The Old Barn

That old barn was my saving grace, and it wasn’t until much later that I learned just how true that was.

I had been walking for hours when I first set eyes on it. The rain had stopped long ago, but I was still dripping wet; my body couldn’t separate the sensations of water falling from my hair, from the tears running down my face, and the blood pouring from my wounds. The closer I got to that old barn, the more it seemed to tower over me, and the slower my pace became. Far off in the distance, it seemed small; but once I was standing in its shadow, it was mountainous and grand.

Its old boards had faded long ago, and even from the outside, I could see where the sun would pierce through the holes made by vines and critters. There was dusty red paint peeling from the wood, and it revealed layers of even more colours –the colours of this barn throughout its life. No one had bothered to paint it in quite some time, I could see clearly, yet there was something magical pulling me in.

I rested a hand on the splintered boards as I approached; my fingertips lingering and swiping across the rough surface as I walked along the outside of the barn. I tried to walk the full perimeter, placing my feet along its foundation and dragging my hand across every board. But there were bushes growing around the border, with flowers and thorns; and vines growing up the boards, forever trying to bust through the metal roof.

I watched my bare feet with each step I took, making sure to avoid twigs and planks with nails in them. I’d glance up, every now and then, and run a fingertip across a stretch of paint that was still clinging to the wood. There was something so familiar about the touch of the boards and the colour of the paint; but whatever memory I was drawing from seemed to take flight and leave me where I stood. Finally, when I turned the last corner, I found the door.

It had been bolted shut, years ago; and just like the paint, no one had bothered to maintain the lock, either. It was a big lock, three of them, actually –one requiring a key, another waiting for a four number sequence, and the last was looking for letters. Clearly, this building was important to someone, and the longer I stood in its shadow, staring at the crumbling locks, I got the feeling that whoever that ‘someone’ was, had gone, long ago.

I looked over each of my shoulders, and spun around a time or two, to look out at the fields all around me. There were no other buildings in sight –not even smoke drifting from a chimney in the distance. Rolling hills were all that graced my sight, and the lonely trees standing in empty fields. There was an old cart turned over, only a few feet from the old barn, resting in the shade of a tree. That cart was older than the barn, without a doubt; and with vines and a sapling growing right through its structure, I wondered how I knew what it was, so quickly. It seemed so familiar, but just as familiar as the old barn in front of me, and that was already making me question my sanity.

I peeled my eyes from the old cart, and brushed off the eerie feeling that had been welling inside me. I finally allowed my hands to reach out, and I felt the cool, rough touch of wet, rusted steel. The locks rested in my grip for only a moment, and then I tugged. I should have been, but I wasn’t surprised when the latch of the metal crumbled and fell from my hands. Something in me had already known the weakness of that barrier –somehow I knew that those locks could no longer serve their purpose; and that, in some way, their purpose had already been fulfilled.

With crumbled metal now at my feet, I rested a hand on each of the barn doors, and pushed. It took more effort than I expected, and once I was able to wedge myself through a crack in the doors, I saw that the floor was covered with loose hay –piled up so high behind the door, I could barely force it open. The smell and dust that greeted me was just as familiar as the touch of the old barn, and I welcomed the warmth I felt as this structure sheltered me from the winds outside.

Another gust of air came just as I closed the big barn doors, and there was an odd silence that overcame the space. I pushed the hay back up against the inside of the doors, and in a few other spots where I could feel the wind reach my skin. My eye lids were starting to fall, as if this barn felt so safe, I could have fallen asleep where I stood. But I knew I wasn’t entirely safe, not yet; I had to look at the extent of the damages he had inflicted, this time.

My eyes were barely open, and I’m not sure how I made my way around the barn; but somehow, I managed. I found an old lantern on a shelf that had fallen over, with its gas canister still intact. I pulled a box of matches from a pile of hay, as if I knew exactly where they were. I pulled one from the box and lit it with the side; and as I touched the end of the burning match to the wick of the lantern, there was a burst of light. I turned the dial on the side to lessen the flame, and then I wondered how I knew to do that.

I placed the lantern on the table in front of me, and glanced around at the surroundings, now available to my sight. I got an eerie sense of familiarity, and I brushed it off as quickly as it arrived. I had to tackle the challenge in front of me, and this was the first time I’d be doing it alone. With the light of the flame shimmering across my body, I first looked down at my arms and legs, and began my search.

My left arm was turning purple, from my shoulder to my elbow, and I remembered how he twisted it behind my back. And then I saw the gash just below my right knee, where I had struck the coffee table from the force of his push. My pants had torn in the same spot, and when I gripped the fabric to tear it more, my fingers buckled under the pressure; they weren’t broken, but they were bloody and bruised. I used all the strength I had and bit through the pain as I ripped the fabric from my pants, and tied it around the wound on my knee. And then my hands felt for my face.

I was always afraid to look at my own face afterwards, and I was grateful to not have a mirror, in this moment. He had usually avoided my face, until now, and I shook and shuddered as my fingers felt for the wounds that had been throbbing for hours. My bottom lip was split open, from where my own tooth broke through. My nose had never hurt so badly, and my fingers could feel how crooked it was. And there was a gash on my forehead that had sent blood running into my eyes, for hours. I pulled on another piece of fabric that had torn on my shirt, and then tied it around my head.

With my search now over, I felt a wave of relief overcome me. It lied me down on a bed of hay, and I released myself to sleep.

To be continued...

• Part 1 – The Old Barn
• Part 2 – Peace & Cake
• Part 3 – The Kitchen Table
• Part 4 – Paper & Twine
• Part 5 – The Polaroid Picture
• Part 6 – Bulls & Bullies
• Part 7 – The Raging Beast
• Part 8 – Water & Ice