this is a work in progress. my first love, horror fiction. i've rewritten this prologue seven times until i was happy with it. hopefully, you will be too so far. i'll be updating this as it spills out of my head so please check back frequently.
Prologue
It was cold. Harriet opened her eyes and could see her breath in the moonlit air. The fire in the coal stove had gone out, and judging by the snore of her parent’s room through the paper thin walls, her father wasn’t getting out of bed to put more coal in.
She thought maybe she could take the cold. She did put on the extra quilt her grandmother made her two Christmases ago, but tonight, everything seemed paper-thin. She tucked her face under the covers and tried to warm the cold spot on her nose, breathing heavy to heat the bed, hoping to drift off.
But the cold had bit down into her bones and she tossed and turned. She’d sigh in frustration until she finally sat up. She sniffed the snot escaping her nose and swung her feet over the edge of her bed. Her bare toes searching for her slippers, catching the handmade rug and then catching the worn rabbit fur corner of her left slipper.
She slipped out of bed wrapping the quilt around her and grabbed her lantern on her nightstand. She shuffled out into the hallway to the living room and grabbed the box of wooden matches sitting on top of the cabinet her mother put the “good china” in. She struck a match against the box and savored the sharp smell of sulfur as it hissed the matchstick alive. She lit her lantern and tried to focus on her newly lit surroundings.
She found the coal bucket and made her way out the back kitchen door onto the back porch. Below her, the coal pile sat with a tarpaulin over it to keep the dew off it. She grunted as the first load in her shovel gave and she poured the black stones into her pail.
She looked around at the cold Minnesota night. The stars above twinkled back at her and the moon was hiding somewhere in the eastern sky. Her breath heavy in the frosty air, she scanned the farm yard. All the animals were asleep in their homes, and everything stood still. She shivered and put in her last scoop. She picked up her lantern and then her bucket and walked back up the old wooden steps onto the porch. They creaked against her weight.
Before she grabbed the screen door she heard a noise. It sounded like a whisper from far off. She stopped and turned towards the dooryard. Everything sat quietly as it was before. She figured it was the breeze pushing on one of the barn windows, or gate.
She returned to the door and then it came again. This time louder and it seemed like a hiss instead of a whisper. She almost dropped the coal this time as its sound made a chill run up her spine.
“Hello?” she whispered back.
Nothing answered.
She turned suddenly towards the barn again. She was squinting at something she just couldn’t make out. When her eyes finally focused she dropped her bucket and almost lost her grip on the lantern. There was a shape out there by the front of the barn. A dark shape that at first seemed like a shadow cast by a blowing tree, but it was darker than any shadow she’d ever seen.
She glanced back at the screen door, thinking of waking up her dad. He would just think me ridiculous, she thought.
She was going to ignore it. She had made up her mind that it was probably nothing and that all would be forgotten in the morning. But the animals became restless. The old mule kicked at its pen and the goats began to bleat.
She dropped her bucket of coal and picked up the pitchfork leaning against the porch railing and slowly walked towards the barn. Whether it was fear or the cold dry air, her mouth felt like a desert, her tongue scraping around in her mouth like a piece of sandpaper.
The animals were getting more and more restless. There was definitely something there, or someone.
With the lantern in one hand and the pitchfork in the other, she made her way into the dark recesses of the tall old barn. Immediately the scent of animal waste and fur filled her nostrils.
She hung the lantern on a pole in the middle of the barn. She made a circle with the pitchfork in hand, waiting to gore anything that would come at her from the dark. The flame from the lantern danced shadows around the stalls.
On the third stall on her left the gate swung slowly closed just as she caught sight of it.
“Who’s there?” she trembled. The cold was making her shiver and she wished she would have woken her father.
There was no answer. Slowly and cautiously, she walked to the stall with pitchfork taking the lead.
“Come outta there!” she was trying to sound angry, “Come out, or I’ll run you through with this pitchfork!”
Still nothing, and she began to think herself silly. Perhaps it was just a coyote, or a stray dog, wandering onto the farm.
She pulled the door to the stall open with her pitchfork. There was too much darkness in there for her to tell what was in there. She padded back to the pole and grabbed her lantern and returned with adrenaline running through her.
The stuttering light from the lantern lit upon something lurching in the corner. She gasped and dropped the lantern, fixing onto the pitchfork with both hands and moving backwards.
“Don’t.” came a voice from within the returned blackness, “Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to harm you.”
She was breathing heavy now, and thought of screaming so that her father would hear and come running.
Something in the blackness picked up her lantern and relit it. Her eyes got bigger as she saw the sight before her.
It was cold. Harriet opened her eyes and could see her breath in the moonlit air. The fire in the coal stove had gone out, and judging by the snore of her parent’s room through the paper thin walls, her father wasn’t getting out of bed to put more coal in.
She thought maybe she could take the cold. She did put on the extra quilt her grandmother made her two Christmases ago, but tonight, everything seemed paper-thin. She tucked her face under the covers and tried to warm the cold spot on her nose, breathing heavy to heat the bed, hoping to drift off.
But the cold had bit down into her bones and she tossed and turned. She’d sigh in frustration until she finally sat up. She sniffed the snot escaping her nose and swung her feet over the edge of her bed. Her bare toes searching for her slippers, catching the handmade rug and then catching the worn rabbit fur corner of her left slipper.
She slipped out of bed wrapping the quilt around her and grabbed her lantern on her nightstand. She shuffled out into the hallway to the living room and grabbed the box of wooden matches sitting on top of the cabinet her mother put the “good china” in. She struck a match against the box and savored the sharp smell of sulfur as it hissed the matchstick alive. She lit her lantern and tried to focus on her newly lit surroundings.
She found the coal bucket and made her way out the back kitchen door onto the back porch. Below her, the coal pile sat with a tarpaulin over it to keep the dew off it. She grunted as the first load in her shovel gave and she poured the black stones into her pail.
She looked around at the cold Minnesota night. The stars above twinkled back at her and the moon was hiding somewhere in the eastern sky. Her breath heavy in the frosty air, she scanned the farm yard. All the animals were asleep in their homes, and everything stood still. She shivered and put in her last scoop. She picked up her lantern and then her bucket and walked back up the old wooden steps onto the porch. They creaked against her weight.
Before she grabbed the screen door she heard a noise. It sounded like a whisper from far off. She stopped and turned towards the dooryard. Everything sat quietly as it was before. She figured it was the breeze pushing on one of the barn windows, or gate.
She returned to the door and then it came again. This time louder and it seemed like a hiss instead of a whisper. She almost dropped the coal this time as its sound made a chill run up her spine.
“Hello?” she whispered back.
Nothing answered.
She turned suddenly towards the barn again. She was squinting at something she just couldn’t make out. When her eyes finally focused she dropped her bucket and almost lost her grip on the lantern. There was a shape out there by the front of the barn. A dark shape that at first seemed like a shadow cast by a blowing tree, but it was darker than any shadow she’d ever seen.
She glanced back at the screen door, thinking of waking up her dad. He would just think me ridiculous, she thought.
She was going to ignore it. She had made up her mind that it was probably nothing and that all would be forgotten in the morning. But the animals became restless. The old mule kicked at its pen and the goats began to bleat.
She dropped her bucket of coal and picked up the pitchfork leaning against the porch railing and slowly walked towards the barn. Whether it was fear or the cold dry air, her mouth felt like a desert, her tongue scraping around in her mouth like a piece of sandpaper.
The animals were getting more and more restless. There was definitely something there, or someone.
With the lantern in one hand and the pitchfork in the other, she made her way into the dark recesses of the tall old barn. Immediately the scent of animal waste and fur filled her nostrils.
She hung the lantern on a pole in the middle of the barn. She made a circle with the pitchfork in hand, waiting to gore anything that would come at her from the dark. The flame from the lantern danced shadows around the stalls.
On the third stall on her left the gate swung slowly closed just as she caught sight of it.
“Who’s there?” she trembled. The cold was making her shiver and she wished she would have woken her father.
There was no answer. Slowly and cautiously, she walked to the stall with pitchfork taking the lead.
“Come outta there!” she was trying to sound angry, “Come out, or I’ll run you through with this pitchfork!”
Still nothing, and she began to think herself silly. Perhaps it was just a coyote, or a stray dog, wandering onto the farm.
She pulled the door to the stall open with her pitchfork. There was too much darkness in there for her to tell what was in there. She padded back to the pole and grabbed her lantern and returned with adrenaline running through her.
The stuttering light from the lantern lit upon something lurching in the corner. She gasped and dropped the lantern, fixing onto the pitchfork with both hands and moving backwards.
“Don’t.” came a voice from within the returned blackness, “Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to harm you.”
She was breathing heavy now, and thought of screaming so that her father would hear and come running.
Something in the blackness picked up her lantern and relit it. Her eyes got bigger as she saw the sight before her.
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