The Silver Light at Elwood Farm

It is the first night of summer at Elwood Farm, twilight hangs in the black and blue sky, the first fireflies of the season dance in cornfields, and locusts are singing among the hackberries.

Lawrence Elwood strolls along a dirt road that he's all too familiar with, a road he walked as a child alongside his grandfather, and then, with what feels like only a few years ago, accompanying his aging father. His dad had suffered a stroke and couldn't speak well the last year of his life but seemed to enjoy these walks with him. They walked past the winding fields and rusted tractors, alongside fences that he always talked about fixing and by the lively chicken coops preparing to roost for the night.

He watches his farm in the light of another dying day, the dirt road ending at a tree lined loop, an old barn built by his great-grandfather at the apex of the bending route. Patches of new and old wood dot the barn's exterior, generations putting their stamp on the oldest structure on the property.

Lawrence puts an old, calloused hand on the barn door handle, his fingers grip the cold metal; fingers that have fixed hundreds of machines, grown countless crops, and touched the faces of his grandchildren. The door groans and slides open, a napping cat mewls from upstairs, awoken by the sudden entrance. Inside, several narrow pens stand empty, a single chestnut brown mare waits patiently in one of them.

"Hey there, old girl." He calls to her, filling a feeding bucket with hay and grass. The horse neighs quietly in return, a slight jostle of excitement escapes her. He drapes the bucket over her pen door and she eats while he pets her neck.

The barn shakes, a powerful engine carrying one hundred and seventy-two people rumbles overhead, descending to an airport miles from his home. He sighs.

The horse stops eating, watching the world around her.

"It's okay, girl. C'mon, here ya go." A sharp click and the lock to her pen is open, the gate hangs ajar. "There, why don't you walk around while I pitch?" He pets her again and she nuzzles the gate open.

She walks the interior of the barn, a worn-down section of track already paved from her previous trots.

Clop. clop. clop. Her hooves plop against the dirt floor.

He watches her smiling and then climbs a wooden ladder to the loft. Halfway up one of the rungs creak from his weight, he pulls up another step and hears the sound of wood splitting. His eyes bulge as he reaches for the loft landing above, one hand grasps onto a beam of wood as the ladder collapses beneath him, large splinters rain down onto empty stalls. He hangs for a moment and with strength he hasn't felt in years, pulls his chest over the loft threshold and then desperately drags his stomach across. Shaking, he crawls across the second-story floor and flips onto his back.

Clop-clop. Clop-clop. The horses' rhythm increases quickly and then abruptly stops.

He peaks over the edge. "You alright, girl? Any of that wood get yeah?" He calls to her but she doesn't look up. Her head is bent down where the base of the ladder was, peering into what looks like a dark well. Her coat no longer appears shiny and brown but black and dull.

"What?" He gets to his feet, rubbing his eyes. Looking around the barn, it's the same and yet different. Everything is where it's supposed to be but robbed of it's color. The hay is bleak and white, the beams of wood are grey, shadows cast from the setting sun are black voids. Panic runs through his mind.

"Are you alright?" A calm voice cuts through the fear. From one of the void-like shadows a tall, robed woman emerges. Her hair is long and silver, her hood is black with white star-like speckles, her face is wrinkled and pretty. "That was quite the fall you took." She says, a humble smile rests on her lips.

"Fall? Well, no I almost did but..." Lawrence looks back over the side of the loft, studying the black well shape he saw before, he can see now it's a body, curled in a fetal position. "Oh God. Am I...Oh God." He steps back weakly and looks at her again.

"You are not alone. I am here with you." She speaks gently, her words fall on him like a lullaby. She reaches back into the shadows and pulls from it a lantern, smooth and black. With a flick from her wrist she turns a small knob at the base of it, instantly a silver flame comes to life inside the glass. The space between them becomes warm, some of the shadows retreat, and everything in the light sparkles.

He wants to cry but no tears come.

"So. I am...dead." He barely pushes the last word out.

"Not quite." She glides across the floor, towering over him, and places black and white fingers on his shoulder. "You are in the veil. Teetering. A foot on either side."

"How do I, uh, stay on the living side?"

"Is that what you wish to do?"

He thinks for a moment, watching the silver flame dance and then back down to his horse. "Yes, ma'am."

"Very well. What is your game of choice?"

He looks at her, puzzled. "What?"

"What game would you like to play? Pick something you're good at." Her voice is calm and stern.

"O-okay..." He looks around the sparkling room, shadows dancing in the light. "Well. Horseshoes, I suppose."

She laughs from her belly. "Ah! Excellent choice, little one." She plucks a sliver of flame from the lantern, seemingly melting through the glass cover, and with it draws a stake in the ground and six U-shaped items that glow with white light. Lastly, she aims the weakening flame upwards. "We'll need some height for this game," and with a swish from her hand carves open a hole in the ceiling, revealing the black sky, the stars shining brighter than he's ever seen.

"Wow." He watches, his mouth agape.

"I'll go first." She reaches down, grabbing one of the glowing white horse shoes. "Best two of three, then?"

He nods in a daze, unsure of what he just agreed to.

"Let's see, it's been a few days." She says bending her knees and swinging the shoe back and forth in her hand like a pendulum. "One. Two...Three!" She releases and sends it high into the air, hanging briefly against the night sky like an oblong crescent moon.

Plink! The horseshoe clanks against the silver stake in the ground, spinning around until it stops moving. When it comes to rest, the bend in the horseshoe is pressed tightly against the stake.

"Ah! There's one for me!" She says, clapping her hands with delight.

He grabs one of the glowing horseshoes, it feels warm in his hand and heavy. Testing the weight, he swings his arm a few times, passing it between his hands, trying to get comfortable. "Okay." He rears himself back and flings the shoe up. It falls to the ground on top of hers, but not around the stake.

"Shoot!" He gripes and looks back to her, wanting to both ask and not know what the outcome of this game means.

"Ah, almost Lawrence." She winds up again, taking less time now and releases.

Plink! Her horseshoe again wraps around the stake neatly.

He picks up the next one and takes a deep breath. Only, he feels no air enter his lungs, his body makes the motions but the results do not come.

"It's funny you picked this game, so did your father."

He freezes. "You played with my dad?"

"Oh yes, several times, he was quite good."

Memories of his father flood back to him, they'd built landing pads behind the house when he was young. Sand, metal stakes, and wooden beams. He'd shown him how to play; only a few times had he been successful in beating his dad.

Plink! His horseshoe lands flatly on top of hers, pressed to the stake.

"Oh! Good one!" She claps softly again and grabs her third shoe. "For all the marbles!" And flings it into the air, higher than the others, a full three seconds pass before the shoe thuds onto the ground, next to the stake. She shakes her head, "Left the door open for ya."

He breathes in deeply again despite not feeling the effects and grabs the final shoe. Back and forth he rocks, holding onto it longer and longer, his entire body moves from his back heel through his legs, hips and torso, down to his front toe. He pitches it.

Plink!

Something wet and slimy is on his face. He opens his eyes to his chestnut brown mare, nuzzling him, licking his face.

"Hey there, girl." He says through gritted teeth and pinching pain in his back. He can't turn his neck and his head is throbbing but he smiles pressed against her long face.

With a hand gripped on her mane, he pulls himself up, steadied against her. They walk out of the old, run-down barn together, his arm over her neck.

Clop. Clop. Clop. She walks slowly next to him, down the dirt that he'd walked so many times before.