A Degraded Past

The Morgan farm is hard land – a colossal beast at over 700-acres, most of which are seemingly endless seas of wheat and hay. I remember the long afternoons I spent there, hiding with my pal Trent. To children who couldn’t see over the wheat tops, those fields truly did feel infinite. Today though, I drive past them without a second thought. Those stalks feel so much smaller. My destination is up ahead – Barney’s cottage.

***

It’s a cool, clear evening during the tail-end of fall break. We stop the jeep at a grassy area near the tree line, right in front of the large dirt trail that snakes into the woods.

Nina exits first, wasting no time snapping away with her camera. She’s always had an eye for shot composition, and considering that this is her first time on the Morgan farm, she has been eagerly taking photos all throughout the drive, much to the annoyance of Trent and me.

Trent hobbles out next, followed lastly by me.

“Raf just texted me,” he says, referring to the final member of our group. “He’s already there.”

“Nice,” I reply, trying to hide my apprehension. Don’t get me wrong, I love Rafael, but there’s something about him that always puts me on edge. “You don’t think he’ll try anything funny while we sleep, do you?”

Trent, having met me at the jeep’s rear, shakes his head. “I wouldn’t worry about it. I have blackmail on him that I’ve arranged to be released publicly if I ever go missing.” We work together to lug out our supplies, including Nina’s impressively large travel bag.

“Likewise, he has his own blackmail on me. That way, neither of us can screw the other over.” Trent crosses his fingers. “Deterrence.”

Nina, having taken her bag while we were talking, shoots a photo of us.

“Save some film for when we find our target,” Trent tells her. “Don’t waste everything right now because of your itchy trigger finger.”

“Fuck you,” Nina says quietly, yet still with a unique sort of determination.

“That’s the kind of fire I like!” he says, then quickly turns to me. “And Alec! You have the most important job.”

He tosses me his duffle bag, and instead of letting it fall to the ground like I know I should, my reflexes force me to catch it.

“You’ll be carrying my stuff! I’d do it myself, but you know, bum leg and all.”

He slaps his thigh to accentuate his point, and before I can object, he’s already walking in the opposite direction. I sigh. This was how it was supposed to be – Trent is the expedition leader, Rafael is the trapper, Nina is our photographer, and I, as Trent said, will “stand there and look pretty”, which I assume basically translates to “be our pack mule”.

“Of course, friend!” I tell him. “I’d be happy to help!”

I say this in a vain hope that he might feel a pang of guilt. Even as I say it, though, I know he won’t care. Accepting my extra load, I follow the two of them up the trail.

***

Earlier this week, Trent invited, or rather, enlisted us to aid him with something. At first, I refused, assuming he wanted our help to start up a meth lab, but upon further inquiry, he told us what exactly troubled him.

Trent had visited the ranch a few weeks back by himself, and during that time, he went to Barney’s cottage to retrieve his alcohol stash. The cottage was a place Trent and I played at often way back when. It belonged to a farmhand who had long since died, and ever since then, it’s been collecting dust and mold.

Trent was there getting his shit, but when he turned to leave, he saw that the cottage door was open. There was a woman – the palest he’d ever seen, wearing what looked to be a white robe – and she was standing in the doorway. He said that when their eyes locked, she took a step closer and started smiling, the corners of her mouth contorting into impossible positions.

Trent shut the door in her face and barricaded himself in for the night, cowering in a state of constant fear. He told his grandfather about it, but apparently, the old man didn’t believe him.

To most, that might sound like a load of bullshit, but to me? The situation had me curious. Say what you will about Trent, but he wouldn’t humble himself before anyone without good reason. He genuinely wants our help, and also, I genuinely want a taste of Trent’s stash. Rich kids like him must swipe some good drink. It seems like either way, I come out on top

“Pop-pop is more than happy for us to be here,” Trent tells us on the trail, “but our investigation time frame is limited to tonight. Our schedules highly conflict with each other’s, and I still haven’t started on my schoolwork assigned for the break.”

It’s true. We consider ourselves a group, but we rarely spend time all together.

“Who does that anyway?” I say. “Assigning work over a break – how oxymoronic.”

“Indeed, sir. Indeed.”

Just then, Nina, who was in front us, raises her arm, signaling us to stop.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“Raf told me to stop as soon as we had clear sight of the cottage, and look.” She points into the distance. “There it is.”

I squint, and just barely, I’m able to make it out. It’s not much, just a poorly cobbled together little hovel atop a small dirt hill. In my memories of the cottage, it was much bigger, more Tolkienesque, but seeing it now, my biggest concern is whether or not the four of us will have enough space to sleep.

Suddenly, the bushes adjacent to Trent start rustling.

“Eeeee!”

As Trent squeaks out his distinctive, high-pitched scream, Rafael crawls from the bushes.

“Jesus Christ, Raf! Don’t pull that shit!” Trent says.

“You’re just pissy because you sound like a little bitch,” Nina matter-of-factly states.

Trent shoots her a glare but says nothing.

Upright, Rafael stands about a foot taller than any of us. He’s wearing a light camo shirt and shorts, and his skin is covered with green and brown paint and leaves. All that, combined with his generally scraggy appearance might lead one to think he’s one of those feral kids who grew up in the woods. We, however, know him better.

“I’m sorry,” Rafael says dully. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“I wasn’t frightened!”

“Raf,” Nina says with a hint of coyness, “Trent mentioned blackmail. What kind of dirt do you have on him?”

“Oh my god, Nina!” Trent says. “Know your place! Why are you even in this group, anyway?”

I want to object, but I find myself at a loss. I can’t remember when or why Nina joined us. Weird.

While Trent and Nina fight, I make small talk with Rafael.

“Alec, nice to see you again,” he says.

“Likewise. I take it you came here early to set traps?”

He nods. “Yup. Ya’ll will need to follow me if you don’t want to die.”

He says that so calmly. I then understand why we needed to stop so far from the cottage. For a guy so laid back, Rafael is surprisingly militaristic. I decide to change the subject.

“You seen any escaped mental patients or witches?”

Rafael glances toward Trent. “Nope. If you want my opinion, I’d say he got spooked by a squatter and overreacted.”

“What the hell? You’re not even whispering! I can hear you!” Trent says.

The inconsequential banter goes on for some time, with Trent’s rage bouncing between Nina and Rafael like a ping pong ball. I stay quiet for most of the affair, and to be frank, I don’t know why. There’s something about what we’re doing, something that’s just not right. I suppress those worries and laugh along with everyone else before we follow Rafael to the cottage.

***

Time passes by quickly as we fool around in the cottage, drinking and playing cards, but soon enough, the sun sets, blanketing the woods in an intense darkness pierced only by the blinding full moon.

Rafael leaves first, getting his night vision goggles to scout the area, while Trent gets to work lighting some oil lamps he brought along. Nina, who is taking the whole affair far less seriously than them, continues to accumulate photos. I take the opportunity to go with her and watch her in action, since as I guessed, the cottage is incredibly cramped, and I desperately need fresh air.

Nina darts around the dirt hill like a mouse, clicking away like a mobster with a tommy gun. She’s in her own little world when she’s behind the camera. Before I knew her, she had this reputation as “that asocial bitch with the pictures”, but for some reason, she started hanging around us. I still have no idea why.

“Trent tells me you used to come up here a lot more often,” she says, interrupting my train of thought.

“That’s true,” I reply.

“Then tell me, are you getting any nostalgia? Are any sepia-toned memories bubbling up from your dead synapses?”

I think about what she’s asking, about how everything has changed. Trent mentioned on the way up that the few farmhands they had from back when I visited have either moved on or been replaced, and his grandmother died a couple years ago. On top of that, my very perception of the Morgan farm had changed. No longer is it this insurmountably gigantic, mysterious country belonging to us alone. It’s just a small part of a big world.

“I suppose I have that feeling about everything here,” I say. “Christ, even the air here reminds me of back then, messing around with Trent.”

“Okay, I’ve been wondering this ever since I met you,” Nina says. “How the hell did you two ever end up as friends?”

It was back in elementary school. Trent was the best player on the football team, and I was but one of the many people he jerked around, at least as much as an elementary schooler could. Still, it didn’t make the annoying shit he did suck any less, but that all changed when he broke his leg during a game. I wasn’t there, but from what I’d heard, it was one hell of a nasty injury, one that took him out for the rest of the season, and just like that, all the friends he thought he had left him. I’ll admit, it was a little cathartic.

It was during the recovery process when he came to me one day by himself. He got down on his knees, and in a solemn voice that bore not the slightest hint of sarcasm, he apologized, over and over and over again.

We were friends after that. After all, he would never humble himself before anyone unless he was dead serious.

“It just sorta happened, I guess,” I tell her.

“Bah,” she says, “a boring answer. Oh well, you can keep your torrid affair private.”

Nina stores her camera into her pouch. “I’ve taken enough. I’m going to clock out. Tell me if Trent’s dumbass fake ghost pops out.”

And just like that, she leaves.

***

It’s almost midnight, and Nina is fast asleep. Trent has been keeping watch from within the cottage while I sit back against a hard wall, trying to get a signal on my phone. Rafael, as far as I know, is still on the roof, waiting for a woman that will likely never come.

“I like the lamps,” I tell him, gesturing to the one near me. “Really adds to the whole ‘we’re a bunch of dumb kids that are probably going to get murdered’ aesthetic.”

Trent laughs dryly.

“We won’t die,” he says. “Have some faith. If things turn to violence, I’m certain that Raf can win.”

“Violence? Damn, man. What the hell did you see?”

Trent cranes his head around to face me. If I didn’t know him any better, I’d say he looked a little scary.

“Trent?”

“Don’t you dare laugh,” he says slowly, “but I think it might be a yuki-onna.”

“I’m sorry. A what?”

“Know your bestiary of Japanese spirits, pleb. The yuki-onna, or snow woman, fits the profile of who I saw perfectly. This spirit’s killing method of choice is to blow on her victims, freezing them to death and sucking out their souls through their mouths.”

I don’t reply. I promised not to laugh.

“And look!” Trent says, shifting gears. “I bought some holy water online!”

He takes out a small glass vial from his pocket and show it off.

“Trent… how much was that?”

“Fifty bucks, but that’s not important.”

I can hear Nina snicker from her sleeping bag in the opposite corner.

“Also… this is for his own good, too,” Trent says, pointing a finger to the ceiling. He lowers his voice. “Raf’s old man died overseas when he was just a kid. I figure, ‘hey, maybe playing into his delusions could help him work out some of his issues’. It could get some of it out of his system, at least. He needs to move on. Worrying about a dead man won’t do him any good.”

“Shit,” I say. “That’s actually really sad. He’s just a boy trying to live up to his dad.”

“I didn’t know you weren’t into rhyming, but yes. That’s exactly what’s happening.”

“And you think this is a good idea? Couldn’t this make him fall further into his fantasy?”

Trent shrugs. “I don’t know who the ‘real’ Rafael is, Alec, and that’s because I’m not sure he even knows who he is. I’m giving him an opportunity to explore this side of him, and if he can figure out what he wants, then that’s a success in my book.”

For a few tense moments, there is no sound other than the countless insects outside.

“Wait,” I say, “so this whole thing is just an intervention for Raf?”

“Hell no! The yuki-onna is real.”

“About that – why did you jump to the conclusion that this is a Japanese spirit? Wouldn’t it make more sense if it’s a spirit from someone who died around the area?”

I bite my lip as I remember Trent’s grandmother.

“Maybe,” Trent says. “Maybe.

He turns off the lantern next to him.

“Good night,” he says.

***

The sound of wind forcing the door open wakes me up.

From where I’m positioned, I can see the outside clearly. In the dim light of the moon, far in the distance, a pallid woman is swaying side to side amongst the trees, almost like she’s dancing. Her raven-black hair obscures her face. I’m unafraid. Lifting my weightless body, I approach her. I know her.

“Alec! Don’t go any closer!”

Someone says something. Is it Rafael? I don’t care. Like a plastic bag, her white dress blows in synchrony with the slightest gust of wind. The pacing of her ethereal dance grows faster, more erratic as I walk toward her. Step after laborious step, the urges grow stronger – to kiss her, to tell her that everything is going to be okay, to say that I’m so sorry for…

She grabs me first, and through her thick, matted hair, I see her dead eyes. I remember her now.

Rafael, Nina, and Alec – one by one these old friends fade away behind me, and I’m left alone in the woods with her.

“Please, Alec,” she says with a weak voice. “Hold me tighter.”

She is the final member of our group.

She was friends with Nina before any of us, giving her that camera on her birthday. Without her, Nina would still have no friends.

She was the one who convinced Trent to apologize to me, and that kindness of hers, that willingness to forgive, it created a chain of kindness that also influenced Trent to try helping Rafael.

She was my first real friend, and that night, when everyone was asleep, waiting for a ghost that never came, we snuck out of the cottage together.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her, “but I don’t remember your name.”

That night was over thirty years ago.

***

And then the dream ends.

I wake up in the cottage, alone. The sun is just now coming up. Beside my feet, there are a few bottles that I kick aside.

“Why did I come here?” I mutter, but I know exactly why.

I wanted to run things through my head, to see if there was anything that I could’ve done differently to prevent things from turning out the way they did. I thought that graduation would be the start of something for all of us, but instead, it led to something horrifying, something insidious that I doubt any of us could’ve predicted, something that I can’t forgive myself for embracing – apathy.

Last night, I forgot the name of my first friend. I could blame the drinks at the bar making me tipsy, or maybe her name was just common, easily forgettable. But as I recall those warm summer nights with Trent, her, and me through the lens of a sentimentally-tinged kaleidoscope – all the times we made shitty movies with our phones, or staying up late to watch anime on Adult Swim – I know that there is no good reason to forget someone so important.

I loved her. I loved all of them. I know this because of how much hurt wells up simply by remembering them. That pain means those memories matter. They hold meaning.

As soon as I regain my composure, I leave the Morgan farm for the final time.