BLEEDING GROUND

By, J W James (c) October 19, 2000

John had bought the farm.  Not in the sense that most people think when they hear the term, but he'd actually bought an old farm.  For a few years, he'd wanted to escape the high stress, rat race, corporate life he'd been living in Chicago.  The only problem was, he just didn't know the first thing about farming.
     His priority was simple, hire some farm hands and get the place ready to plant the following season.  He knew he'd need at least three, if he were going to have any sort of luck.  But luck was something that didn't seem to be in his future.  As soon as any of the perspective employees heard where he was trying to farm, they'd hang up the phone, or make up an excuse and never call back.  He couldn't get a single one of them to come out to the farm for an interview.  Even the incentive of higher than anywhere else wages didn't help.  People simply did not want to work there.
     Then one day, he finally got his first clue as to what was going on.  "You the fella who bought Blood Farm?" an old man asked as he stepped up next to John at the counter of the 'General Store."
     "Blood Farm?" John asked, suddenly extremely curious as to why the old man had asked him that.  "If you mean Crosky Farm, then yes."
     "Call it whatever you want son," the old man replied, scrubbing at his whiskered chin with the back of his hand.  "By any name, the place is still evil.  You'd be best to sell that land right away."
     "Sell it?" John said, a bit annoyed by the elder man's suggestion.  "I just bought it. As soon as my men get here, we'll have the place runnin' smooth as a whistle.  And what's with that crazy name anyway?"
     John hadn't realized that he'd raised his voice to an almost shout.  He felt his cheeks turn red as he noticed that everyone in the store was staring at him.  "You'll find out soon enough," the old man cackled.  "You'll be singin' a whole different tune then.  That's if you're still singin’ at all."
     John wanted to reply, but never got the chance.  Before he could say a word, the old geezer turned and hurried out of the store.  Shaking his head, John turned to face the man behind the counter.  "What's with that guy?" he asked, addressing Melvin, the owner of the 'General Store'.  "And what's this Blood Farm stuff?"
     "Most folks don't like to talk about it," Melvin replied, sliding John supplies into a large paper bag as if he didn't want to touch them.  "As a matter of fact, old Fred there's probably the only one who will.  You can look up the history of that place at the library over in Clarke.  They should have everything you need to know in their old newspapers."
     As much as the old man had raised John's curiosity, he knew he couldn't spare the time to go over to the next county just to research his place.  He would do it some other time.  'Crazy country folk,' he thought to himself. 
     Without another word, he headed out to his car, laughing on the inside all the way.  With no responses to his ads, he wondered if he could do it.  He knew that he'd need to repair the barn and fence by the following week or get caught with his pants down.  He'd just picked out some livestock and had just five days before it would arrive.  Then, as if things weren't bad enough, a new problem sprang up.
     When he called Melvin to order his lumber and wire for the repairs, he discovered that there was plenty to sell, but he'd have to find a way to get it out to the farm himself.  "Damnest thing," Melvin said over the phone.  "She was runnin’ right as rain this mornin', but now she won't move an inch.  Try callin' Jessup over there in Clarke.  I'm sure he'll get it out to ya' first thing in the mornin’."
     And so he called, and Jessup's did, and from then on, he decided he would give them all his business.  If Melvin wanted to play games, he'd have to do it with someone else.  And then something unpredicted happened.  While picking up some new paint, John met up with a young man who was eager to find a job.  John explained the details, and the man, whose name was Lucas was overjoyed to come and work for the kind of money John was offering.  Thrilled to finally have some held, John agreed to let Lucas' girlfriend, Rita, stay there free of charge.  In return, Rita agreed to cook all their meals.  John couldn't have been happier with the deal they'd struck.  He was certain that his luck was changing.
     But fate was not finished playing its cruel games with John.  Two days after Lucas and Rita moved in, the troubles began.
     Lucas' dog, Elvis, went missing the second night they were there.  After waiting to see if he'd just wandered off, the three of them decided to go and look for him.  They searched everywhere they could think of without a single sing of the dog, but just as they were about to call it quits, they found Elvis.  There was little left of the mutt, which seemed to have met up with a larger animal and lost the confrontation.  To be precise, the only thing left was a pile of bloody bones.  Taking one look at the dog, Lucas threw up.  John felt his heart fall to his stomach.  He would get Lucas another dog.
     A few days later, John received the nine dairy cows he'd bought at auction and four sheep.  But they too went missing the next day.  Frustrated, John searched the whole spread and before long, found them.  Their carcasses looked the same as the dog's had.  Without hesitation, John called the sheriff.  It was three hours before he made his way up to the farm.
     "Don't surprise me one bit," the sheriff said, lighting a thick cigar.  "Kind of thing's been happenin' out here since the place was built.  That there field was sacred indium burial ground ya’ know."
     "So you're sayin’ that ghosts are responsible for this?" asked John, not bothering to hide his annoyance.
     "Spirits," the sheriff said, matter of factily.  "Like I said, this place is sittin' on ancient holy ground.  You bein' here has unsettled the dead.  Same thing happened before.  We told that real estate guy not to sell the place."
     "Thanks for comin' out, Sheriff," John replied, turning and heading for the house.  "I'll try not to upset any more dead things this week."  He didn't wait for a reply.  Angry beyond anything he'd ever felt before, he slammed the door closed as he went into the house.  Losing eighteen thousand dollars worth of livestock to "spirits" was not the answer he'd been looking for.  He went to the kitchen and poured himself a drink. 

Lucas had heard the absurd tale that the sheriff had tried to hand his boss.  Still feelin' a bit down over Elvis, he insisted that John come out with him and Rita.  John was reluctant at first, but after overstating a list of excuses that was longer than a cornstalk at harvest, he was talked into going along.  By the time they arrived at the little rock and roll bar, three counties over, John was feeling a little better.  The conversation was light and it was soothing to get his mind off the whole money-draining venture for a few hours.  Besides, a break from Rita's cooking was sure to do him a world of good.  She had a knack for leftovers.
     Chrissie, the gorgeous friend of Rita wound up spending half of dinner with them, catching up and getting to know John.  Before long, the four of them had a raucous little party going on at the table.  Lucas sensed that John was attracted to Chrissie and it didn't take much to get them to agree to take the party back home.  Since Lucas had driven them there, John had the opportunity to get to know the redhead a lot better on the trip to the farm.  The party was getting steadily hotter.
     John was forty-three and had not been with a woman in two years, which sent his hormones into overdrive.  Barely waiting for the other two to make it to the house, John hefted the nubile, twenty four year old into his arms and carried her to the bedroom.  Chrissie couldn't wait to get the ball rolling.  For the first time since buying the farm, John had not the slightest thought of business.
     She was a vixen, introducing John to things he'd only seen in movies.  But he didn't have a tenth of her stamina.  After about an hour, he was thoroughly exhausted.  Giving her all he had left in one final romp, John rolled over and began his journey towards the deep regions of the dream world.  Hearing the rhythmic squeals of the bed frame down the hall, he closed his eyes and slipped into a sound sleep.  His mind swam with visions of Chrissie.
     John awoke abruptly, a shrill scream invading his unconscious mind.  His heart racing frantically, he tried to sit up, pain searing his entire body from the waist down.  He struggled, trying to see what was going on through alcohol and sleep blurred eyes, but it was too difficult.  Then, a moment later, as his vision cleared a bit, he had a full understanding of what was going on.
     He let out a tremendous, blood-curdling wail as he saw the band of men standing around him.  Then before his mind could process what he saw, he felt the intense pain of a primitive blade being thrust into his abdomen.  He was being skinned alive.
     The pain subsided after only a few seconds.  He tried to move, struggling against the darkness, which was swallowing his vision.  He rolled his eyes, staring at the apparitions, while they worked methodically on his body, his head swimming as his life's blood flowed quickly from the wounds.  Then his thoughts suddenly shifted to the others who were in the house.  Surely Lucas, Rita, and Chrissie were all OK.  But he knew.  The scream he'd heard had not been his own.
     Then, as the last of his vision was fading, a peaceful calm settled over him.  He turned his head to the left, looking at the spot where he knew Chrissie had been.  And finally, as his spirit succumbed to the horror that had befallen him, he had a final view of himself.  All he saw was a pile of bloody bones.

    
                                                                     THE  END