A Mystery at Belforth Farm

Many days during the holidays were spent roving in or around Jim’s farm on the edge of Belforth, the focal point of which was an old barn towards the limit of the property, hidden away in a wooded grove. It was our own little kingdom, to rule as we saw fit. We would take Sam, Jim’s dog, out for long walks and he would often stay the night in the barn with us.

In our early teenage years, we spent most of our time outside of school hanging out at our little den in the woods. The barn, that was so comforting despite its decrepit appearance; the red paint flaking off the wooden panes, the glass windows long since broken and its two large doors, barely functioning as such, which hung precariously from overused, rusted hinges. There was still working water, which was very nice to have during those sweltering summer days. The external walls were covered in graffiti; a constant project of ours for the past few years. We had brought some old furniture in with the help of Jim’s parents, and made our little home on the upper floor of the barn. I often think about the time we got the sofa up there. It was our little sanctuary; a place of refuge in difficult times, an escape from everything. Until it wasn’t.

One twilit evening in the summer, Jim and I were awoken to a creaking, the doors were being forced open. We looked down from the little canopy we had set up, and peered through the darkness below; Sam started and crept carefully towards the opening, a low growl droned threateningly. A thin strip of moonlight poured in, allowing us to scout the area for any intruders. We could make out shouting whispers coming from outside; the voices of men. They scrambled through the door and came in with torches that searched all around the walls, the floor, each little alcove, past the dog with little concern and then us in the loft. Like deer, we remained, looking into the light, afraid, stunned.

“Well, hello there”.

Wide eyed, Jim and I remained motionless, as if that voice didn’t see us and if we stayed as still as possible we would be safe.

“Why don’t you be good kids and come down here, so we can have a little chat?”, the voice suggested. “Come now, quickly!”

Without even thinking, we had descended the ladder to find ourselves in front of 3 tall men, dressed in long dark robes that reached nearly to the floor, strange markings on their collars and sleeves. Once our eyes adjusted properly, we could just about make out their faces underneath large hoods, covered in red markings.

“Now”, the nearest man gently uttered, “We’re looking for a friend of ours, and we think we saw him come in here.”

There was a strange metallic smell that emanated from the men before us, unlike anything I had ever smelt before.

The man on the right shone his flashlight around the barn, still looking for anything that might suggest the location of the person that eluded them presently. We could barely string a response together when the man, appearing to be their leader, spoke once again, urgency in his voice. The man on his left retreated and peeked his head outside the door of the building.

As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I noticed a triangle sort of emblem that each of the men seemed to share on left breast.

“We need to find our friend. Did you see anyone come in here?”

“Uhh, n-no”, Jim stuttered out an answer in his breath. “We h-haven’t seen anyone”, I mumbled.

As the leader was just about to speak once again, he was cut off buy the man looking out of the door, who came up to him and in hushed tones, spoke in his ear.

“I have made a mistake it seems”, he stated, “It appears our friend has moved on without us, or so my associate believes.”

Jim breathed a sigh of relief. Even though we hadn’t seen anyone, I still felt anxious.

“I believe you’re telling me the truth”. The men went to walk to the door before turning back and pointing his flashlight right on my face, dazzling me.

“Though, if we find out you’ve been lying to us, I’m afraid there will be consequences”. And with one swift motion, he and the other two men had disappeared into the night. Their conversations and rustling fading into the woods surrounding us.

Once they were out of earshot, we went back upstairs and tried to sleep, still on edge. As we started to calm down, and talk it out, we heard shuffling from downstairs and then a thud. We looked downstairs. Illuminated by the moonlight, just beneath one of those empty window frames, was a pile of a man. He was exhausted, breathing heavily, just lying there on the hay. His clothes were different to that of the men, these were white.

His eyes locked with us, as we peered from above.

“They’re gone, right? I’ve been running from them for hours.”

“What’s going on?”, asked Jim, “Why are…?”

“If I told you, you wouldn’t understand.” His smirk shone as it was highlighted by the thin strip of moonlight, outside side of this, the rest of him was barely visible.

“What do you mean? If you don’t leave I’m going to have to get to my p…”

“No! No-one else can know I’m here, it would only complicate matters,” jerked the man in white. “Just let me stay the night, and I’ll be gone by the morning.” The man began to relax.

Jim was just about to accept his terms, but I stopped him before he could agree to anything with this pale ghost of man. I pulled him back and asked him if he was really comfortable with letting some random man sleep below us in our barn. He realised his naivety, and we resolved to return to the house and stay the night there. Not an uncommon decision, Jim’s parents wouldn’t think anything. We gingerly crept down the ladder to try and evade the gaze of the man who rested in white beneath us.

“And where do you think you’re going?”, the voice broke through the darkness.

“Uhhhh We- uh- we’re going to..” I just about stammered out before I was interrupted.

“It’s okay, you stay in your house. It’s probably safer that way.”

We slithered through the doors without opening it further and causing the rusty hinges to groan in pain, for fear that we were still being watched. That was the issue with the woods at night, it was safe within the barn; outside, you were vulnerable. The magical shield of wooden panes and broken windows was no longer viable.

Not long was it before we had returned back to Jim’s house, a plantation house with a huge decking around it, painted in white, flaking from decades of neglect. It was a house that was in his family for generations, he used to tell me that the first owner was the devil. That’s what his parents told him when he was younger anyway.

We got the spare key from under the mat, crept upstairs, past his father asleep in his armchair, and were soon soundly asleep.

Bang.

Foggy-eyed I came to, dawn just about breaking; Jim was shaking me awake, telling me to come quickly.

We gazed through the curtains to see black clouds, smoke, emanating from inside the woods at the end of the property. In that wooded grove.

Then we heard a scream, Jim’s mother in shrieked in terror as she opened the front door to find Sam on the porch, dead. A note was attached to his collar, written in red:

“We know.”

Next to it was a strange triangular sigil, drawn crudely and with shaken lines.

Soon enough, the fire brigade and police arrived to deal with the fire and ascertain its cause. It was found to be arson, started seemingly by one of our lamps falling over in the loft, judged to be an unfortunate accident, that thankfully didn’t spread too far.

Jim’s parents were understandably annoyed that the barn got burnt down, but were more relieved to know that we were both safe.

When we returned to the ruins ourselves, an intense odour permeated the nearby area, like an invisible fog; a smell of metal.

An investigation into Sam’s death found that there were poisonous material in his stomach and deemed to be the cause of death. The origin of the note, unknown.

There was never any mention about a body amongst the ashes.

Jim’s parents were dumbfounded by the situation, naturally irked, as was my mother when she found out. To them it was but an unfortunate series of accidents; however, we knew.