"Alone. Yes, that's the key word, the most awful word in the English tongue. Murder doesn't hold a candle to it and hell is only a poor synonym."

- Stephen King, Salem's Lot

The red 1957 Ford Thunderbird drove along the small bumpy road. Sided by thick, towering fields of wheat that swayed as the car drove by. The path was small, barely wide enough for the size of the vehicle, the crop randomly clipping and folding under the fender mirrors. The field seemed to go on forever, the path closing behind him with every meter travelled. A farmhouse began to grow over what could be seen over the field, its mossy shingles appearing first, with the second floor slowly materializing soon after. He eased in on the brakes, slowing the car down as the crop began to thin out and the rest of the old Victorian styled building seeped through the stocks like light through a blind.

Tim pulled the car up on the muddied driveway of the house which was sided by an equally tall barn. The red paint had faded with time and had mostly peeled off above the door, giving the building a muddy brown colour, the timber beneath dark and rotting. He switched off the engine and stepped out of the car onto the muddy path, his shoes sinking into the mud. An overcast sky and dark clouds was coming in from the horizon beyond the farm. Surrounded by an endless wheat field, he only had one choice left. The wind began picking up speed as he headed for the house, the field swaying and dancing, the stocks bending over as if bowing to him.

The kitchen protruded out of the house in a bevel. Planks nailed to the windows and curtains drawn. Some of the glass were cracked while others were discoloured with moss and age. He tried to peek through the cracks between the boards but found the blinds drawn as well. He went to the main door, once painted white, with the paint peeling off, and hammered at the aged wood.

“Hey! Anyone in there?” he called out. The door shaking with each knock but not enough to give way. When his call wasn't answered, he stepped back out onto the muddy front yard. “Tsk. What's the point of coming all the way here then?”

He thought about going back to the car and driving down the road until he found an inn or another place to stop for the coming storm.

“Where was I going anyway?” he asked himself, the question suddenly coming to him.

A soft musical humming came from the barn, catching Tim's attention. He turned and headed towards the barn, shouting over the wind as it picked up. “Hey! S'anyone there?”

As he got closer, he realized the dark colour of the barn was not solely because of the wood. Hundreds of cockroaches had made their home in the creaks and recesses of the building, crawling up and down the walls, seemingly squirming with each passing second.

Approaching the barn door, he made sure to check the texture of the wood near him to identify which part were infested. Even then, he only pushed the right of the large double door opened with his foot. The hinges were rusted and the door heavy, creaking loudly like the constant scratching of a chalkboard. He cringed from the sound but kept pushing, half a dozen roaches dropping from the archway. He managed to open the door large enough for him to fit through, feeling disgusted but relieved. The humming was louder and he could identify it as female.

Stepping through the threshold, the stench of horse faeces immediately attacked his nostrils and he had to cover it with his arms. The barn was dark with barely enough light from the outside to give a shadowy outline to the inside. From what he could see, it was a two story barn with two stables and a workbench on the ground floor with a staircase leading up. A soft blue glow emitted from the second floor from the stairwell, faintly illuminating the surrounding. The humming seemed to be coming from above. He headed for the stairs.

“Will you play with me?” Tim spun on the spot as he heard the young boy's voice.

The child in his school uniform stood a distance in the darkness in front of one of the stable.

“W-what?” Tim asked.

“Don't you want to play with me?” the boy asked. Though his eyes were set in Tim's direction, they did not seemed to see him so much as into him. Piercing his soul.

“I...I don't really have time to play,” Tim found himself stepping away.

“That's a shame,” the boy said, his voice ethereal, almost as to echo endlessly. “Do you want a mommy?”

“What did you say?”

“Cause I have a mommy.”

Tim blinked and a woman appeared beside the boy. Dressed in a yellow shirt and white frilled skirt, her long maroon hair slid behind her shoulder, her bangs neat and straight, her eyes a shining green. Miranda Kleve looked as alive as she was years ago.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Mom?” a flash of lightning lit up the room. After having adjusted to the darkness, the light was blinding, forcing Tim to close his eyes. The roaring thunder followed and when he looked again, the boy and his mother was gone.

He found himself breathing hard, his heart pumping with neither fear nor excitement. A general rough beat that followed no rhythm. Tim felt a trickle of tear rolling down his cheek.

Somehow, the humming managed to find its way to his attention again and he turned back towards the stairs. The tone soothing, following the tune of Will the Circle be Unbroken?. His heartbeat slowed back down, calmed by the mesmerizing sound. He headed up the stairs into the soft blue light.

The second floor was where the hay bale was kept. Stacked against the walls and up the ceiling like bricks, he felt as if they would tumble over and crush him if he went any closer. The source of the light and sound was a white figure at the far end, with its luminosity shining bright enough to repel the darkness.

“What am I doing?” Tim said under his breath. He approached the figure with hazy steps.

As he closed, the figure became prominent. Revealing itself to not simply be a creature, but a girl with white hair and dress. Lying on the ground seductively, her legs bent and angled out of her dress, showing the curvatures of her thighs. Her dress was loose and smooth, showing more skin through peeks and gaps. Her petite body and small breasts outlined clearly by the clothing. Her skin, light and dreamy, almost melted together with her dress. Their eyes locked and her humming ceased, her iris a smoky grey.

She smiled mischievously. “Do you want to fuck me?”

“W-what?” Tim was stunned by the question.

She began to crawl on her hands and knees towards him, raising her hips and sliding it across the air like a snake. Her white dress seemed longer than her body as she moved closer, dragging to the sides of her but doesn't seem to impede her movement. She reached out to him, lightly holding onto the back of his thighs as she slowly raised herself against him, with as much part of her body brushing against his as possible without leaving eye contact. He felt his manhood erecting, bulging against his pants as she wrapped her hands around him, bringing them face-to-face, her continuing to rub herself against his crotch.

“Do you want to make love to me?” she replied to his previous question.

Upfront, she was beautiful, her cheeks lightly freckled and her ghostly eyes entrancing. Even as she seduced him, her face held a sense of innocence and cuteness, looking no older than he was.

“I-” he tried to reply but found himself at a lost for word. “I-no. I'm here for-for...”

She leaned herself into him, forcing Tim to support her weight. She was light, almost feather light. He could feel her breasts and nipples rubbing against his chest through their fabrics. She drew her face closer, their nose touching, lips barely millimetres apart.

He couldn't think. He tried to think of his previous sentence but something else clicked in his mind. “What...am I here for?”

Shelter? No. Before shelter. His mind raced. Though still enticed by the girl, he was capable of clear thoughts now.

Her breath on his lips, “Carry me out,” she said.

He did just that, lifting her by the knees and armpits as she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, gently leaning her head into his shoulder. He had no trouble carrying her, her weight no heavier than that of a large soft toy.

“I want you. Outside. Hurry,” she whispered. With her in arms, he headed for the stairs.

Zoot. Zun. Zoot. Zun.

The sound of a saw.

Zoot. Zun. Zoot. Zun.

Cutting something.

Zoot. Zun. Zoot. Zun.

Descending the steps, another stroke of lightning lit up the interior for a split second. An elongated shadow stretched out from behind Tim. He could feel the presence and swore he could feel the colours of rage and hatred emitting from it, piercing his body in tiny needles. If there was a way to physically feel fear, that was it.

“Come. Faster,” she whispered.

He reached the bottom of the steps, the ground muddier than he remembered it to be. Though no footsteps followed behind, he knew that someone, or something was there. And whatever it was had a killing intent that can be felt in his bones. Making his way to the door of the barn, he thought his legs might give way, not to the weight of the girl, but to the fear that whatever creature chasing him has bought.

But he made it across the threshold and out under the torrential rain. The wind swept droplets across them, as sharp and cold as ice. A middle-age woman stood in front of him, dry despite the downpour. Her neat, long, fire red hair effortlessly still in the rough storm. She wore a black office blazer over a crisp white shirt and a matching black knee length skirt with onyx high heels. She seemed to be in her early thirties, her figure slick and slender, her skin smooth and powdered, her chest tight but endowed.

“Sign here,” the woman said, holding out a briefcase with a piece of paper and pen over it. Words began to slowly form on the paper in what looked to be the format of a contract. “Sign here. And you can have anything you want.”

The girl in the white dress hugged Tim tighter, drawing impossibly closer than they already were. It felt as if every inch of their body that could make physical contact was making it, her face snuggled into his shoulder, her cheek leaned into his neck.

And in a surprising change of tone, no longer seductive, she asked, “Are you awake yet?”

Zoot. Zun. Zoot. Zun.

“No,” he replied. A bolt of lightning cut across the sky, blinding Tim for a split second with its flash. The business woman disappeared from where she stood.

Zoot. Zun. Zoot. Zun.

“I'm definitely sleeping,” he spun around, twisting his legs like a dancer. It wasn't hard to hold onto the girl for she clung tightly to him. Even with one hand raised against the man with the straw hat, they held together. The rusty saw came slicing down on his arm and he felt the cold steel cutting through it. He was sure he let out a scream but it was drowned out by the rain.

All he could see was pain. All he could hear was fear.