The Farmhouse: June 1985
The child sits, at the quaint little desk, staring at nothing. A cold steel snake is fastened around his slender ankle. A clanky jingling is heard as the steel door of his prison is unlocked and opened. A man walks in, knife in hand, and approaches the child, who watches on in horror as the knife glints in the shallow rays of sunbeams peering through the cracks of the boarded-up window.
A lost scream in the gurgles of blood as the knife carves a gaping line across a porcelain curtain of flesh. The child slowly wastes away as the man hacks away the boy's body. Heavy breath, sweaty pulse, and a sacrificed child. The man breathes a sigh of relief. Another soul for his walls.
The Farmhouse: June 1999
There she sits, lonely and bored. Her mother moved her here. The room is small and depressing. A crimson-brown stain sits under the small quaint desk where a steel snake lives waiting for another ankle to hold. There it sits idly watching her January embers float upon her shoulders. The glint of the knife brightens the darkness of the shadows. The girl, a little doll, does not see it, nor does she sense it; for it, as a man, is hiding in her walls.
It likes to be in a man's form, for it can trick them into submission. It creeps closer, raising the knife, plunging the sharp edge into her back, piercing her heart. She slumps to the floor. Her soul is his for the taking.
The Farmhouse: June 2013
It is lonely. It is hungry. They are screaming. They are searching. They live in the walls. It is hiding. The farmhouse is wailing. "Shush little ones," it coos, "daddy needs more souls."
They quiet and begin scratching the walls. A picture is formed. The souls are framed on the walls in which they inscribe, 'we live in the walls' as they rumble their discontent.
It sleeps a soundless sleep. They howl throughout the night. No one dares goes forth into the farmhouse. A house left to rot. A house abandoned as age takes it back to the weeds. Life is bitter. Death is sweet. It prefers death. It loathes life. Death is endless. Life is not. It wants death.
The Farmhouse: June 2027
The picture sits on the desk. Dust collects as time causes the souls to grow restless and hungry. It senses this. It is also restless and hungry. It sees a child. It wants the child. The child sees it. The child smiles at it. There is blood on it. It glints in the sparkling shadows. It smiles at the child. The child walks up to it. It starts to tremble. It starts to shake. Oh no! The child! It sees the child grinning from ear to ear. This is no ordinary child.
This child is a black-eyed child. It regrets wanting this child. It can't have this child. It is scared. The child is laughing. It is screaming. The sharp edge of fire pierces its shadows. The fire is consuming it. The child is running away. The glint of something shiny catches its eye. The silver of a sharp edge. Aw ah! It is saved. It loves his steel snake. It hides within the walls. It is safe. It hates black-eyed children. Black-eyed child burns its farmhouse. The farmhouse still stands. So it is safe. His souls are quiet. They must be sleeping. It will sleep too.
