Penelope Fern

He had told Penelope that it would be fine. That the racket in the barn wasn’t anything, that’d he’d be home by ten at the latest. At the latest. Ben promised he’d be back so they could finish their anniversary celebration.

He promised. But when the clock struck one, and Penelope was sitting in the living room of her small apartment alone, she knew he had lied. For he wasn’t home to celebrate their anniversary, and now he couldn’t- for it wasn’t their anniversary anymore.

Promises always seemed to break when it came to Penelope Fern.

Penelope sighed, ran her meaty fingers through her unruly blond curls, and frowned. “Ben…” she whispered.

It was 1:15, and she was scared. Scared for Ben, frightened of what her thoughts told her to do. Her mind told her to go find him, to go to that barn. That... barn. If it could even be considered that. In Penelope’s mind, the Fredrickson’s barn was simply a few pieces of splintered wood and steel sheets bolted together. It had been there for years. More years than Penelope Fern, an accountant, could count herself!

To her, the worst part of the barn wasn’t it’s outdated exterior appearance. It was that the barn smelled pungent to death, and the animals inside of it all were fated to it. It was how Fredrickson's son seemed to be perverted, just as doomed as the animals themselves. “It’s how we eat, Penny,” Ben had assured her one night, “It is how we live in this apartment, this job.”

Yet, her husband’s words did worse than assure her. They did the quite opposite, actually. When she thought of the barn, she didn’t think of a job, or simply a way of life. It was that of death, of murder. Though, those thoughts couldn’t keep Penelope away from going.

However, it would’ve been better for Penelope Fern if they had.

As Penelope exited her new apartment and walked to her car, the air seemed to cry in warning. The harsh swish of the wind screamed to her, and it took everything in her to drive to Rickerbury Lane, to turn onto the barns road. And as Penelope flicked her blinker up, she turned to the right directly onto Rickerbury Lane.

She glanced with her weary eyes at the clock on the dash. 1:45.

In what seemed like an entire lifetime later, Penelope reached the end of Rickerbury Lane, and stared at the sign only her headlights could expose. Welcome To The Plant, it read. The words had been painted in a rush, yet now, they were barely visible with the peeling paint.

She took a deep breath, pursed her small pink lips, and trudged onto the dirt road. And quickly, a small, brown, rickety barn came into sight. Spiders began to crawl her spine.

It didn’t take long for her to stand at the front door. Her gray shoes mudded with gross muck, her arm clutching onto her handbag. She held a large flashlight to the splintered door. “Oh, please Ben,” she murmured.

With all of her courage, she pushed the door open. And with a long creak it swung open, revealing a dark room. A dark, large room. The smell filled her large, white nostrils and she shut them as hard as she could. The smell could almost knock her out cold. She heard a loud moan, and she shone her light to the side of her. To Penelope’s surprise, it was a goat. “Darn you,” she uttered, shaking past it.

As Penelope made her way slowly through the barn, she saw light. Not the one protruding from her flashlight, but in the back of the Plant, through a window. Though she was only a hundred yards from the end of the barn, she could only see a single silhouette. Tall, lean, and as of the moment, black in a shadow color.

A smile grew on her tired face. “Oh, Ben!” With the hand holding her handbag, she hiked up her white nightgown, shone her strong light on the hay walkway, and began to run. Or what was to Penelope Fern a run.

Anticipation filled her lungs. And right before she could reach the next room, before she could scream her poor husband's name, perhaps before she could even realize that the man wasn’t her husband at all, she tripped. Over what she thought was a pile of manure, she tumbled to the ground. She threw her handbag and flashlight, yelped in pain, and landed face first onto the ground.

Penelope knew then, with her face nestled into the fermenting hay, that the man indeed wasn’t her husband. No, he wasn’t. As she laid shakily on the ground and heard the man's loud steps, she remembered Benjamin Fern’s steps. Quiet, gentle. And, when the man effortlessly threw Penelope over his shoulders, she undoubtedly knew that man wasn’t Benjamin Fern.

No, he wasn’t. That was the last thing she remembered before everything went black, and her thoughts drifted from vivid horror into a void of complete confusion.

---------

The sound of a crows caww awoke Penelope Fern. And as soon as she did wake, she felt as if it would have been better to not wake at all. For when her eyes fluttered open, and the pupil of her iris welcomed in the light protruding from the barns windows, she was met with a sight so appalling even the animals in the barn didn’t dare to look.

In front of Penelope lay a limp body. Skinny, lean. So pale, it was comparable to a bleached sheet of paper. The face, which used to be so beautiful with life, now had dried blood covering it. And in the left temple, a metal rod laid in his head.

Before last night, Penelope had been rather good at hiding emotion. She could conceal her pain, her anger. Yet, the moment Penelope Fern laid eyes on her limp husband, she could no longer hide it.

The sobs coming from her were muffled from a cloth over her trembling mouth, and almost seemed to suffocate her all the same. She had been crying for so long that she hadn’t yet realized the man next to her, who was very much alive.

He scooted next to her, forgetting the fear that was implanted into himself. When he laid eyes on Penelope Fern, he knew instantly who she was, and whom she belonged to. Benjamin Fern, his coworker, had mentioned her in almost every circumstance. In the barn while killing animals, while shoveling hay. Yet, the Penelope that Mr. Denny Brown saw, seemed miles away from how his friend Benjamin had described her.

The white of her skin seemed almost to be just as pale as her husbands, the brown that Ben had described as warm chocolate were indeed black, and what he described as beautiful blond curls, was then matted with dirt and grime. Which in this situation, was understandable.

“Shh, Shh. Mrs. Fern, you have to stay quiet. You’ve got to.” He tried his best, however, it seemed as if Penelope couldn’t.

After many futile attempts, Denny was unable to ease Penelope’s feelings. He thought of one last thing, as he looked into her red-stained eyes. “Mrs, I will get you out of here. You will be okay, and I will, too. I promise, Mrs. I promise.” It was then that Penelope took a deep gulp, and her sobs didn’t cease, but they got slightly quieter.

Penelope appreciated Mr. Denny Brown’s positivity. After being here, she needed it more than ever. However, how was it to be true?

At that moment, mid day as Penelope managed to get her mouth garment off, the figure from last night threw the back barn door open. His appearance was what she most seemed it would be, a big bulky man. A shirt torn at the sleeves, a face full of grime and an unruly beard. He was the exact opposite of Benjamin Fern.

Penelope and Denny both inhaled in fear as the man lumbered in. Penelope’s arms began to shake behind her back, and Denny’s breathing became uneven.

In a childlike voice he said, “G-Good morning, Penelope.” He bent down and brushed his calloused hand against her sweaty cheek, which seemed to be trembling more than she was. Then he began to pet her hair, and as he did, she felt somewhat like an animal. He looked at her with adornment almost.

Mr. Denny Brown spoke up for Penelope. “Why are we here, Grant?”

The troubled man picked up the nearest stun bolt gun and pointed it at the ground. His face began to retort, which Penelope assumed was from trauma. “You a-ain’t ‘gon shoot them animals anym-more, M-Mr. Brown.” He pointed the gun to Denny, and couldn’t hold the gun steady. “Daddy c-can’t, B-Benny can’t, y-you c-can’t.” And before Grant could pull together the means to pull the trigger, Denny spoke once again.

“N-now Grant, listen to me, son. We won’t shoot any more animals, I promise. J-just put down the gun, Grant. Put it on the ground.”

Grant couldn’t seem to comprehend his request. “N-no. NO!” He began to throw a fit, flailing around his arms. “D-Daddy t-told me that. But I seen hem done it again! He done it. You gone do it a-again. You gone hurt ‘em!”

It was at that moment that Penelope knew indeed that Mr. Denny Brown wouldn’t make it out of the barn that day. If she would, she wasn’t completely sure. For when people made promises to Penelope Fern, they tended to be broken.

Her intuition was correct. Though Mr. Denny Brown did all he could to soothe down poor Grant’s mind, his efforts were simply futile. After Grant had steadied for a split second, he shut his eyes and pulled the trigger. Then seconds later, Penelope Fern looked at what used to be Denny. Now, his brown face seemed to flush with death, his eyes seemed to gloss over in shame.

She inhaled the best she could when Grant fell to the ground next to her. She tried not to cry as he petted her hair, her hair that she then realized resembled much as the lamb’s in the fences next to her. Grant seemed to sob then as she had.

“T-they ain’t ‘gone do nothin’ to you no more.” He sobbed like a child into her matted hair.

Penelope knew she had to get out of that wretched, pungent barn. For if she didn’t now, she never, ever would. “Grant, it’s going to be okay. They won’t hurt us anymore, dear. They can’t hurt us anymore.”

Grant looked at Penelope with weary eyes. “T-they ain’t ‘gone do it?”

Penelope, with the hand that had been freed from her back, put it on his cheek. “Yes, yes! If you give me your phone, it won’t happen anymore. You’ll be safe!”

Grant nodded. “Safe, we be safe!”

Grant went and got the phone for Penelope, and she dialed 911 as quickly as her thumbs allowed her to do so. And as she waited for her safety, she tried not to look at Ben's deceased body, or the stinking body next to her. She let Grant pet her hair, praying to any God that she’d be saved.

Minutes later, the barn door was busted open, along with Penelope’s tear ducts. The police force pointed guns at Grant Fredrickson, who wouldn’t let go of her. And they shot Grant when he grabbed onto the gun, shot him.

As Penelope left the Plant, the hell, she realized that Grant wasn’t safe like she said he’d be. He was in an ambulance, and would go to jail

For, just like the others, when Penelope Fern made a promise, she often broke it.