The Man in the Rain

The heavy rain drummed steadily against the roof of the old farmhouse, a rhythmic patter that usually lulled the cousins to sleep. But not tonight. 

Lightning split the sky, illuminating the fields beyond the house in stark white brilliance. For the briefest of moments, everything was visible—the darkened trees, the sagging barn with its faded and peeling red paint exposing the rotting wood beneath, the crooked split-rail fence, and beyond it, a figure standing motionless in the storm. 

Joel was the first to see him. He had been lying on the top bunk, listening to the storm, when the flash of light revealed the figure just beyond the fence. His breath caught in his throat. 

"Guys," he whispered harshly. "Get up." 

From the other bunks, his cousins stirred. Lydia sat up, rubbing her eyes. "What?" 

"Someone's outside." 

The room fell into silence, except for the rain and the distant rumble of thunder. Then another flash lit up the sky. 

"There!" Joel hissed. 

All four cousins scrambled to the window. The figure was still there. Not moving. Just watching. 

"Is that—?" Will started. 

"Could be a ghost," Lydia whispered. 

"Or a demon," Hannah added, her voice barely audible. 

Another flash, and the figure was gone. 

For a moment, no one spoke. The wind howled through the trees, the rain slamming harder against the windows. 

"Maybe it was just—" Joel began, but he didn't know how to finish the sentence. A trick of the light? Their imaginations? He didn't believe that. He had *seen* someone standing there. 

Will swallowed hard. "Should we wake Grandpa?" 

They hesitated. Grandpa didn’t like to be woken in the middle of the night, and what if they were wrong? 

Lydia squared her shoulders. "We should check the doors. Make sure everything's locked." 

Hannah nodded. "And maybe grab the shotgun." 

The four of them crept down the stairs, each step creaking beneath their weight. The old farmhouse felt different at night—larger, emptier. The wind rattled the windows, and every shadow seemed to move. 

Joel tested the front door. Locked. 

The back door. Locked. 

The kitchen window. Locked. 

But just as he turned away, another flash of lightning illuminated the backyard—and there he was again. 

Closer. 

Joel’s heart slammed against his ribs. The figure was at the edge of the porch now, water dripping from his clothes, his face obscured by the dark. 

A hand clamped onto his wrist. Lydia. Her eyes were wide with fear. 

"He's real," she breathed. 

They bolted. 

Up the stairs, down the hall, straight into Grandpa’s room. He woke with a start, eyes sharp despite the late hour. 

"What in—?" 

"There's a man outside!" Will blurted. "We saw him. Twice!" 

To their relief, Grandpa didn’t dismiss them. He swung his legs out of bed and grabbed his shotgun from the wall. "Stay behind me." 

They followed him downstairs, pressing close together. Grandpa moved with the slow confidence of someone who had lived through worse things than ghosts in the rain. He unbolted the front door and stepped onto the porch. 

The rain had slowed to a drizzle, the storm moving east. Grandpa swept the yard with his flashlight. Nothing. 

But just as he was about to lower the gun, something rustled near the barn. The light swung that way, and in its beam, they saw him. 

A man. Soaking wet, mud splattered up his jeans, eyes wild. Not a ghost. Not a demon. 

A man. 

"Stay where you are!" Grandpa barked, leveling the shotgun. 

The man froze. 

A tense silence stretched between them. Then, with a sudden, desperate movement, the man bolted toward the fields. Grandpa fired a warning shot into the air, but the man didn’t stop. He disappeared into the darkness. 

"Inside," Grandpa ordered. 

Back in the kitchen, he picked up the phone and called the sheriff. The cousins sat at the table, still shaken. 

"Who was he?" Hannah whispered. 

Grandpa sighed, rubbing his face. "Escaped prisoner, most likely. The penitentiary’s not far from here. Storm like this? Probably thought he could hide out in the barn." 

The cousins looked at each other. The fear that had gripped them earlier slowly faded, replaced with something more unsettling. 

They had been afraid of a ghost. 

But reality had been far worse.

The sheriff arrived twenty minutes later, his headlights cutting through the darkness as he pulled into the gravel driveway. He was a broad man with a weathered face, his uniform damp from the rain as he stepped onto the porch. 

"Evening, Walt," he greeted Grandpa, his voice steady but tense. "Heard you had some trouble." 

Grandpa nodded. "Man was standin’ out in the rain, watching the house. When I confronted him, he ran toward the fields." 

The sheriff exhaled sharply. "We've been searching for an escapee from the penitentiary since dusk. Dangerous man. Convicted of armed robbery and assault. We had patrols checking the backroads, but this storm made things harder." He turned to the cousins, his eyes scanning their faces. "You kids all right?" 

They nodded, though none of them truly felt at ease. 

The sheriff radioed his deputies, calling for them to sweep the area. "If he’s still on foot, he won’t get far," he muttered, half to himself. "Mud’s thick, and the river’s swollen from the storm." 

"Could he come back?" Lydia asked quietly. 

The sheriff hesitated. "Doubt it. He knows we’re onto him. But keep the doors locked just in case." 

Grandpa saw the worry in their faces and gave them a reassuring nod. "We’ll be fine. We’ve got the shotgun, and I doubt he’s dumb enough to try again." 

The cousins sat together in the kitchen long after the sheriff left, the rain now a soft drizzle against the windowpanes. They should have been tired, but sleep felt impossible. 

"I really thought it was a ghost," Will admitted after a long silence. 

"Yeah," Joel said. "Kind of wish it had been." 

Outside, the night remained still. But none of them would forget the man in the rain.