out the horses and milked the cows - though he couldn't quite remember actually doing it - and still had haying and some repairs around the barn to do.

"I can't forget the chicken eggs this time," he muttered to himself, taking a moment to lean on his pitchfork.

He flinched as he recalled the last time he'd forgotten to collect the eggs. They'd gone on to hatch and he'd woken up to a bed full of chicks; his mother's idea of expressing her frustration with him. In all fairness, they'd both had to re-learn how to navigate life when Oliver's father died unexpectedly. The police chief had ruled it an 'unfortunate accident' when his dad's truck ran off the road, but Oliver had never been entirely accepting of that. He'd seen a different side to his father, one a bit darker than what everyone else saw.

Yet here he was, over a year later, still trying to fill the oversized coveralls and rubber boots. Never more had Oliver felt like a child playing the part of an adult. He was seventeen, due to become a man several months from now, though he felt far from it. He flopped onto the hay pile, the straw poking at him through his shirt as he stared up at the cobweb-strewn ceiling of the barn. He was supposed to be applying to colleges this year, looking toward some type of education in engineering. But when he’d seen how his mother was struggling after 'the accident', he couldn't bear the idea of leaving her here alone. And he knew she'd never give up the farm; it held the last of her good memories with her late husband. So Oliver had put his plans on hold and vowed he'd stay until the place was up and running again, maybe even see if he could hire some of the neighbourhood kids to help out.

Shouldering such hefty burdens would have likely taken a heavier toll on his mental health, if not for Amelie. Oliver grinned and ran a hand through his messy tresses as he pictured the girl from down the street. One he'd come to know, to love, to cherish after the way she'd smiled at him, and laughed with him, and held him through the hard times. In an already seemingly long lifetime rife with misfortune and darkness, Amelie was his guiding light.

He'd already told her several times he planned to marry her the second he could, to which she would always laugh and say, "I'm ready when you are, Olly."

When he'd told her that he planned to put off college for a bit, she did the same - despite his loud protestations - and had been helping him every day with tasks on the farm. He didn't know what he'd done in life to deserve her, but he was glad to at least have something bright in an otherwise shadowed world.

"Amelie, Amelie, Amelie," he hummed to himself, grabbing a piece of straw and chewing on it.

He once told Amelie he hoped they had a daughter who would grow up to be as strong as her mother, and he sincerely believed it. Oliver placed a hand over his chest as he recalled Amelie’s face when she teared up and told him she hoped the same with a son.

"Two kids then," grinned Oliver, "I guess that'll do."

"And they'll be some kids," laughed Amelie.

He pulled her in for a kiss, pausing to gently brush his lips over each of her cheeks, and her nose.

"Amelie Wilcox, I'm going to love you forever."

"Ditto, my Olly Olly oxen free."

He hoped there would be more days like that, of laying in the grass and watching the fireflies, the feeling of a storm on the horizon. Working a farm was exhausting and trying, and sometimes the tough days outweighed the rest that came with it. But there were also the good kind of days, ones where you could see that it was all worth the trouble.

"Olly!"

Oliver's head whipped toward a voice that, for some reason, felt forgotten, "Olly Olly oxen free!"

The words induced a flood of memories as they rang through him and he grinned widely, hopping up from the hay. He froze when he saw a dark-haired girl enter the barn, looking both so achingly familiar, and yet so different. His gaze followed her as she looked around in wonder, waving her hands through clouds of dust motes that sparkled in the rays of sunshine pouring through the windows. Oliver walked over to her, finding it odd how she didn't react to him, and reached for her hand. But try as he might, he couldn't grasp her fingers, finding them slipping through his own as elusively as water.

"What?" he whispered, trying again and again.

"My mom said this barn is haunted," Oliver stilled, a horrible realization dawning on him, "So, Ghost, if you're really here, I'm not afraid."

The girl paused a moment, then reached into the empty space in front of her, palm outstretched, "She said her Olly was a gentle soul."

Oliver met her hand with his, fingers hovering millimeters from her own, a tear rolling down his cheek as she said, "And I believe her."

The atmosphere felt charged and Oliver thought she might actually sense him, but then both of their attention was drawn to the doorway.

"Olivia!"

It was her. It was Amelie's voice, but it sounded deeper, older. Like it had withstood the trials of time.

The girl turned back and called out to the barn, "Bye ghost friend! I'll be back later since we live here now," and dashed out.

Oliver sank to his knees as memory after memory assaulted him, hands gripping his head.

"How long have I been here? What happened to my mother? How..."

He trailed off as he looked up toward the loft, instantly pinpointing a plank of wood with a broken edge jaggedly poking out into the air. He remembered. Remembered being up there, tossing down some hay when the plank had broken beneath his feet. He'd dropped his pitchfork in attempting to regain his balance, but he’d been unsuccessful. He fell, and was pierced by the gleaming metal tines where the fork protruded from the hay pile... the very fork he'd been leaning on only moments before.

Oliver let himself collapse to the floor, tears spilling over and his vision darkening. He hoped against hope that when we woke up, he wouldn't remember any of this. He couldn't bear it.

"Please," he begged as he slipped away, "Just let me be."

“Olivia, darling, who were you talking to?” Amelie asked her daughter, though she was certain she knew the answer.

“It was your Olly ghost, mom,” smiled Olivia, “He was there.”

“After all these years…” Amelie whispered to herself.

She broke out into a run, making a bee-line for the barn she’d been unable to bring herself to enter for the last few decades. She’d been a coward, but now… maybe now he could see she still loved him, and maybe he could forgive her.

“Olly?” her voice was small, barely bouncing back from the faded wood slats.

She’d once sensed him here, not long after his funeral; she had been able to feel his presence then. But now, standing among the dried out shreds of hay and sagging beams, she felt nothing. She sighed and turned to leave, only pausing to press her palm against the door jamb.

“I guess now we’ve both moved on. I hope you’re at peace, Olly.”

Her words fell only on the empty air of a musty, deserted barn; unheard and unknown.