Old Farmer Massey

Old Farmer Massey paced about the barn, circling his lantern and singing. “In the spring the seeds I plant, and in the summer they grow... for each seed a secret in the heart, for each seed its own scarecrow.”

He wore overalls that seemed older than clothes could be and nothing else. He was short, stout, and almost unnaturally pale, with lumpy flesh that looked sometimes muscular and other times tumorous. Massey’s voice was high and throaty, like a toad that swallowed a helium balloon. “A darkness pulled from deep inside, and planted in the ground... come harvest all sowed must eat, or to the depths be bound.”

The barn was ancient, the wood darkened and gnarled by time and weather, but the beams were sturdy and the hayloft plenty strong. A half-moon glowed outside, lighting the surrounding fields, corn just beginning to sprout from the black dirt. Nearer by was a small patch surrounded by scarecrows, nearly a dozen of them.

“Hear him coming in his shame, a fellow to play Old Massey’s game, and if he plays he best play well, or at the end he’ll go to-”

“Hello?” A man said, peering into the barn. “I was told... you could help me.”

“Maybe, maybe,” Massey said, melodiously. “Come and tell Old Massey for what this help you seek.”

He was a large man, two heads taller than Massey, no older than twenty-five, broad and strong. Conventional good looks were slightly spoiled by something twisted in his visage that was subtle upon first glance but seemed to become more and more apparent until one considered that he might have one of the ugliest faces they’d ever seen. He smelled of dried sweat and panic. “I was told you could help me disappear,” he said to Massey, stepping into the lantern light and looking around, nervously.

“Ah, to vanish without a trace. Perhaps, perhaps – Massey has his tricks. From what do you run?”

“Everyone,” the man said, shuddering. “Everyone.”

“The eyes around are everywhere, so you must become as clear as air. I have a way.” Massey walked to the back of the barn, stepping over loose hay that muffled his footsteps. The man followed, but Massey said, “Wait in the light,” and the man froze before the orange lantern, a flame flickering inside. Massey returned from the darkness at the back of the barn with two milking stools. He sat them near each other and told the man to have a seat. “Now,” he instructed when they were both seated, “confess.”

“Confess?” the man said, looking around, perturbed.

“Confess,” Massey repeated, allowing the word to hiss from his sallow lips.

“What are you, a cop or something?” The man tried to sound tough and accusatory, but his voice shook. He’d been on the run for so many days they all blended into a single screech of horror and paranoia.

“You seek my help,” Massey said, calmly. “You must confess.”

The man stared at the ghoulish old kook in front of him, firelight dancing across his black eyes. “Okay,” he said. “I killed my brother.” His fingernails clutched at his knees and he swallowed. “Good?”

Massey shook his head, almost coyly. “Confess,” he said again.

“I already did,” the man said, voice rising. “I don’t know what you want.”

Massey said nothing. They stared at each other for a moment. Far, far in the distance, in the stretch of highway between two hills, the man saw blinking police lights.

“I’ve wanted to kill him all my life,” the man began again. “He was always better than me and I hated him for it.” He glanced up and saw Massey beginning to grin so he went on. “I never knew a moment of peace for feeling inadequate next to everything he did and was, even though he was younger than me. And when finally I thought I had a triumph, when finally I had a modicum of real success, he had to top it. And the worst part is, he didn’t even mean too. He just lived his perfect life and was proud of me whenever I did well. Of course he did, because my doing well was never a damn thing compared to his. It’s easy to be proud of someone who’s never been your equal. I hated him for that too: how belittling, to have him be proud of me. And I couldn’t stand it anymore. When he told me that... when he told me he was proud of me, like he was the older one, like he was saying, ‘finally, you did something – anything – with your pathetic life.’ We were drinking, and when the others left... I took a knife from the kitchen. And it felt so good. To see fear in his eyes, to feel triumph in my blood, to... gluc... glul.” The man started to choke on something. He reached into his mouth and came out with something gooey and black. Massey reached forward and grabbed it.

“Keep going,” Massey instructed.

“I...” tears blocked the man’s vision. “I’m glad he’s... huk... dead.” Massey tugged gently at the black thing, which snaked out of the man’s mouth, foot after foot. “I’m still glad... glun... I just wish... kul... I’d planned... ugk... didn’t have to... ugk... run.”

“Why are you glad?” Massey asked. The man struggled to look at him, confused, horrified, seeing yards of the black gooey rope wrapped around Massey’s hands. “Why did you hate him?”

“Because... he was better... ilk... glun... than me. I don’t... bluk... want anyone... uln... like that... glul... to exist.” The man felt something scratching in his throat. Massey gave a final pull, and the rest of the gooey, black ganglia shot from the man’s mouth with a slurping noise. At the end of it was a cracked seed, no bigger than an acorn. Massey twisted it with a flourish and it broke from the dark rope.

“Seed of darkness, from his core, to plant outside, and grow once more.”

The man fell off the milking stool, panting. “What is that?” he asked, face soaking with flop sweat.

“The seed,” Massey said, hushed.

“The seed of what?” the man asked.

Massey dismissed him, slipping the seed into the front pocket of his overalls. “These are matters beyond your reckoning. I am to help you disappear, not teach you the nature of things. Remove your clothes.”

“What?” the man sputtered.

“Clothes. Take them off.”

“Why?”

“A scarecrow of you, I must make, or your seed, the deathbirds take.”

The man continued to stare at Massey from his position on the hay-strewn floorboards.

“You will be invisible when you leave this barn,” Massey told him. “You will be free to continue living in this world.”

“Invisible?” the man said. “When they said you could make me disappear... I thought, I don’t know, something like the witness protection program.”

“Vanish into life you may, but with Massey your seed will stay. Clothes – remove them,” Massey instructed again.

Slowly, the man got to his feet, staring at the slimy black rope coiled on the ground beside Massey’s milking stool. He took off his shoes, then his shirt, then his pants. “Everything,” Massey said. The man removed his underwear, awkwardly covering himself with his trembling hands. “Now go. But be warned, a single rule there shall be: Come back to this barn on Halloween. In the garden your seed will grow, and you must eat what Massey sows.”

“Okay...” the man whispered. “Halloween, come back here.” Massey nodded, smiling. “Got it,” the man said, edging towards the door. “Halloween, back to the barn. Okay. Halloween.” He stepped out of the lantern light and into the moonlight. He looked down at his hands but could see nothing. Not his arms, his legs, not anything. He turned back towards Massey, who was climbing up the ladder to the hay loft with the man’s clothes. “See you... on Halloween,” the man said.

“You’d best,” Massey called out to him.

The man walked off into the moonlight, beginning to think of the possibilities. He could have revenge on everyone. Everyone like his brother.

Massey took a seat upon a bale of hay and began stuffing straw into the man’s clothes, singing to himself. “Return you must, and eat what grows, from the seed that Massey sows. For if you don’t than Massey will, and you’ll feel a growing chill. And the soul that in you remains, will be a scarecrow in the flames.” Massey stuffed straw inside a burlap sack – the head. “But I suppose you soon may find... that if you still do not repent... you’ll become invisible and blind... and good luck finding Massey then.” He laughed and laughed as he made his scarecrow. When he finished, he stuck it on a stake in the small patch outside, and planted the seed at its foot.