The Family Farm

"This is it?" Mom had said when we pulled up to the barn.

"This is it!" I had said when we pulled up to the barn.

And now, here I was. In the barn that I'd be fixing up with Mom.

It was old—a definite fixer-upper. But that was what Mom and I did best: fix things.

It was Uncle Leroy's farm. He'd never really paid the barn much attention, so it had gone under... I'm not sure why.

But again, here we were. In the barn, finally making it pretty again.

"Where do we start?" I asked, pulling up my sleeves. I was ready; excited.

"Well..." Mom looked around the space; a slight frown was strewn onto her face.

Why did she dislike it so much? She loved renovating spaces like this.

"Here." I walked to one side of the barn, pointed to the other. "I'll take up this end; you take up that one."

Mom nodded; walked over to her end. Very, very slowly.

Strange.

Shaking my head to myself, I made my way to a ladder that seemed a hundred years old and shook it lightly.

The wood was flimsy—so flimsy that one step split in half.

Sighing, I turned around and spotted Mom running her hand along the wood of the ladder—almost like she was examining it—on her end. Very, very slowly.

Okay...?

"Mom."

She momentarily gasped and pulled her hand away from the ladder almost too quickly.

Pulling my brows together, I pointed to the broken ladder. "Can you pass me the notepad? I need to list some things that need to be renovated."

She blinked, still in her spot. She shook her head to herself and blinked twice.

Pulling out the notepad from her side pocket, she said, "Oh. Right. Of course."

She threw it to me, but it landed on a heap of hay behind me. Walking over to it, I look around some more.

Old wood lined the whole barn—most of which needed to be replaced. But there was something so ancient about it that sparked my intrigue.

How old was this place, anyway? All I knew was after Grandpop died, Uncle Leroy received ownership of the farm. There was no inheritance except for the farm.

I think.

And that basically means Mom got nothing... I don't know why.

And, honestly, I was starting to feel like I didn't know anything. Nothing of this family, of the lost or non-existent "inheritance," of this farm, or of this old and neglected barn...

What happened here?

I picked up the notepad and got to work. I started off at the ladder; made notes on the fixes. Then, I went over to the empty, abandoned stalls that only served as homes to loads and loads of hay now.

I looked through each stall, all of which needed some sort of repair. There was even this one stall that had completely collapsed.

I wondered how old the farm really was. I'd never even asked.

"Hey, mom?" I called, poking my head out of a stall I'd been inspecting for the past fifteen minutes.

No response.

"Mom?"

The sound of shuffling caught my line of hearing, and I opened the stall door and stepped out.

From where I was standing, I couldn't see Mom. I should've been able to from here, though. She had been close by.

I decided not to call her name again, and instead just followed the almost inaudible noise.

Shuffling. Muffled sounds. Thumps.

Where is Mom?

I held my breath and stalked around one corner of the barn. Tools and equipment were shelved on the worn walls, and clutter littered the hay-filled floor.

A door.

On the floor.

What was it called again?... It was one of those doors that you wouldn't normally notice; almost like a secret door.

Oh! A trapdoor. That's what it's—

Wait—a trapdoor?

"You've gotta be kidding," I muttered under my breath.

Of course, there was a sketchy trapdoor in an old, mysterious farm that I knew nothing about.

Of course...

Ignoring the many alarms going off in my head and consciences telling me not to let curiosity get the better of me, I walked over to the trapdoor.

It was already open, the hinged door laying off to the side.

goosebumps shot up my body.

Mom must have already opened it. She must have gone in. She must have.

Who else would have?

What if there was something bad down there? What if Mom was in trouble?

Stairs.

There were stairs that went down, down, down.

A key on the floor, thrown aside.

What is happening?

I picked up the longish key; twirled it around in my fingers. I'd never seen it before. Ever.

I looked down the trapdoor, where the spiral stairs went down farther than I could see.

"Mom?" I breathed.

I had to find her. I had to... go down the creepy stairwell that led to who-knows-where.

Taking a deep breath, I stalked down the stairs very, very warily.

This whole situation just brought up more questions in my head that needed answers I didn't have.

What really is this place? What is up with Uncle Leroy? Why have I never known anything about this family; about this farm? What is wrong with this farm?

And what the hell is up with Mom? And where is she? And if she really is down here—to wherever this stairwell leads to—why?

Shaky breathes in, shaky breathes out—

A scream.

A terror-filled scream echoed its way to where I was, and I froze.

But then I'm snapped back to reality and shouted, "Mom!"

It had to have been her. Mom was in trouble.

I practically sprinted down the stairs and tripped when I made it to the landing, which happened to be a dark basement with a single light bulb illuminating the room.

"Mom?" I shouted and screamed and squeaked all at the same time.

She turned toward me, and pure horror is the only thing that could describe her face.

I ran over to her; grabbed both her hands and squeezed them so tight—too tight.

"Mom? What happened? Are you okay? Talk to me!"

She was breathing hard, looking somewhere beyond me, her eyes unblinking.

Something was very, very wrong.

"Mom!"

She blinked, and her eyes darted to me. Written on her face: terror, angst... Fear.

Her gaze then shifted. To something... behind her. And she whimpered.

"What, Mom? What's—"

A gasp. My gasp.

A body. A person. A man. A dead man.

I covered my mouth with my hand and tried to suppress a scream. Or puke. Or my repulsion to the smell; to the sight of this lifeless, dry-bloodied—

Recognition. The person looked familiar. The person looked just like—

"Mom... Is that..."

A choked sob escaped her lips and she buried her face in her hands.

"Grandpop."

Mom shook her head; sobbed and sobbed and cried out in agony.

I stepped closer to the body, even though all I wanted was to run away.

It really was him—Grandpop. And... no. A hole right in the center of his stomach.

Dried blood surrounded him—all of his body, the blanket that he seemed to have been wrapped in that was now unfolded and laying flat beside him.

"Why—What—how did—why is Grandpop here? Why..." I winced. "Why is there a bullet in his stomach?"

Mom just kept crying and slumping down further into the ground, shaking her head again and again.

I looked around the space. Dark, cold, and empty. That is, besides the body.

"How did you find him, Mom? What's happening?"

She shook her head again and again and again. But she didn't speak.

"Mom! You have to talk to me! What happened here? Why is Grandpop here; not six feet under in a casket like we thought he was! Who shot him, Mom?! Who?"

Deep, shaky breaths. Shaking of heads. Muffled cries and sobs. Both of us were in absolute shock.

"What... is happening?"

Mom lifted her head. Stood up very, very slowly. Turned around. Looked at me. Opened and closed her mouth. Blinked.

"Mom?" I whispered and walked over to her.

She held up her palm for me to stop. I did. I stared at her, expectant.

She cleared her throat; gulped.

The only word she said—which seemed to be almost to herself—was: "Leroy..."