Tracks

Hide and Seek

Spring begins to run its course, and Jacks recognizes the thin stalks of daffodils starting to shoot up by the dozen in the front of the house. They had spread out and multiplied through the years he'd been gone, some of them now reaching the tracks. Even a few had crossed to the other side to meet the brush of the woods. He decides he'll start working outside as a change of pace. He needed to find water, too– a steady supply of it. Rolling over in bed, he rubs his eyes, making his way down to the kitchen. He does a once over of the room, knowing there had to be a pump somewhere. Still in his nightclothes, he opens the back door, a fallen panel from the roof covering a portion of the old wooden porch. He steps out, rolling up his sleeves, and pushes the notably unstable panel over into the grass, revealing a wooden rocking chair.

"Oh." He laughs, the chair not at all what he was expecting.

He pulls vines of English ivy from its legs, the source of it underneath the porch itself. He makes a note to relocate the remaining vines under the porch to the side wall, where they would creep up to cover the windows of the bedroom. The hen hears the commotion, announcing her presence to Jacks from inside of her makeshift coop. He lets her out into the yard, not fenced in– but she won't run far. She examines the fallen panel, scratching at it with her feet.

"I'll find that pump, don't worry." He picks her up, her round body warm and soft in his hands. He places her into the grass, where she catches sight of an insect. Jacks turns back to the porch, seeing nothing but grass, ivy, and wood. He turns again towards the woods to the back of the house, squinting his eyes as he notices a glint of tarnished metal peeking out just above the line of tall grass.

"There it is. Damn it, I wish it was closer."

Jacks goes back inside, getting dressed, and returns to the back porch, with gloves and his knife. However, the pump had definitely moved from where it sat just moments before. It was closer to the house, now– in the center of the yard, equal distance between the porch and the coop, still covered in ivy. He stares at it for a moment in astonishment, before hearing a low creak beside him on the porch. His eyes meet the rocking chair, now moving on its own.

"You didn't have to move it. Save your energy." Jacks looks at the chair with a knowing smile.

The ghost doesn't respond, but Jacks could swear he heard a chuckle as he turned to face the yard. A smile stays wide on his face as he walks towards the pump, clearing only what he needed to of the ivy– finding it beautiful on the tarnished metal of the pipe. Once the area is clear, he uses all of his strength to push up on the lever, pulling it down, then pushing it back up, moving all sorts of directions around the pump to get the best angle. The ghost must certainly be laughing at him from the porch. He looks again in the direction of the chair, noticing it had stopped moving. Ignoring it, he takes a moment to wipe dirt from his forehead, catching his breath– but it catches in his throat as he feels a hand on his waist. He jumps as his ears start to ring, and the ghost's low voice cuts in.

"Allow me." He can be heard as merely a whisper at his side, now– Jacks stepping back in approval. He can't quite seem to shake off feelings of lightheadedness at what he had felt against his waistline.

At first, the pump doesn't move. A moment passes, and it starts to squeak– the lever moving up ever so slightly, and then back down again. Jacks lets out a laugh, but has a look of concern.

"Don't use up all of your–"

The pump squeals as it's forced upward, then back down, in one fell swoop– muddy water blasting from the pump on contact. It clears after a moment, the brown hen rushing up to drink from the large puddle that grows at the base. Dirt is cleared from the old red-brick that lines the ground beneath it– clean water flowing through the yard.