The Tractor Graveyard

If I asked you to name a place you were warned not to go as a child, what would your answer be? The home of someone you thought of as a friend? Perhaps a neighbor's yard, where they kept bees for a side hobby? Maybe your guardian just didn't want you crossing the street? Whatever the case, we've all had adults tell us we can't do something. Doesn't that make you want to do it even more?

Well, that's what it did to me, because there was no way warning me against venturing through the barn my family owned was going to work. It was our barn, anyway. Why shouldn't I be allowed to go?

I made a mistake.

Or maybe I didn't.

Let's start from the beginning.

I grew up on an old farm. We didn't have cows, chickens, or pigs, but it was the home of generations of farmers before I even existed. My father worked construction while my mother stayed at home with me and my brother. We had a small, white farmhouse with acres upon acres of land, where the structures of the old barn and the tractor shop stood nearby enough for convenience. My grandfather came out daily during farming season, where he would tend to the fields while my grandmother begged my mother to "fiddle with her hair" in the kitchen. The old kitchen that screamed "country" with the heavy decor involving chickens, with light blue plaid patterns behind the repeated images of the popular farm animal on the wallpaper border.

It was boring, for an adventurer like myself.

Determined to amuse myself better than old lady gossip coated in the scent of hair spray, I asked my mother if I could go outside.

"Where at, outside?"

"The barn."

"Fine, but don't go past the second hayloft."

Ugh! Why not? She said this EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. Do you have any idea how annoying it is to be denied access to a part of my own home?!

"Okay." I skipped off to the back door of the house and exited, making a direct path to the front of the barn where two different doors were: first was the smaller one, while the second was a set of two large doors that rose up to meet the roof.

The small red door was heavy, but I had enough strength to slide it, hearing the wrecked metals from years of abuse scrape together in a low, vicious tone. There was a small step up before stepping back down abruptly to a lower elevation, and I felt my sneakers sink into the old dirt floor with a squishy, comforting ease. The air always felt heavy in here, but the atmosphere was perfect for every imagined adventure I could think of. The first horse stall to the right had a small fort built by bales of straw, with the smallest little entrance for my limber self to climb through with ease. I even had a roof on the fort, so it was pitch black and easy to lose myself in my next creative world.

The fort had been many things, like a dungeon that kept the little princess locked away while an evil witch sought to destroy the kingdom! Or an important business office, where I'd make the most important phone calls to the biggest, richest executives and tell them I was in charge! One time, I took all four kittens I had in with me, and we were sheltered from a vicious blizzard...only I could save the baby kitties.

But I was so bored with it.

I opted out of using the fort for my adventure and went to the third and last stall, as the second one was packed full of old, broken pieces of farm equipment and not an ideal creative space. I surveyed another broken down, rusted and antique farm thing and pondered its possibilities until I remembered my father's voice telling me, "Don't go climbing on that, you could hurt yourself."

So many warnings. I stomped off through piles of straw on the floor and headed toward the front of the barn, taking a sharp left by the door to enter the hayloft area. This was where a giant trailer was kept for my grandfather to transport various tractors, and I was allowed to climb on it and run around. There, I would skip and hop over giant, heavy chains as if they were an obstacle course. The ladder to the first hayloft was straight up and terrifying, but I couldn't get enough of the rush of possibly falling while I scaled it to gallop through giant rows of straw bales, stacked as short as me and as high as the tall ceiling of the barn. The hayloft was better for BIG adventures, like roaming my magical castle and taking care of my fairies, unicorns, and bunnies (yeah, bunnies.)

But I didn't feel like being in a castle, or being in a big competition room for gymnastics, or running my own grocery store.

What else was there to do?

I gazed ahead of me at the aged wooden door that led to the other part of the barn; past the second hayloft, which had an unreachable ladder, so it wasn't able to be explored. The door had a single, small hole as a means to open it, and it slid to the left heavily. I knew because I'd messed with it more than once, but never had the gusto to actually venture in.

My mother was busy with my grandmother's hair fiddling and small town rumors, my father was hours away working on construction equipment, and my brother was too old to care what I was doing. Grandpa only needed a tractor from the shop, and he wouldn't have any reason to be in the barn. This was my chance to really explore.

I sucked a deep breath of courage in and puffed my chest out, approaching the door and hooking four little fingers into the barn door's smooth, round opening. It opened with ease, the wood dragging against its frame and shocking me with the sound. I was a little on edge given that I was knowingly and deliberately defying instructions, but my need for thrills propelled me over the high step that took me into a narrow hall. I saw another door at the other end as I stepped further into darkness, a very pale light piercing through a similar hole to the first door. I followed it until I reached the door itself and looped my fingers through the opening, hoping it would move the same way as the first one.

The door glided smoothly, with no sounds or signs of being too worn over the years. My heartbeat accelerated and I lifted my leg over the bottom part of the frame, stepping into what felt like fresher dirt than the rest of the barn.

The room looked much larger than it should for the size of the barn and how narrow the path there had been, with a single window close to the ceiling allowing muddied rays of sunlight through. I wondered how long I'd been on that path because when I came outside, the sky was dark gray, threatening rain with no real chances. I guess the sun had enough time to be victorious, so I stopped worrying about the sky and reviewed a couple dozen rusted, broken tractors from prior farmers. It was creepy, but enchanting in a strange way. The way the light fell on them was like a piece of art on its own, forming in unique patterns from years of dirt build-up on the glass it shone through . I gazed at the patterns and various colors weaving through the rusted metals that couldn't stand the test of time, lost in the righteous beauty of hard labor, when I heard a man speak to me.

"Kelly."

I jumped and gasped, my small ten-year-old fists balling up in fear.

"It is all right. You need not be frightened."

A handsome, dark-haired man stepped from the shadows, slowly removing a black bowler hat and wearing what looked like a tuxedo. He was not as old as my father or mother, but he was older than my brother for sure, with a clean shaven face and dark brown eyes.

"So, not only are you a clairvoyant, you are also clairaudient. That is interesting."

My brown eyes widened in curiosity. "What's that mean?"

He smiled at me kindly. "A clairvoyant can see beyond your realm, while a clairaudient can hear more. Most who make their way here can either do one or the other, but never both. More often, they see, but they cannot hear. Thus, they never truly understand what it means to be present with me. They eventually forget they ever came in here, but you will not. You hear everything."

"Tell that to my Mom, she thinks I don't listen at all." I threw particular emphasis on the last four words in a mocking tone, which made the man laugh heartily.

"Your mother is certainly of her own mind on many things, Kelly."

"Hey, how come you know my name?" I planted my feet firmly, feeling more confident to be confrontational. I wanted to be annoyed that some weird guy was hiding in our barn, but he was really nice, but I didn't like him knowing my name when I didn't know him.

"I live here. Of course I know your name."

"No you don't. Only me, Mom, Dad, and Kasey live here."

"You will be surprised to know that I have been here much longer than most have been. You see, I do not age. I am not like you, or the family you live with in the house. I can only been seen or heard in this very room of this barn, and not everybody can come in and see or hear me."

"Oh." I paused, taking in his information and tilting my head. "So, you're family?"

"I am. I suppose I would be a grandfather of sorts to you."

"Cool." I accepted his explanation with ease, knowing I had nothing to be afraid of. "So, how come my Mom said not to come back here?"

My weird grandpa's expression changed to one of pity, and I felt my heart skip a beat at this change of pace.

"Because she was once back here, but she did not hear nor see me. She only forgot, and left with a sense of foreboding about this room. She instructed you to stay away because she knows, deep down, what happens to those who discover they can see and hear me in here."

My eyes widened again.

"And...what happens? Something bad?"

"You will hear and see every spirit on this Earth when you leave this room. When you return, it will never look like this again. You will remember me, and you will never see or hear me again."

I felt my jaw drop hard and just like that, he was gone.

I made a mistake, indeed.

I've been burdened with sight and supernatural hearing ever since.

They come to me everywhere, at any time, with pleas and messages and ghostly tears.

It's tiring, and I'm alone a lot, but it's my cursed gift to bear.

But, just so you know, I'm glad you asked me how I got here to begin with. In the years I've spent doing this, I've never met a spirit who really cared about what made me this way. Let's finish what you couldn't before you became my new ghost friend!

Love,

Kelly

Dedicated to my beautiful cousin, Kelly Joan, who passed from cancer on July 9, 2021.