The Hay Man

I had to wash up before heading out, scrubbing my hands and face before they got dirty again. On reflex, I wiped soap over the red scar above my lip, but that didn’t do anything.

Out there, the chill ran over the grass and through me. I shivered, the scythe wobbling in my hand. The long grass waved around in the blowing wind.

I can tell you that if you look around the ranch long enough, your eyes will hurt. Your head will get dizzy because it was all the same, grey sky and endless grass. Nothing more. You become so accustomed to the same image over and over again that you notice the littlest changes.

The wind shifted directions. All of the grass turned away from me, and the cold air rushed by my ears. It felt like someone was breathing behind me.

I spun around, but it was only the old barn. I didn’t like the old barn. The thing had perpetual dirt over its planks, and the structure seemed crooked, like it was barely keeping itself from sinking into the earth. Looking at it made me. . . Hurt.

The wind blew out from the barn, and it sounded different now.

It sounded like whispers.

“Jim. . . Jim! Get a move on! We got a lot of hay to cut.”

Dad snapped the barn out of my head. “Sorry.” I went back to cutting the hay for all the horses we didn’t have.

Eventually, the job came to an end, and Dad asked me to put up the scythe while he raked.

It knew I was coming. The wind blew from the barn as I approached. It whispered. I swear I could hear words in the wind, faint ones.

Leave. Get out. Get out. Leave.

I got to the door, and something moved between the planks. I peaked in, and someone was moving the hay around in there, stacking it with scrawny arms. His hair looked like hay, long and wild, covering his face.

I dropped the scythe, and he heard me. He stopped and stood there as I ran.

“There’s someone in the barn!”

My dad rushed over, but the man wasn’t worried. Through the planks, I could see him standing, waiting.

The door opened, the grey light poured in, and the man vanished.

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” my dad said. He circled around the small space and found nothing.

Thunder roared, and dad groaned. “Again?” The rain dripped over the barn. “Whatever. Let’s wrap it up.”

***

Sometimes I wondered if either of us ever ate. Dad moved his full plate aside for his adding machine, and my fork circled around the carrots and the potatoes. My eyes were stuck on the window. The barn stood strong out there against the rain.

“Let it go,” dad said, “stop spooking yourself.”

“I saw someone. I heard him.”

“You’re just adjusting. We’re gonna make this work.”

“He was right there.”

Dad stood over me. “Listen. That over there was my dad’s barn. It’s mine now, and it will be yours someday, so you might want to get used to it, alright? Now would you eat? Your food is getting cold.” He sat and went back to typing.

It became a quiet evening after that, and then a sleepless night. I put the sheet over my head, but the wind howled out there.

Leave. Leave. Get out.

***

Eventually, the day came when the hay was dry enough to be baled. Dad had to make a phone call while I boxed and tied them, but the sky was growing grey again already. Time was short.

Dad ran across the field, passing me. “Jimmy, I gotta head to the bank right away. Get whatever you got in the barn.”

That old shiver went through me again. “But—”

“I don’t want to hear it!”

I rubbed my face, and then it was just me and the barn out there in the nothing. It was waiting.

I shook my hands. Better get this over with. Dad needed it done, so in a breath I ran in with the first bale.

Nothing. I dropped it in and went for the next one.

Nothing. I got the next one.

Soon, I made a little stack of bales, and there was only one more to go. I lifted the last one above my head to place it on top. The man grabbed it and did that for me. I screamed, and his head tremored, his hair all in the air.

“You see me, boy. You do.”

I reached for the door, but he caught my ankle and took me to the ground. I flung my arms around, but he crawled over me, pressing his bony hands onto my chest.

“You see me!”

“Help!”

“Help,” he repeated, lowering his blackened mouth to my face. “I need to get out of here, boy. I need to leave.” His fingers crawled down my face. “I need to leave now.”

My voice creaked out of me. “Then why don’t you?”

His finger worked down to my lip. He caressed my scar, and then his hand shot back to his face. He caressed the red scar on his lip.

“Jim. . . Jim. . . Need to. . . ” His voice creaked into a high pitched scream. He jumped into the air and all his flesh flowed like water. “Jim!”

He ripped the scythe off the wall, and he cried when it pulled him back toward the ground. “You need to leave this place, Jim.” Tears oozed out of his eyes. His face seemed to crack as he ground his teeth together. “Please, you have to get out, or you're gonna die here. Run, run, and never come back.”

He lifted it back up, so I did as he asked. I ran.

And not just on that day, either. I always found ways to stay off the ranch after that, and one day I finally moved away. I’m into law now, and I’m pretty happy with how things are working out for me.

One day, the ranch did become mine, and I sold it the very next day. That barn belongs to someone else now, and I hope it all works out for them. I hope they don’t have their own hay man inside it.