The Ragged

by Brett Schumacher

“Then it must be your lucky day,” Celeste said, handing him a hammer and shrugging at his look of shock. “It was under the bottom step. Do you think Corvus hid something back there?”

  “There’s only one way to find out,” he said as he took the hammer and pulled the clawed end around the shaft of the first nail. He rocked the head of the hammer toward the blunt end, lifting the claw up. The nail came up with almost no effort. It had been pulled out multiple times.

  A small shudder of excitement went through Andrew as he pulled the rest of the nails up. When he first moved into the house as a teen, even through his angst and grief, he always felt excited by the possibility of a secret or two being hidden within the walls of such an old place.

  Sometimes, if he’d get home from school before Corvus got in from the fields, he would sneak around the old farmhouse, running his hands along walls and looking behind shelves and dressers for secret passages. He never found any hidden treasures or dark mysteries, but he always held out hope that the property held something beyond belief. Otherwise, what was the point of living on a creepy old farm like that?

  As the last nail slid out of the plywood and the panel fell away, Andrew came face to face with a childhood dream come true.

  A plain wooden chest, no bigger than a shoe box, sat in the dirt. Andrew turned, slack-jawed, to look at Celeste, who met his look with confusion.

  “Why is that back there?” She asked, taking a step back from the discovery.

  “I have no idea,” he answered with more than a little bit of excitement in his voice.

  Andrew reached out and grabbed the box, pulling it forward to rest on the wall panel that he had just pulled down. He worked with growing fervor, undoing the latch and throwing open the chest. Despite her obvious reservations, Celeste stepped forward to watch over his shoulder, the thrill of discovery seemingly outweighing her concern with a box surreptitiously hidden behind a wall in a basement. Andrew knew logically that there was every reason to be suspicious of a find like this, but he just couldn’t say no to his inner child, who was jumping for joy. So many years after giving up his search for hidden secrets, the house had finally offered one up.

  The chest only contained one thing: a small, leather-bound book. Andrew picked it up and traced his hand down the cover; the leather was real. He turned it over in his hand and took it in. The book was handmade. He could see the individual stitching that held the strips of hide together, each loop perfectly placed and intricately woven. He leafed through the pages and found that the book was halfway full of handwriting.

  “I think it’s a journal,” he told Celeste.

  “Why would he bury his journal behind a wall in the basement?” She asked like he could possibly have that answer.

  “Darling, if I knew that, do you think I’d be surprised to find it? Let’s just go upstairs so we can check this thing out.”

  He stood up and led the way to the main floor, scratching Gracie behind the ear as he passed her on his way into the living room. He’d have to remember to give her an extra treat later. He strode over to the couch and sat down, eager to start reading. Celeste joined him with far less enthusiasm, the look of concern still painted on her face. She put a hand out and rested it on the cover of the book, partially holding his hand in the process.

  “Are you sure you want to read this?” She asked. “Your grandfather hid this thing for a reason. Do you really want to violate his privacy like this?”

  Andrew thought for a moment before saying, “Corvus Wilson was an enigma to me my whole life. First, he was the jerk my dad made him out to be, second, he was the grumpy old man who took me in, and third, he spent the last twenty-odd years as a recluse. I’ve never been able to figure the guy out. Maybe this is my chance to get to know the real him.”

  “What if you don’t like what you find?”

  “I’d rather hate the real him than love the fake him.”

  A moment of tense silence passed between the two of them, each one determined that they knew what was best. Andrew knew Celeste had a point, but he also knew that she knew that he had a point too. That meant that it was up to a quiet battle of wills. They had played this unspoken game for years as a couple. Whenever they came to a disagreement with no clear right answer, whoever broke the silence first deferred to the other.

  It didn’t take long for Celeste to concede. “Just so you know, I take issue with reading a person’s diary after their death.”

  “Don’t worry, babe,” Andrew smirked. “Corvus ain’t Anne Frank.”

  “That poor girl did not deserve millions of people snooping through her pubescent thoughts.”

  With that, Andrew opened the book and began to read.

  ***

  June 3rd, 1992

  I never kept a journal before, but this is as good a time as any to start. Eileen told me to leave her alone with all my “superstitious hokum,” so I’m writing it down here. That old sow never understood it anyhow.

  But I know what I saw out there.

  I’m not sure how to describe it. It was all tattered and gaunt, like a mummy losing its wraps. I have seen it out in the woods behind the house a few times. Just small looks here and there while I was out hunting. But something big happened last night that made me write this all down. It saw me.

  I was upstairs looking out the window before bed when I saw it. The thing was closer to the house than ever before. It was right at the edge of the trees, just staring at the farmhouse. I was watching it when it lifted its head and looked me straight in the eye.

  We stood like that for a little while. I was looking at it, and it was looking right back at me. It put a hand on its stomach like it was hungry, then it just turned and went back into the woods.

  I don’t know what it was, but I need to find out. My parents came over here from the motherland, and my momma told me all about the fair folk. They’re nature spirits as old as the world itself. They keep to themselves mostly, but if one of them notices you, then you best start paying respects.

  I think what I saw could be one of ‘em. Maybe it came over from the old world, or maybe they just live here too. I don’t think that matters much.

  The crops haven’t been doing well. Maybe that’s because of that thing. It looked right at me. Maybe it wants something.

  ***

  “Okay, I’ve heard enough,” Celeste said, getting up and walking away from the couch.

  “What do you mean?” Andrew whined.

  “It’s sad enough that he was losing his mind like that. Do we really need to read through his descent into madness?”

  “We don’t have to, but I sure would like to. Like I said, good or bad, I want to know more about him.”

  “Well, you can count me out of the creepy book readings.” She took her jacket off the coat rack by the door and put it on before picking up her sampling kit. She had had her fill of creepiness the past few days, and was not looking to experience any more. “You want to walk with me out to the field?”

  “What are you going out the field for?”

  “I want to get some soil samples from the farm and the woods before we officially get to work,” she said. He didn’t seem overly interested in her offer, and Celeste didn’t want to walk out there all by herself after what they had just read, so she decided to sweeten the pot a bit. “You can check the barn for some bolt cutters.”

  The idea of further exploration into his grandfather seemed to do the trick. Andrew set the journal down on the coffee table and got up as well. He threw his jacket on and opened the door, calling out to Gracie that they’d be back soon. The cat yawned and rolled over as they closed the door and left.

  Gravel crunched underfoot as Andrew and Celeste walked hand in hand down the driveway. It was the middle of the day, but the thick tangle of branches above them made it seem as if it was already dusk. Trudging through the gloom, a small chill went across the back of Celeste’s neck. She kept looking around and behind them as they walked.

  “It’s k
ind of creepy out here, isn’t it?” Andrew asked, reading her mind.

  “You could say that again.”

  “It’s kind of creepy out here, isn’t it?”

  “You’re an idiot,” she said through her smile.

  “For real though, I always hated the walk to and from the field when I lived here. The trees and the shadows and the wind that always seems to blow through here. It’s just creepy.” He chuckled a little. “I used to sprint back to the house when it was getting dark.”

  Celeste laughed a bit at the image of teenage Andrew running up the driveway in fear, especially since she would have done the same thing. As she laughed, she felt a small tightness in her chest and realized that she had forgotten to use her inhaler the night before. She would need to remember to use it before bed that night.

  They walked a little bit further in silence, just taking in the day. Eventually, Celeste spoke up.

  “What do you think he actually saw?” She asked.

  “I thought you weren’t interested in the ravings of a madman,” Andrew replied, saying the last part of his sentence like a horror TV show host.

  She shoved him slightly with her elbow. “I’m not. I just can’t help but speculate about what the old guy might have seen.”

  “You wanna know what I think?” A stupid grin spread across his face. “I think he actually saw a mummy.”

  She could not have rolled her eyes hard enough. “Forget I asked.”

  Andrew took a moment to savor his world-class wit before saying, “For real though, he was probably just seeing things. Although, I will say, that line calling Grandma Eileen a sow was the most I’d ever heard him talk about her.”

  “Really?” Celeste asked. She thought back to what Jax had told her at the pharmacy the day before, and about the conversation, she and Andrew had had that night about it.

  “Yep. I mean, the man’s wife disappears without a trace one day, and the whole town thinks he did it. I don’t blame him for keeping his mouth shut. I had to learn about it from kids at school.”

  “I’m so sorry, Andrew,” she squeezed his hand.

  “Thank you, but I promise I’m okay.” The branches above them thinned out as they got to the road, and the couple crossed over into the field. “I just wish he could’ve gotten some closure with whatever happened to her.”

  Celeste watched as Andrew walked off to the left, heading toward the barn, then she went out into the middle of the field. She picked a random row of dirt and stooped down to collect samples. The heat of the midday sun was smothered by the October chill, and Celeste shivered a bit as she surveyed the farmland.

  It was completely unremarkable, as far as she could tell. Rows of dirt stretched off into the distance, empty after the harvest, and the only outstanding features of the land were a few scarecrows here and there, and the old barn that somehow managed to be in even worse shape than the farmhouse. Looking at the weathered and worn scarecrows keeping watch over the field, Celeste couldn’t help but wonder if Corvus weren’t just hallucinating them in his old age. After all, the mind could play some powerful tricks on you under the right circumstances.

  Having collected her sample, Celeste stood back up and set her sights on the woods. She walked back across the road and up the driveway to the house, fighting the impulse to run the length of it like Andrew used to. She had to admit, even in the middle of the afternoon, that that driveway was monumentally creepy. She walked up past the farmhouse and into the woods behind it, looking to get her second set of soil samples.

  Leaves crunched underfoot as Celeste searched for the perfect patch of dirt, kicking away swathes of orange, yellow, and red as she did. She found a small clearing and decided to take her sample there. A crescent of impenetrable briar bushes surrounded the back half of the field, blocking her view of what lay beyond. The thick tangle also blocked out the cool wind that had been blowing the whole time they were outside though, so she was fine with the sacrificed visibility.

  Of course, Celeste wasn’t about to let her expedition pass without savoring the small joys of the outdoors. For all of her education and research, what kept her coming back to work day after day was her love for nature. After scooping leaves out of the way to clear a patch of earth, she gathered them into a giant armful before throwing them into the air and dancing as they fell. Her head tilted up to the sky as she did, and she soaked up the sunlight on her skin.

  After playing in the leaves for a little while longer, savoring her small escape from the weight of reality back at the farmhouse, Celeste finally stooped down to take her sample. She had been interested for some time in the impacts of farming on soil and was looking for ways that she could apply that information to conservation efforts. By taking some samples from the farm and the woods, she could compare how farming practices impacted that area specifically, which could yield some promising results for her research.

  Her mind wandered as she worked, drifting down to the worlds held within the dirt. Many people thought of Celeste’s work as boring, but she could never understand that. Millions and millions of insects and microorganisms called the soil their home, and she was fascinated by every one of them. The soil was the bedrock of every ecosystem, allowing plants to grow, and consuming living things after they died. And within that bedrock was a whole other ecosystem that made it all happen.

  Weirdly, Celeste connected to dirt. The ground was full of behind-the-scenes workers, making the flashy surface ecosystem possible, but getting almost no credit. Yet, it didn’t need credit and didn’t ask for it. The soil was just happy to play its part in a thriving world. People who thought that was boring simply didn’t have enough vision or imagination to see just how exciting it was.

  The sound of a twig snapping somewhere in front of her pulled Celeste out of her thoughts.

  Had her dancing attracted a curious animal? She froze and listened.

  Nothing. Slowly, she lifted her head and stood up, scanning the area around her. The feeling of being watched grew stronger by the moment as Celeste looked for the source of the sound.

  The bramble thicket that had been sheltering her from the wind suddenly felt a lot less comforting, and Celeste felt incredibly exposed as she stood alone in the clearing. Something was on the other side of that wall. A slight movement caught her attention and she snapped her head to the side to see what it was.

  A pair of antlers poked over the thick tangle of bushes, holding still now that it had been caught. Celeste let out a sigh of relief. It was just a deer. She chastised herself for being so skittish. It was foolish to get that worked up over nothing, and she knew it was because of Corvus’s stupid old journal.

  She watched as the horns slowly moved behind the bush, heading deeper into the forest while still keeping an eye on her. After it was clear the animal was walking away from the clearing, Celeste took a deep breath and stooped down to pick up her things before heading back to the farmhouse.

  ***

  Another rush of that strange nostalgia hit Andrew as he pushed open the barn door and stepped inside. It was in far worse condition than the house, with rot in multiple places, and even a hole developing in the ceiling. Corvus must have been having a hard time keeping up with maintenance in his old age.

  Outside of the damage and disrepair, the interior was almost exactly how Andrew remembered it.

  Corvus’s old tractor sat in the middle of the barn and was the only thing in the room that was still in good condition. That fact didn’t surprise Andrew in the slightest, and he chuckled as he thought back on all the times that he had begged his grandfather to drive the tractor, only to be met with a resounding ‘no.’ He often joked during his time on the farm that Corvus loved the tractor more than he loved him–an assertion that the old man never once denied.

  Maybe he would take a joy ride with it while he was here. Of course, driving his grandfather’s old tractor may have been the fastest way to get haunted by his ghost. Corvus didn’t let Andrew be anywhere near the field whil
e he was driving it. He always said it was too dangerous.

  Off to the side of the room, the wall of tools and the workbench were all cluttered and messy. Most of the equipment had gathered an almost impressive amount of rust, another sign that maintenance work was being shirked. And wasn’t certain yet whether that was because of forgetfulness or loss of ability. He walked over to the pile of tools and started gingerly digging, careful to avoid the myriad sharp and rusted edges that threatened to give him tetanus.

  He didn’t want to take a trip to the hospital for something as foolish as a cut.

  He spent the next ten minutes searching the whole area, sifting through all sorts of miscellaneous tools and equipment. Much to his frustration, though, there was no sign of his coveted prize.

  “What kind of farmer doesn’t have bolt cutters?” He muttered under his breath as he tossed the last tool back on the bench.

  The only upside to his failed search was that Andrew now knew that the only thing of any value in the entire barn was the tractor, which could still fetch a pretty penny at an estate auction. He leaned against the workbench and wondered where his grandfather might have hidden those bolt cutters. He could have sworn that Corvus had a pair back in the day, but any number of things could’ve happened to them in the intervening years.

  He was about to give up and leave when he noticed the ladder in the corner that led up to the loft. How had he forgotten about the loft? He had made plenty of trips up and down that ladder in his youth, hauling hay for the cattle, back when Corvus still had some. It was a long shot for sure, but Andrew honestly had no idea what could have been going through his grandfather’s mind in recent years, so anything was possible.

  Andrew crossed the hay-strewn floor to get a closer look at the rickety ladder, patting the old tractor as he passed. The wood was dry and cracked with age, looking more and more brittle the closer he got to it. A test pull proved that at least one rung wouldn’t disintegrate under his weight, so he put a foot on the bottom rung and stepped up.