from
far, far behind them and Sarah winced at the sound.
“If we're going, we better get a move on,” Mark said and they crept onwards,
using everything they could to hide behind. “And please try not to fall over
again, I know it’s difficult but it would be really helpful—”
A sharp smack to the back of his head stopped him
mid-sentence and he laughed, rubbing this new pain away.
“You’ve got a smart mouth,” Sarah’s voice came
from behind him.
“Thanks.”
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
A barbed-wire fence with a closed metal gate came into view. A good sign, Sarah
thought, although the bloodied rag of cloth caught on the wire was not .
Behind the gate and to right of the barn was a small cottage with cream-coloured
brickwork that was greying with age.
They walked up to the gate quietly, listening to
the night and watching intently for any movement coming from the farm ahead. In
the coming darkness, they could just make out the ivy trellis on the side of
the cottage and the windows were boarded up from the inside. No movement or
light. To the left of the cottage, the old barn's double doors were closed — chain
wrapped around the handles and was locked with a large padlock.
When they got to the gate, Mark pushed it open; it squeaked but gave way and
they walked inside. The ground was muddy and wet, every step was unsteady in
the darkness and Sarah kept a strong grip on Mark's hand.
With Mark holding the crowbar tightly, they
trudged towards the cottage, feet squelching in the mud with every step. He
stopped to look at the barn and narrowed his eyes to get a better view. “You
see that on the ground?”
Sarah squinted as her eyes tried to focus in the
dark. She followed the dark, muddy ground towards the barn until her eyes
noticed the large, round, darker patches that were laid on it. It looked like
large lumps that — in any other place but in front of a barn door —could have
been rocks. “I can't tell what it is, it's too dark. What do you think they
are?”
“I'm not sure. I thought they were bodies but they aren't the right shape. Not
for humans,” Mark whispered, still trying to focus in the night.
Sarah shuddered. “They’re cows I think, or sheep.”
“Well since they're lying down instead of
attacking us, I don't think they're going to be a problem.”
“Have you been attacked by many cows?” Sarah
asked, sarcastically.
“Do angry women count?”
Sarah laughed and shook her head in mock disgust.
They were facing the front of the cottage. The
wooden door was a dark shade in the night; maybe green or blue with a small
square window at the top which was boarded up. There were planters on the
windowsills and the ivy grew tall up the sides of the house. Probably a beautiful
place, once upon a time — maybe the stage of a romantic flick, Sarah mused. Or
a horror.
Slowly, she walked up to the front door and strained to hear anything coming
from inside. Mark followed her closely. She tried the door, even though she had
a good idea it would be locked since someone went through the effort of
boarding up the windows. To her surprise, it wasn't. She gently pulled the
handle and the door creaked open. An overwhelming sense of vulnerability came
over her as the two of them stared into the face of darkness.
Mark took the lead then, pushing Sarah to the back
of him protectively and stepped up onto the stone doorstep. Somewhere in the
back he saw a very faint flicker of light and he knew he wasn’t alone. He
motioned for Sarah to stay put and before she could protest, he moved into the
room. He realized he was still holding his breath as his lungs started to burn,
and gently exhaled.
As soon as he stepped onto the hard tile floor in
the cottage, there was a metallic sound close to his right ear. He froze.
“What is it?” Sarah asked.
He didn't answer her. Instead, he put his left hand behind his back in a 'stay
put'
far, far behind them and Sarah winced at the sound.
“If we're going, we better get a move on,” Mark said and they crept onwards,
using everything they could to hide behind. “And please try not to fall over
again, I know it’s difficult but it would be really helpful—”
A sharp smack to the back of his head stopped him
mid-sentence and he laughed, rubbing this new pain away.
“You’ve got a smart mouth,” Sarah’s voice came
from behind him.
“Thanks.”
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
A barbed-wire fence with a closed metal gate came into view. A good sign, Sarah
thought, although the bloodied rag of cloth caught on the wire was not .
Behind the gate and to right of the barn was a small cottage with cream-coloured
brickwork that was greying with age.
They walked up to the gate quietly, listening to
the night and watching intently for any movement coming from the farm ahead. In
the coming darkness, they could just make out the ivy trellis on the side of
the cottage and the windows were boarded up from the inside. No movement or
light. To the left of the cottage, the old barn's double doors were closed — chain
wrapped around the handles and was locked with a large padlock.
When they got to the gate, Mark pushed it open; it squeaked but gave way and
they walked inside. The ground was muddy and wet, every step was unsteady in
the darkness and Sarah kept a strong grip on Mark's hand.
With Mark holding the crowbar tightly, they
trudged towards the cottage, feet squelching in the mud with every step. He
stopped to look at the barn and narrowed his eyes to get a better view. “You
see that on the ground?”
Sarah squinted as her eyes tried to focus in the
dark. She followed the dark, muddy ground towards the barn until her eyes
noticed the large, round, darker patches that were laid on it. It looked like
large lumps that — in any other place but in front of a barn door —could have
been rocks. “I can't tell what it is, it's too dark. What do you think they
are?”
“I'm not sure. I thought they were bodies but they aren't the right shape. Not
for humans,” Mark whispered, still trying to focus in the night.
Sarah shuddered. “They’re cows I think, or sheep.”
“Well since they're lying down instead of
attacking us, I don't think they're going to be a problem.”
“Have you been attacked by many cows?” Sarah
asked, sarcastically.
“Do angry women count?”
Sarah laughed and shook her head in mock disgust.
They were facing the front of the cottage. The
wooden door was a dark shade in the night; maybe green or blue with a small
square window at the top which was boarded up. There were planters on the
windowsills and the ivy grew tall up the sides of the house. Probably a beautiful
place, once upon a time — maybe the stage of a romantic flick, Sarah mused. Or
a horror.
Slowly, she walked up to the front door and strained to hear anything coming
from inside. Mark followed her closely. She tried the door, even though she had
a good idea it would be locked since someone went through the effort of
boarding up the windows. To her surprise, it wasn't. She gently pulled the
handle and the door creaked open. An overwhelming sense of vulnerability came
over her as the two of them stared into the face of darkness.
Mark took the lead then, pushing Sarah to the back
of him protectively and stepped up onto the stone doorstep. Somewhere in the
back he saw a very faint flicker of light and he knew he wasn’t alone. He
motioned for Sarah to stay put and before she could protest, he moved into the
room. He realized he was still holding his breath as his lungs started to burn,
and gently exhaled.
As soon as he stepped onto the hard tile floor in
the cottage, there was a metallic sound close to his right ear. He froze.
“What is it?” Sarah asked.
He didn't answer her. Instead, he put his left hand behind his back in a 'stay
put'
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