The Rochester Family Farm

"The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window-”

“Really? That’s how you’re going to start this?”

“What? It’s spooky!”

“No, babe, it... it's really not. You sound like that dumbass on that show you like so much, every damn bug is a ghost.”

Johann sighed angrily and pouted. The audacity of this man! It was a good thing he was so damn cute, otherwise his stubborn pragmatism would have become far too heavy of an annoyance for them to have lasted this long. He found it cute, if not a bit irritating. Everything about Marcus Santiago was cute and a bit irritating.

Marcus exhaled cigarette smoke out of the side of his mouth and stopped the recording on his camera. He fiddled with the settings for a moment before he locked eyes with his plucky boyfriend and tried to find a nice way to crush his dreams. He didn’t want to be out here. It was cold and late, the farmland and its surrounding area had been condemned for a reason, even if those reasons were unclear to him personally at the moment. It wasn’t safe.

Curse Johann Strauss and his smile. If only he knew how wicked that charming grin was. He’d bat those long, pale eyelashes and Marcus would immediately buckle to his every demand. He had him wrapped around his finger. And, worst of all, he didn’t have the slightest inkling he had even done it. He was too damn innocent to realize he could be so powerful.

“Babe,” Marcus said gently, “We’re out here ghost hunting because you asked me to help you film this… documentary-”

“Don’t use air quotes!” Johann interrupted with a gasp.

“Real, big boy film project. You know I’ll do anything you want, you know that, but I need you to really take it seriously. Any rando can come in and spin a generic tale to make a subpar haunting interesting using spooky phrasing, you have to make it captivating. Captivate me… you do such a good job of that. You’re a storyteller and, most importantly, a historian at heart, babe. I believe in you. Don't approach this with the mindset of what people expect,” Marcus replied with a small, confident smile.

Johann slid his hands into his pockets and looked around. He pondered for a moment. It was a signature expression. One of contemplation, quizzical in nature, and soft. Almost lost. It was the same expression that had caused Marcus to pause on campus one fall morning and take notice. The same one he fell in love with a few months later under holiday mistletoe. Always pondering, always gazing with intent.

“How about something like this?” Johann asked with a nod, inquiring mostly of himself and less of his partner.

Marcus smiled and set the camera back to record. Johann fixed his dusty blonde hair and positioned himself in front of the entrance sign to the property. The Rochester Family Farm was obscured by massive red condemned signs. The lettering had chipped and worn away from the elements, it left green splotches across the engravings. The old place was a pivotal location for the town, it was a recognizable font and color for many who grew up in the area. Or, it was before the incident.

“They say the ground below us holds onto memories. The feet that tread upon it leave scars in their wake. Leave ghosts in the form of damage irreparable. Battlefields grip to the trauma of war, houses absorb the memories of those who reside within. Energies are bound to the locations that prominently impact them, giving life to legends and history.

“The Rochester Family Farm was a staple of this sleepy town for hundreds of years, one known for its haunted hayrides and community gatherings. Beautiful Christmastime celebrations and earthen weddings. The individuals who have walked this ground are countless in number, leaving untold hauntings upon the land, mostly of the good kind.

“The homestead was built on a section of land that offered immense blessings and resources to those who staked a claim to it and, at the center of it all, was a cabin. Hand built by Richard Rochester in the 1800s, this two story building held generations of the Rochester family as they cultivated farmland for their own means, thus supplying a bountiful yield each year to the community. The story behind what happened to this cabin, as well as the now vacant land it inhabits, is an intriguing tale indeed… was that a better intro?” Johann asked nervously.

“We can workshop it as we go,” Marcus said with a cheeky grin.

Johann looked at him with teary eyes, his lip trembled. Marcus smiled as he approached. He stamped out his cigarette on the fencepost and blew the remaining smoke up into the night sky like a wispy spirit. He cupped the back of his head and gently kissed his temple. Johann’s face smelled like cinnamon from their earlier coffee stop. Sugary and sweet, like a soft autumn afternoon. He wrapped his strong arm around his shorter boyfriend and pulled him close. His pale skin was chilly.

“Is it that bad?” Johann asked.

“No, but… how do I put this… you know how you’re a visual learner?”


“Yeah?”


“I think you need a visual to really put your thoughts together.”

Johann sighed, “Maybe I’m not cut out for this.”

“You’re fine, babe. I promise. You’re just anxious, that’s all. You always get like this in front of a camera. We have to pass by this place on the way out. We’ll circle back around and re-do the intro. Let’s go find this cabin in the meantime, maybe once you see it, see the environment, you’ll be able to figure out what you want to say. How you want to tell this story.”

“That might be hard to do. It’s underwater.”

Marcus scoffed, though he was unable to hide the large smile that overcame his features. Of course it was. His poor, sweet Johann. So gung-ho and always moving without a plan.

“Alright, I’m intrigued. Tell me what’s going on, Mr. History,” Marcus said gently as he pulled him closer to his body.

The two walked through the farmstead entrance, hopped the gate that was much too low to truly keep anyone out, and headed into the unsettlingly quiet land.

The moon was high and bright. Bright enough to illuminate the path down into the area with a near daylight intensity. The makeshift road was covered in brittle leaves of burnt umber and crimson hues that crunched beneath their boots as they walked. The chill of autumn had encroached on them like a slow moving tide washing over a shoreline. The temperature had dropped drastically over the weekend.

The steep decline down toward the old grey barn was a bit treacherous, the pebbles and gravel had come loose over time with the wear of many sets of tires and harsh weather. The rows of pumpkins that were once a staple of the farmstead had crawled across the field like a mold, left to their own devices without proper care. The scene before them looked as if it had been ripped straight out a film. It was eerie.

“So, the Rochester cabin was built in the quarry,” Johann stated as he slid his hands into his hoodie pocket.

“There’s a quarry here?” Marcus inquired as re-focused his camera.

“No.”

“Wait, what?”

“It never got to be… quarry level, I suppose. It was going to be one, the land is rich in minerals, but it was halted before it was finalized. The local apothecary shop, the… uh… Stetson Sisters place? The tea shop? They have some of the original minerals from the area on display, it’s pretty cool.

“Anyway, sorry, I'm rambling. Basically some historical documents said it was halted due to pushback from the city council. Some say it wasn’t feasible enough to waste dollars on. Others say too many people died in its construction. There’s no confirmation or honest truth. All that’s there is now a… weirdly oval shaped hole in the ground that’s… full water.”

Marcus pursed his lips in thought for a moment, “Wait, the lake? The one that the crazy PTA ladies at the high school petitioned to have drained and cemented in a few months ago?”

Johann nodded excitedly, “Yes! That’s why no one is allowed to swim in it. It’s so deep, too dangerous. Legend says that Richard Rochester decided to make use of the area and all of the work so he built his house down inside of it. For some weird reason. A heavy storm came and decimated the land one night and flooded the fields. The excess of rain water rolled into the 'quarry' until the water hit ground level. There are newspaper clippings at the library that say household objects were strewn about the area for acres after. Candles and clothes and soggy books and the like.”

“But… didn’t you just say that generations of the family lived in the cabin?”

“I didn’t say the flood happened right after, duh. It was in like… the 1940s or something. My grandma said she remembered when it happened, said the lake appeared like it was snapped into existence by God. Just like that,” he replied as he snapped his finger.

Marcus chuckled and rolled his eyes. He stopped in front of the pumpkin patch and shot some B-roll to help fill in empty space. He, reluctantly, had seen one too many paranormal exploration shows to know that these things were important for editing and storytelling purposes. Johann loved them, which meant he was constantly getting roped into late night marathons of UFO chasing morons and ghost hunting groups yelling at thin air. Johann would watch with a wide eyed wondered, so it was worth the headache.

The more filler available for him to work with the better he could sell this nonsense and keep the camera off his fidgety boyfriend. Johann was a naturally uneasy person, always zoning out and claiming to see things others could not. He was passionate but uneasy. He became flustered when a camera or too many eyes focused on his person. Marcus needed to do whatever he could to make this easier on him. Johann was in it for the passion, he loved this nonsense. He was in it for the prize money and Johann’s happiness. Prize money that could go toward a nice engagement ring for Christmas.

He didn’t want to admit it, not aloud, but something about the area seemed wrong. The fog that lingered around their ankles seemed fabricated. Heavy. Thick and tangible. He didn’t like it all that much, he couldn't even see his boots through it. The glisten in his boyfriend’s bright blue eyes as he peered into the boarded up barn brought him some much needed courage. Such a childlike wonder. His sweet Johann. He’d do whatever it took to protect him, to make him happy. Even if it meant chasing campfire ghost tales like this on date night.

Marcus noticed Johann’s expression sour, as if he had seen something unsettling. He pulled away from the door and sheepishly fixed his hair, as if he were afraid of getting caught looking so uneasy.

“Why’d this place close down?” Marcus inquired as he tried to position his camera against a slat to record the inside of the barn. He fiddled with the settings in an attempt to focus on the dark interior. He wanted to see what had caused the smile to fade from Johann’s face.

“I forget you’re not from around here,” Johann mused with a nervous chuckle, “Serial Killer.”

Marcus stopped in his tracks, “Seriously?”

“So they say. It’s never been solved but the last of the Rochesters were all found dead in the new homestead right… over there, last fall.”

“Ew.”

Marcus leaned around Johann to look at the cabin he had pointed at. It was definitely more modern than he would have expected when he thought of a farmhouse. It must have been a recent addition to the area, though the garage on the side looked to be from a much older building. Compared to everything else it seemed out of place. It had new siding, metal banisters around the porch, and a bright yellow door. The windows had all been covered and tattered crime scene tape hung on the door. A broken light up ghost sat near the bench beside a moldy jack-o-lantern.

“This place is creepy as hell,” Marcus mumbled.

“Isn’t it? I like it,” Johann replied with a lopsided grin.

“And the land? Hard for open land to be condemned.”

“Well,” Johann started as he continued to walk into the farm, “I think it’s more out of precaution than anything. Think of how creepy this place is, how expansive and… dangerous it is. Farming equipment and buildings with hay bale hooks left for any dumb teenager to come find? A building where six people were murdered in the night with nary a clue as to who comitted the act? Woodlands and a deep lake in a flood plane, illegal hunters and drifters and homeless folks? It’s asking for trouble, it's scary.”

“Are you… scared?”

Johann looked at him over his shoulder, the lower half of his face obscured by his heavy plaid scarf, “No. I have you.”

Marcus felt his cheeks grow warm. He swallowed hard and nodded unconvincingly.

The couple headed further into the area. Johann explained each location. Where the annual bonfire had been held and where the best Easter egg hunt hiding places were. The campgrounds where he spent his middle school graduation watching the stars with friends. The fairly new stage where concerts were performed and his cousin was married a few years prior.

The whole area had been laid out like a film set. Each location held an abundance of stories, of history, and felt staged in a way that was unnatural. Set apart from the next with just enough distance to make it feel uncanny. Marcus kept his camera rolling. Captured the conversation. It was organic when Johann conversed without the pressure of the lens upon him. It held an air of authenticity compared to his nervously recited scripting.

Johann stopped moving. He looked at the thick trees to his side with question on his face. His leg was outstretched, mid-step in an unsteady manner. He felt his shoulders pull in taut and his head lower in a feeble attempt to hide his face beneath his scarf.

“Johann?” Marcus inquired softly.

Johann didn’t respond. His eyes were locked firmly onto some unknown only he could see. Marcus softly set his finger on his cheek and tapped with just enough force to let him know it was out of worry and not playfulness.

“Johann,” Marcus repeated a bit more firmly.

“I… saw someone,” he whispered.

“You’re simply scaring yourself.”

“No… it was a tall man.”

Marcus stepped in front of his line of sight. He set his camera on the ground and gently cupped his face.

“Take a deep breath. Let me go look,” Marcus reassured.

“N-no, it’s-”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll be right back.”

Johann watched him walk over to the tree line, watched him flick on his flashlight to better see in the tightly clustered plant life. The nearby scarecrow’s tattered clothes waved in the wind. Its loose, lopsided head and unnatural grin made him uncomfortable, as if the rounded skull rolled to keep the trespasser in his line of sight. He was glad Marcus decided to wear his white university hoodie, it made him easier to keep track of. His form looked spectral, but not in the same manner as the form he saw wandering through the oaks a mere few moments ago.

He picked up the camera and turned it on. He zoomed into the space he had seen movement, his finger lingered by the record button with a tremble. He felt like he should, so he did, and flicked the switch to let the machine record the moment in time. He furrowed his eyebrows and watched as Marcus stepped behind a crooked trunk. He lost sight of him and felt his blood run cold.

“Honey?” Johann asked nervously.

He was only met with silence.

“Marcus!”

The wind shifted. He felt the chilled breeze call to him, lightly brush his skin like cold, frostbitten fingers. The quiet unsettled him down to the very core of his being. He took a step forward. The twig beneath his hiking boot snapped with the fervor and impact of a gunshot. He jumped, nearly dropped the camera in his hands. He fumbled it in a panic and pulled it in close to his chest.

Marcus came barreling out of the woods with a frantic look on his face, “Johann! Oh my God!”

“W-what?!”

“There was… literally nothing there.”

Johann closed his eyes in relief and anger. Marcus chuckled but his joy trailed off as he approached, though the smile still remained on his face. That was cruel of him and he felt guilty about it. He softly tapped the underside of his chin, asked him to look at him.

“You wanna go home?” Marcus asked.

“N-no…”

“Johann.”

“Let’s just… get to the lake, okay?”

Marcus nodded gently. He grabbed Johann’s hood and lifted it up over his head, fixed his wayward, wavy bangs, and took the camera from his hands. He playfully tapped Johann’s heel with his boot, told him to keep walking. The younger man did so, he started to head toward a small trail that was marked with a signpost. Marcus followed close behind. He turned off the recording on his camera. He quietly went back through the footage, curious to see what Johann decided to zero in on. He noticed the settings had changed.

The trees did look quite ominous through the lens, through the view of his boyfriend’s eyes, the angle he chose. He watched the slow zoom, the focus struggled to hone in on anything with enough definition to definitively make out what was captured. The trees looked like a blur of wavy blue shapes, though nothing seemed out of the ordinary until a shifting of white entered the frame. He looked down at his legs, double checked to make sure he hadn’t misremembered the color of his jeans.

He watched the segment several times. There was only one answer. Someone walked between two closely set trees and vanished into thin air. He quickly turned back to the tree line and scanned the area just to ensure someone hadn’t been following them.

Marcus swallowed hard, “Hey, Johann?”

“Yes?”

“You uh… I just realized something, why did you mention a candle in the cabin window? If it’s underwater?”

“Oh!”
 Johann set his hands behind his back and picked up his pace. He felt a strong desperation overcome him to get out to the clearing where the lake was, out from the shadows of the trees. Marcus hurried so he could keep stride with him as they broke through the main homestead area into the farmlands. Rows of rolling fields, unmanaged and unplowed but still fenced off and obviously meant to house crops, stretched out for several acres around them.

“So, that’s the creepy thing, why they say the cabin is haunted. Apparently, when the water is really still, you can see what looks like candlelight glowing from the bottom of the lake,” Johann explained. He wiggled his fingers to add emphasis on the eeriness of it all.

“Now that I gotta see,” Marcus said with a gin.

“Let’s hope someone’s home,” Johann added with a giggle.

Marcus grabbed one of Johann’s belt loop and pulled. Johann looked at him with confusion, eyebrows raised and head tilted to the side.

“Whether or not we make anything out of this night, if this little project of yours works or we just make some nice memories here, I’m… proud of you, and I love you and all that… so, yeah,” Marcus said sheepishly.

“Are you scared?” Johann inquired.

“Don’t push it, Strauss.”

Johann locked his finger around Marcus’ and pulled him along, down the tractor path through the rows of unkempt corn that had grown tall and golden. Now that the farmstead was behind them, the uncanniness of it all had given way to normalcy. It was easy to picture hayrides rolling through this area. Families heading to the orchard in the distance to pick apples. Couples walking hand-in-hand with cups of warm cider.

It was hard to believe that somewhere around here stood the flooded remains of a house. That an entire family’s life had been swept away by a singular storm. How foolish was this Richard Rochester, how prideful and careless of him, to try and bury his existence in a failed hole in the earth once meant for prosperity.

They walked for nearly fifteen more minutes. Johann continued to relay information about the area. He noted much of his childhood was spent here so he felt a special connection to it. Their Halloween festivities and local ghost stories gave him a strong love of otherworldly tales from a young age. That he had always seen them. Seen the spirits that lingered in the woods, the creatures no one else noticed beneath overturned rocks.

He noted he never felt afraid of them. He knew which ones to avoid, then apologized to Marcus for sounding like a cliched reality show star, that he was used to no one believing him. Marcus reassured him he did.

“Should… I be aware of certain boogeymen out here?” Marcus asked as he stepped up onto a fence slat. He swung his leg up and over and straddled it for a moment to catch his breath. His eyes turned to the bright, full moon above them.

“There are a lot of them. I mean, the area is old. A lot of people have died here, there’s a cemetery… somewhere around here. It’s not open to the public, though. It’s a family plot,” Johann replied as he leaned against a fence post. He pulled out his phone. It was almost midnight.

“Was… this person you saw in the woods one of them?”

Johann stiffened up. He turned his eyes toward him, wondered why he asked. He gave a small, slight nod in response. Marcus ruffled his hair beneath his hand and smiled reassuringly. He said nothing in reply, he didn’t need to. Instead, he turned his camera upward toward the full moon and took in the serene, blue hued landscape and rolling fog. He slowly racked focus to allow the bright orb to un-blur for dramatic effect, then zoomed out to take in the expanse of small hills.

“What’s wrong?” Johann asked, noticing the sudden shift in his expression.

Marcus waved him toward where he was perched, handed him the camera, and pointed out to where he had been gazing. Johann took the device and held it up to his eye. He slowly looked across horizon.

Against the sea of blue and black tones, he saw a light. A warm, flickering light not unlike a candle. It slowly moved, grew further and further away from them, smaller and smaller with each passing second. He gasped and shoved the camera back into Marcus’ hands. He quickly scaled the barrier.

Marcus fumbled the camera, “Slow down!” he called as he frantically clamored over the fence back onto solid ground. He hit the muddy soil, stumbled a bit, and quickly scrambled after his partner. The two raced up the slope toward the anomalous light, into the thick of the fog and unknown. The light continued to elude them, it drew them closer to their destination.

They stumbled upon another fence. One that was tall, heavily built, and sturdy. It was meant to keep curious wanderers at bay. Johann stopped a few feet away, his wind-stung eyes searched for the light that seemingly vanished as quickly as it appeared. Marcus came to a halt beside him and exhaled out heavily. He wiped the sweat from his brow and looked at the barrier.

He watched as Johann approached with an almost trance-like motion in his stride. Marcus studied him carefully for a moment before he checked the area for movement, for people, for light. He felt uneasy. Johann stopped by the fence. It was chest height. He set his hands on the wooden structure and peered down into the deep lake.

The water was still, the whistling wind was unable to reach it through the tight seals of the wooden slats. The water was unnaturally clear, the plunging hole was illuminated by the glow of the walls of natural minerals catching the light of the moon. At the bottom of the unfinished quarry was something unbelievable. A cabin.

“Wow… it actually exists,” Johann whispered.

“You haven’t seen it before?” Marcus asked as he leaned over the fence to look at the oddity beneath him.

“No. I wasn’t too keen on coming out here, honestly.”

“That’s… something else. It looks so pristine, like… weirdly pristine for being waterlogged like it is.”

“Yeah.”

Marcus cut his eyes to him. He could sense his unease. He carefully moved his camera to a vantage point so he could record the lake. The device was stabilized on the wooden slats and held steady by his unshakable grip. A silence settled over the area, even the wind seemed to hush itself. They patiently waited against the chill of the night for something, anything, to happen.

Johann’s signature expression of contemplation returned. He fixed his scarf to hide his lips and chattering teeth. Marcus set his foot on bottommost plank and yawned a bit.

“Whatcha want to do, babe?” Marcus inquired.

“I don’t… know,” he replied.

Marcus yawned again as he started to turn back, “Well-”

He was met with a horrendous sight. Barely able to glimpse it before he felt a strong force push him back. The camera toppled into the lake, Marcus followed shortly after. His body flipped over the fence and landed in the cold water.

“Marcus!” Johann screamed as he leaned forward.

He felt a chill against his spine. A familiar one. He knew this presence. His startled blue eyes looked behind him, he was greeted by the shocked, pale face of a large man. Ghostly pale. Translucently white and missing half of his head. Johann screamed out again for Marcus, tried to move away before he was tossed in alongside him.

Marcus breached the surface with a gasp. Hands clamored for him, pulled on his hood, his legs, and tried to yank him down into the depths. His camera slowly sank beneath him, toward the cabin that now glowed a warm, candlelit color. He clawed at the side of the wall, at the low bit of mud and dirt that poked out beneath the fence slats.

He saw Johann scramble away from the tall, mutilated figure. It took long strides forward, walked through the fence, and toppled into the lake. His frame vanished into a cloud of smoke that drifted up like the remnants of a fire through a chimney.

“Johann!”

“Marcus!”

Johann hoisted himself up and tried to reach out for him. Marcus desperately swam against the pull of the wispy forms that threatened to pull him down, luminous and pale limbs with otherworldy strength seemed to grip at his very soul. He dipped beneath the rocking waters. Another face appeared. The visage screamed out in a permanent state of agony and fear. He slapped it away, it dissolved where his flesh had touched it, though the rest of it remained, still angry and focused on his demise.

He breached the waters again with a gasp. A hand clasped onto his face, fingers hooked his lips and pulled, yanked his head backward. He saw a familiar plaid pattern fly toward him. A scarf. His beloved’s scarf.

He grabbed it as it hit the water and felt the strength of his partner help pull him forward against the souls below that tried to claim him for their own. He wrapped the cloth around his wrist and felt Johann pull with as much strength as he could muster. Marcus found a divot in the wall and pushed himself up. He grabbed hold of one of the fence planks. Johann’s shaking, cold fingers took hold of his hand. The panicked couple wrestled against the pull of death until Marcus was able to hoist himself up onto the fence.

He fell to the cold earth and crawled away. Johann let go of his scarf, it landed in the water that was now eerily still. As if the entire interaction had never occurred. The only thing he could see in the lake was the slowly falling light on the front of the camera as it flickered out. He felt his blood run cold when the man with half a head slowly came back into view on the other side of the fence, an outstretched finger of accusation thrown at him, a glowing lantern in the other.

Johann turned to look behind him. The fields of the Rochester Family Farm was alight with the glow of candlelight that crept out through the fog like ill omens. They moved like flashes of lightning, dipping in and out of view. Marcus looked up at him from his kneeled position on the ground, worry in his deep eyes.

“I love you,” he said firmly.

Johann could only nod. He extended his hand. Marcus took it, rose to his feet. He rolled up his soaked sleeves, brushed back his dark hair, and exhaled. They interlaced their hands and readied themselves for an escape as generations of angered souls came to satisfy their hunger. This was one ghostly campfire story they refused to take to their graves.