The Agreement

The Laramie barn had been at the edge of the small town of Spruce Hill since the earliest days of its founding. The ancient building was the first thing to be seen when drivers crested the steep hill leading into town. Its weathered sides were bleached a silvery gray and creeping vines had worked their way up into the open loft. The doors had long since fallen away and a portion of the roof had collapsed. In its decades of disrepair the barn had come to acquire a legendary status among the children of Spruce Hill. Like so many old buildings spoken of only in whispers, the Laramie barn was rumored to harbor ghosts.

One hot day in late July, a small group of friends gathered outside the decrepit barn. They stood in its patchy shadow, the sun gleaming above the peak of what remained of the roof. The buzz of cicadas rose and fell for quite some time before one of the kids spoke up.

“We should draw for it.” Kyle pushed a lock of sandy hair out of his eyes and kicked at the packed earth. At thirteen he was the oldest of the bunch and had become the de facto leader by virtue of his status as “the teenager.” Kyle squinted up at the loft. Something about the looming structure made speaking uncomfortable. They stood in silence in the heavy air, each one considering the gravity of what they had come here to do. Finally Jenn piped up.

“Let’s do it, then. I want to go swimming.” Jenn was just a few months younger than Kyle but had hit her growth spurt and stood four inches taller. Patience and stillness were not her strong points by a long shot. Waiting made her practically vibrate with pent up energy and she shifted her gaze back and forth between Kyle and Alan.

Alan looked down at the path, hands shoved deep into his pockets. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the barn for very long. Alan was almost twelve but small for his age. He preferred to keep to the back of the group, hoping to remain unnoticed. It took a bit for him to feel Jenn’s eyes on him. When he finally noticed he stammered out a “Yeah, ok” and immediately returned his gaze to the ground.

Kyle was enamored with card games and never went anywhere without his favorite deck. Drawing cards was his solution whenever the three friends couldn’t decide what to do. “Low card has to touch the barn,” he said while shuffling. Kyle set the cards on the ground. “Draw.”

The kids held their cards face down, nervously looking at each other. On a count of three they turned them over. Jenn and Kyle had face cards. Alan went pale. He had drawn a two. He stared at the card long enough to have the after image pop up on on his friends’ faces when he looked up.

“Ok,” he said weakly. “Ok.” Alan bit his lip and started walking towards the barn. The dirt path crunched under his feet and tall grasses brushed against his arms. He looked back at Jenn and Kyle.

“Keep going, Alan, you’re almost there!” Jenn waved him forward and Kyle nodded offering a thumbs up. Alan took the last few steps and, wincing, laid his hand on the side of the barn. The wood was warm from the blazing summer sun. With a shaky sigh Alan started to pull his hand away.

“That’s it?” Kyle asked. “Come on, dude, that’s lame. You should go in! I bet no one’s been in there in for at least fifty years. There could be all kinds of cool stuff!”

“Why don’t you do it then?” Alan shot back, clearly annoyed. “This whole thing was your idea anyway.”

“Yeah but I didn’t draw the low card.” Kyle thought for a moment then smiled cleverly. “I’ll tell you what - I dare you to go in. If you’re too scared then you get to clean up after Argus for a week.”

Alan’s mouth dropped open.

“No way! That’s not fair!” Alan looked to Jenn, wordlessly pleading for help. Jenn shrugged.

“It’s no less fair than the last time,” she said. Alan hung his head in defeat. He had lost the last dare and had “Argus duty” for one day. Kyle’s Saint Bernard was a sweet dog but he also produced more waste than seemed physically possible. Alan shook his head at the thought of cleaning Argus poop for a week. There was no way he’d lose this dare.

Alan took a deep breath. With his fists held tightly against his legs he closed his eyes and ducked through the overgrown threshold of the Laramie barn.

Even though the doors and windows were long gone, the barn was strangely cool. Alan slowly opened his eyes. Dusty light filtered through the gaps in the ancient structure. Alan worked his way deeper into the barn, gingerly stepping over old equipment. A sumac pushed its way through the seat of an abandoned tractor, branches straining to reach the filmy light that trickled through the floorboards of the loft. There was an odd beauty to the building’s decay. For a moment Alan forgot all the stories he had heard about the place. He looked up to one of the shadows in the loft. It peered back at him.

Sheer terror overtook Alan, choking the cry in his throat until all that came out was a tiny high-pitched whimper. A pair of icy green eyes had opened in the depth of the shadow and they were locked on him, boring right into his soul. The air had become frigid, creating little wisps of condensation with Alan’s frantic breaths. A voice as ancient as the land itself spoke in Alan’s mind.

“Are you here to fulfill the agreement?”

Weeping now, Alan closed his eyes and vigorously shook his head. “It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real,” he declared, rocking in place. The cold grew deeper, painful. Alan opened his eyes to see those terrifying green orbs directly before him, the shadowy form billowing like smoke.

“Take life to give life. Are you here to fulfill the agreement?” It was less of a question this time and more of a demand. Too terrified to speak and even more afraid to say no Alan nodded silently. Piercing cold and shadow enveloped him, cutting off all light and stealing the sensation from his limbs. As Alan succumbed to the blackness he felt the voice resound again. “Life taken. Life given. It is done.”

Kyle and Jenn found Alan collapsed on the barn floor, hands held tightly to his chest. His lips were blue and his skin was cold to the touch. A streak of white hair had appeared in his otherwise black mane. Later that night their parents would say that Alan had suffered a heat stroke and that he was lucky his friends had been there to get help. As life moved on and the children became adults, the stories of Laramie barn faded into the realm of fairytales and urban legends. They’d laugh at the silly imaginings of their youth and go about their lives.

Twenty years later on a hot day in late July, as the call of cicadas rose and fell, Alan became a father to a baby girl. People remarked at how beautiful little Brenna was, especially her eyes. They were large and knowing, and a piercing icy green.