She was driving through her hometown in her old Mazda listening to 90’s rock music on the radio. She was on her way to a family dinner when she drove past the old barn. Instantly, memories from her childhood began to flood her brain. It had been years since she thought about that barn, years since she had thought about her friend who was taken way too soon.
It was a usual Saturday afternoon; we would meet at the century old barn in the middle of the overgrown corn field to play tag. It looked like it would fall over in a strong windstorm, the painted wood was peeling, and the doors were coming off the hinges. The fields around it long overgrown as the farmer who used to tend it had passed away several years earlier, and the family it was left to wanted nothing to do with farming. There was a family of deer that lived in the field, and we had named each of them as we hoped they would survive the hunting season. There were stacks and stacks of dried-up straw that made climbing through the rafters feel a little safer if you lost your balance. The five of us would spend hours upon hours climbing, chasing, falling through that old barn. Occasionally we would see the beautiful brown barn owl make an appearance as we were hollering and climbing through the rafters.
It was in that barn that the five girls had grown up together. So many secrets had been told, so many “firsts” that had happened. Any time any one of them had a struggle and needed to escape, the old barn was where they headed. As high school came upon them, the barn was where they would throw parties. It was where she had her first kiss, where she had her first heartbreak, and where she experienced her first loss. The barn meant more to her than she realized.
She arrived at the family dinner and made the usual banter with everyone that was there. She came from a large family, and there was always something and someone to talk to. Today she was distant. The memories of the barn kept flashing through her mind. She was longing for the safety and comradery that she felt in those childhood days. There was not a bond that she had experienced with a group of people since those barn days. Her family had been commenting on how she was distant today. How she didn’t seem to feel present. She went through the typical motions at dinner and decided to excuse herself early.
Driving back home she felt the pull of the barn. She pulled into the old drive and decided to check out what was remaining from her favorite hang out space from fifteen years ago. The emotions that were filling her body as she walked towards the door of the barn were overwhelming as tears began to stream down her cheeks.
The memory of her friend and what had happened the night that she passed began to flood back as though it were happening all over again. They had hung white Christmas lights all over the barn and powered them with an old generator. There were old sheets covering several of the hay bales, to create makeshift tables for snacks. The girls were throwing a party. And this was going to be the best one yet, as they were getting closer to graduation, and they were all beginning to realize that the days of hanging out in the barn were becoming numbered.
The keg was tapped, and the guest list was growing as different kids began to arrive. They had found a path that led back behind the barn, so the cars from the party were not visible from the road. There was a new group of kids that had arrived that night. They were from a neighboring town and were invited through a work associate of one of the girls. These kids brought a different type of fun to the party. They brought drugs that the girls had not experienced before.
The night wore on, and the girls were getting more and more inebriated. One of the new kids offered some lines to “keep the party going” and her friend could not resist.
“I will just try a little bit.” She said, smiling the big tooth smile that would light up a room.
Not wanting to have her feel alone, she also jumped in and tried a line. One turned into two, and it snowballed from there. They were having fun and felt invincible all at the same time. The hours crept by, and the sun was beginning to peak from behind the fields. Some of the kids had long left the party, and it was time to break this crew up and try to get some sleep. The girls had tents back behind the barn that they had put up before anyone had arrived, knowing that they would not be driving that night.
The two girls crawled back to one of the tents to try to rest. After a few hours, she was startled by hoot from what sounded like an owl outside. She turned to check on her friend only to realize that she wasn’t breathing.
That was the last time she had been to the old barn, over fifteen years ago. And now she was standing in the doorway, remembering all the good and the ultimate bad that had happened here so long ago. She wondered if any of the other girls came out to this old barn, or if the memory of their friend’s loss had been too much to revisit.
She suddenly felt a peace that she had not felt in years. In the corner of her eye, she saw something move, and when she turned to look, she saw the old brown barn owl in the rafters. She smiled, as she did when her and her friends would see this old bird so many years ago. The old bird gave out a hoot and flew through the field.
“Goodbye my friend.” She whispered as she turned back towards her car. Her heart had found some peace in this trip that she had not expected. And she suddenly knew that her friend was alright. The landscape may have changed a bit, but the memories of that old barn will never change.
About the Creator
Erin Cuellar
I love writing. It is a great outlet and I am excited to learn from folks on here.
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Into the Darkness
She is standing in a room and has no idea how she got there. She blinks her green eyes hard as she tries to focus on the haze that is in front of her. Trepidation and sheer terror are running through her veins like an I.V. drip of morphine in the hospital as she becomes more and more aware of her surroundings. She blinks hard again, and the dilapidated brunt remnants of a century old fireplace come into focus. She can smell the musk of burnt memories long forgotten as she turns her head to see broken and shattered windows and floorboards that are cracked and missing. The fear in her body is telling her to run and instinctively she looks in both directions and sees a set of stairs. She jets for the stairs and instantly can feel something chasing her. Something evil, something dark. The grey haze swirling around her as she moves quickly forward. She makes her way up the broken stairs and finds herself in a black and white tiled bathroom. It is so cold, her breathe can be seen as she tries to steady her nerves. Where can she hide? This house is falling apart, and any misstep could land her crashing to the floors below. She can now hear her heartbeat in her chest as the sudden urge to run hits her again like a truck. She finds what appears to be an old bedroom. There is a familiarity to this room that she cannot explain. She dives into a closet that is filled with broken toys and old dirty clothes. She can hide here, she thinks. She will just hide amongst the broken dolls and old clothes. It cannot get her in here. She nestles herself into the messy closet and feels the sharp claw as a bony hand grasp around her throat from behind her somewhere in the closet. She can feel the pierce of her skin as one of the claws scratches her neck as the grip tightens. She cannot breathe and begins to kick her feet and grasp at the hand that is pulling her back further and further into the closet. The haze is getting darker and thicker as this beast is pulling her deeper and deeper into the house. She is clawing at the fingers, trying to pry herself free from the grasp. She gains enough for a quick breath and continues to feel herself pulled deeper into the house. The motion downward is nauseating, until finally it stops. She feels the grip let loose and she is standing in a cold and mildew filled basement. The walls are made of stone, and there is a dirt floor. The dark haze that is swirling suddenly slows and she can feel the creature standing behind her. She can hear its heavy breath. Should she turn around? She wonders. Should she try to run? There does not seem to be an escape from this beast. She slowly turns and the haze becomes so thick, she cannot make out a face. She can only see pointed red eyes staring at her. She goes to speak, and no words come out. She tries to scream, and it is like she is a muted television. She walks forward into the haze, the fear and trepidation now leaving her body. There is nowhere to run, there is no one here to save her. She must face this evil and is now prepared for whatever it has in store for her. She continues to walk towards the piercing red eyes. She is ready to accept the darkness. She reaches her arms out and is ready to embrace this demon. This monster. And like a jolt of lightening, everything begins to shake, and the house begins to crumble all around her. She blinks hard and gasps as she realizes she is in her own bed. She feels the terror in her chest and realizes she escaped but only for a moment. For as she closes her eyes again, into the darkness she will fall.
By Erin Cuellar2 years ago in Fiction
Peanuts and Crackerjack
Bottom of the ninth inning. The game is tied with two outs, two strikes and a man on second. I tap the bat on home plate. The rigid vibrations it creates reminds my aching digits that this isn't over. The practice swing only adds to the heft of mental burnout... Man on second, willing to chance it. Pitcher eyes him but doesn't give in to the dangerous bluff. I kick up dust, readying the peculiar stance I've had since the days of little league. The bat lays stiff upon my cramping shoulder. Pain has no reason to be acknowledged; it's a fleeting afterthought. The sun sits passed high noon, but the stadium lights are on anyway. They trick my brain into believing they are the cause of this sweltering heat. Sporadic clouds are motionless, they too, don't want to miss this exhilarating predicament. Anticipating the next pitch, intensifying roars from the crowd rumble the stadium... Behind me, the crafty catcher adjusts his stance and spits to the dry dirt. Behind him, the staunch umpire doesn't flinch or even blink; he knows how important his call will be. The pitcher winds up, his grip tells me its gonna curve. The release is fierce! Beads of sweat from his hair and face disperse in every direction as the force of his might is unfailing. My left leg lifts—an instinctual move that will increase the power of my swing. It's all down to my two, bloodshot eyes. They lock onto the speeding, white dot as it instantly becomes the target I intend to destroy. The swing is late, but I manage a solid tip. The ball is taking a fast bounce toward the pitcher who is recovering from the almighty throw! Man on second leaves in a desperate rush! I fling the bat to the side with a sense of urgency and make a mad sprint to the only destination I have—first base. Three defenders race inward to be the first to retrieve the skidding ball. Man is almost on third! I watch the open glove of my adversary, wondering if I’ve done enough to win this race. I switch my attention to his eyes, looking for a clue, some kind of reaction that tells me the ball is in the air and heading his way. All I see is frustration. The deafening roar of the crowd spikes! Something happens that I can’t see! My opponent abandons his post right as my left stride touches the bag. I waste no time turning my head to see the pitcher laying on his stomach, pounding the mound with an open glove. He misses the opportunity to out me and the ball has quickly bounced past him. Excitement grows! This isn’t over yet... It's become an imperative fight to tag out the runner heading homeward. The catcher falls to his knees in obvious despair as he watches my teammate make the run of his life. He knows it’s going to be close when he sees the shortstop fumble the ball a second too long. I jump up and down with no plans on leaving first base. All my chips are on the speed and agility of the active runner. His cleats dig into the dirt, trailing a dust-filled cyclone from the rapid and strenuous strides. With a thrusting dive and an outstretched arm, he lands on his chest to begin the crucial slide to home plate. The shortstop fires the ball to the catcher! It immediately begins closing the gap! Nail-biting doesn't begin to describe the anxious vibe permeating the stadium. The bench begins to celebrate even before he reaches the plate. Forty thousand cheering fans reach maximum crescendo, filling the air with a glorious sound. Everyone knows how this story will end… My teammate is met by the entire bench as his fingers inch across home plate, instantly followed by the unmistakable motion of the catcher's glove attempting to tag him out—its milliseconds too late. The ump swings his arms outward, officially calling him safe.
By Lamar Wiggins5 days ago in Fiction
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