County Rd 3 isn’t just any dirt road. It’s the road that dead ends at the Anderson Farm. An old rundown farm abandoned years ago after the Anderson family was brutally murdered.
Pulling her music from her ears, she stops at the entrance to the road. She had gone out for a walk today, knowing she had to go there if she would ever gather the strength she needed to end her agony finally.
A chill runs through her the moment the song’s distraction, meant to give her a much-needed boost and reprieve from her fear, dissipates.
It’s dusk, and although the sun still shines on this part of the road, she knows it wouldn’t dare cast its warm glow anywhere near the farm.
Shoving her phone and earbuds into her pocket, she pushes her fear aside and takes off, running towards the farm. The farm, the place that has continued to claim the lives of so many, is the only place that can change everything for her.
A few minutes later and she stops. Not because she’s tired; hell, she’s never felt so energized. No, it’s because she’s standing directly under the sign that marks the farm’s entrance. One more step, and she’s crossed that barrier from safe to the unknown, from a person unable to face their fears to someone who can and will. Of course, that’s if she makes it out of here alive.
Glancing around, she notices the area’s stillness and eerie silence.
There’s no one out here, yet she knows, even feels somehow, that her observations of her surroundings have nothing to do with whether she’s alone or not.
The moment she steps onto the property, she feels different. Something deep within her celebrates the momentous achievement of finally doing what she believed to be unthinkable. But, for someone looking on, they could never grasp her bravery as she continues walking towards the main house.
With every step and footprint left in the dirt, she feels herself grow more accustomed to this new feeling of claiming who she is and who she will be moving forward in her life.
As her thoughts drift to her parents and their reactions when she finally tells them, she doesn’t notice how close to the steps of the house’s front porch she is until she feels the sting. Yelling out, she grabs her arm and then touches the warm liquid that seeps between her fingers. It’s blood, her blood, coming from a gash that has somehow just appeared.
A sense of dread comes over her. Then, swinging around, she sees him standing about twenty feet away; the oldest brother John is tall, blond, and beautiful. Looking just the same as he did the day he died—all except for the severed limbs and hollowed, sunken eyes.
It doesn’t take long for the others of the Anderson family to appear.
She wonders then if this is what happened to the other people that died through the years, the ones that found themselves stepping onto the property of this dilapidated farm and coming face to face with the unfathomable. Did they run? Did they try to fight?
No one knows, but whatever they did, they died.
Well, she didn’t come here to die. Heck, she was already dead; she came here to start living.
And so she would. She would live through this and later tonight through the most brutal discussion she would ever have with her parents. She would live through her secret after being exposed to everyone she knew. She would live, finally.
Until next time-
D