The Barn

I smell blood and rust. There's also a miasma of moldy wood and old hay, mildew, sweat and shit. There's a creaking rattle of chains and a sickening silence. The ringing in my ears is the only thing I can hear.

My wrists are cuffed too tight, my fingers have pins and needles. My hands and ankles are bound apart from one another leaving me splayed spread eagle on whatever it is that I’m affixed to. I am on something cold that’s made of metal or stone. I really can't tell for sure. My shoulders ache from the tight bindings and it is difficult to breathe. I can buck my hips to little effect but that is all the motion that I can get.

I can’t stop shivering. It’s chilly and I’m naked, I feel like I should have mentioned that earlier. I can feel the humid musty air moving over me very slightly like there’s a draft. I taste a faintly metallic flavor in my mouth. I probe my lip with my tongue, it’s swollen to the size of my thumb and it’s oozing blood. I can’t see anything, not because anything is wrong with my eyes but because there’s something coarse tied around my head hampering my vision.

Thinking back about how I got myself into this predicament. I remember being at a bar with loud country music yodeling along in the background. Ten odd hazy people were line-dancing on the wooden dance floor. I was drinking a daiquiri that was just a little bit too slutty on the blue curaçao. I saw a girl from across the room: shorter, dark hair, green eyes, perfect build, had a tattoo of a blue jay on her arm. She was way out of my league, so I returned to my drink, it was she who approached me. She struck up the conversation when she asked me about my drink and said that she really liked its peculiar blue hue.

We talked for a long time about all manner of topics: history, religion, science; not the variety of conversation that I’d have expected in this setting. I was really just looking for some company for the night but she enticed me with intelligent conversation. We chatted for over an hour yelling over the loud music. I finished my drink and she offered to get me another one. I accepted.

I excused myself to use the restroom. Washed my hands and returned to the table. There was another blue curaçao daiquiri waiting for me. It was as good as the first one; it was a little bit salty maybe but who cares it was good.

She asked if I wanted to head back to her place to cast some dark magic. I thought that was a little weird, but my interest was piqued so I paid my tab and we headed for the door. I was a little bit dizzy with too much to drink maybe. I got into her car and we moved off into the night. It was a small sporty car that was a pretty color of blue.

Twenty minutes of driving or four hours, I couldn’t tell. I was so out of it. Maybe I was dozing. I was so dizzy, woozy. I had no clue where I was anymore. Not to say that any dark country road looks unique. Every road in Arkham looked the same to me. I recall going over a wooden covered bridge that was painted blue.

A blink of my eyes and she parked in front of an old and decrepit barn. It loomed in the darkness like a gargoyle. Its huge doors stood open like a dark, toothless, frozen howl. I could hear and smell pigs, the sour stench of them was just awful. There was also a smell of wood smoke nearby. The girl smiled at me as she beckoned me out of the car, she had such an enchanting smile. Then everything turned sideways and I hit my face on a wood chopping block hard as I went down.

Back to my present situation. I hear the low creaking noise of the barn door opening and there was a small rustling noise like footsteps in the straw. I call out to no reply. Things get very quiet for seventy or so tense heartbeats. I strain my ears for any sign of sound. I feel like I can hear someone breathing but I can’t be sure. Someone lights a candle near my head and a little bit of light comes under the blindfold. More candles are lit and a brighter light comes through the blindfold. I smell sulphur in the air with each lit match.

The blindfold is removed and it takes a few moments for my eyes to adjust even in this dim light. Three women are standing to my right. All three are wearing creepy masks, and nothing else I’d like to add and let me tell you that they are wearing it well. Perfect figures on all three of them. Under more ideal circumstances I’d be having a really fantastic time. I feel myself getting turned on by this exciting turn of events. They are chanting in a strange undulating tone that is almost like a creepy sea shanty. I’m not prepared for this Eyes Wide Shut sort of thing but I’m getting into it if you know what I mean.

One of them draws out a long silver knife and holds it over me. The knife has a broad leaf shaped blade and a blue handle. Instant boner killer, that’s for sure. I am definitely no longer into this scenario. I beg and shout and cry and spit curses at her. I offer her everything I have to give. All three of them ignore me as they continue to chant. I am not excited about this anymore. Suddenly they stop chanting and the one with the knife plunges it into my belly.

Time seems to slow down and I watch in shocked slow motion as the very sharp knife slides smoothly, almost confidently, into my abdomen. I feel the knife jolt a bit when the tip strikes the hard surface under my body. Warmth floods over my belly and down my side. My fingers get even colder and the coldness begins to crawl down my arms, I lose all feeling in my legs. I smell the sticky sweet musty aroma of the barn and the rich metallic odor of my own blood.

I feel my whole body relax, it’s like I’m falling asleep. My vision grows cloudy and everything is getting hazy, the candles have halos. I feel like I’m flying away from myself and the pain, which was really bad at first, just subsides into a distant irritation, like a mosquito bite. This is my first time dying and it’s not really altogether unpleasant. I’ve always assumed that dying would be this dramatic traumatic ordeal but this is not so bad. A single tear flows out of my eye and rolls down my cheek, I don’t even mind it. I hear rushing water. My vision fades to a long deep tunnel, just like all the stories. I’m ready to go into the light.

The last thing I see is a little blue jay looking at me. Good night little blue jay.

I initially wrote this story in just a few frenzied hours in Summer of 2020. Since then, I've gone back and edited it to give it more of a polished feel. There's a slight Lovecraftian influence to this story, as is my habit. This is pert 1 of a nine part story called "The Age of Iron". I hope you enjoyed reading it.