They're Here

The secluded old farm house sat in disrepair off a single dirt road with no signage, nestled against a dense forest, and barely any distinguishable property line. The fact that it was still light out and Mike had been to this place often as a kid, were the only reasons he was able to find it now. His father had taken up refuge in their family owned farm house during the later years of his retirement. Mike never understood why the old man had prefered such seclusion after the death of Mike’s mother. He had become a bit of a recluse over the past few months. Of course if Mike had visited more often perhaps he would have had the opportunity to ask. 

“Mike we’ve got to get this place cleared out….” Nancy was standing over him as he sat at the old kitchen table. He was scanning over the disarray that made up the interior of the rickety old farmhouse his father had called home. He glanced over the past due bills, a pile of mail that was left unopened, and a notepad with odd scribblings all sprawled across the old wooden kitchen table. Mike’s heart sank in his chest, he should have visited more, should have called more, the thoughts led to a feeling of hopelessness that washed over him. 

“Why didn’t we see this coming Nance? I mean….The last time I saw him must have been a year ago…”

“Mom’s funeral…”

“He seemed… ok I guess. Look at this I mean, this didn’t happen overnight..”

“Mike…Listen to me…there was nothing we could have done…”

“We could have helped dad…”

His sister sat down at the table now brushing aside the clutter and grabbed his hands which still clutched the old man’s notebook. She stared intently at him and he looked up, returning her gaze.

“Listen to me… I was here… I called dad all the time. He was fine. At least from what I could tell. The last time I called…was different…”

“What do you mean?”

“Mike I’m your older sister, so when I say this you just have to trust me. The last time I spoke with dad, it wasn’t dad. Somehow he felt off. He’d been going on about the electronics, dancing lights in the sky, strange noises… he wasn’t himself. I talked to some doctors… they thought it might be the onset of dementia… “

Nancy bowed her head now seemingly embarrassed at her next statement.

“If anyone should have done something it should have been me. I was busy with the kids and going back to work… I didn’t want to believe it but the truth is dad was sick. It’s no one’s fault….” Nancy kept her head low enough that it was difficult to make out her expression however, when she glanced up at him again it was clear she was crying. “I should have checked on him sooner Mike…. After all the crazy things he started to talk about… the odd things he started doing…I should have known better but he was sick… you can tell that much from looking around this place.”

With that Mike glanced around the odd mess his father had left once more. There was trash strewn around the kitchen and he doubted his father had eaten a decent meal in weeks. There were posted notes stuck everywhere with dates and times scribbled and oddly enough a set of binoculars in several of the rooms he’d checked so far. If the notes, the mess, and the binoculars weren’t enough he’d noticed all the electronics had their wires cut straight from the wall. Why wouldn’t his father have just unplugged them rather. than resorting to something so strange? 

      He flipped through the notebook that sat at the kitchen table and a note halfway through caught his eye. In barely legible handwriting it read “I think someone’s listening….”. Flipping through the next few pages in similar handwriting it read “They’re watching….” 

Mike glanced back up at Nancy. “You’re right Nance…Being all alone out here, I think dad went crazy…”

        As Twilight set in over the two story property, Mike and Nancy had gone through most of their father's effects. Mike offered to stay and wrap up the rest while Nancy got home to her kids as it was getting late. Nancy grabbed her keys and headed for the door. She glanced back at Mike from the doorway hesitating, "You sure you want to stick it out here all alone?"

      "I'll be fine, Nance. Just want to get it done."

      He followed her out stopping on the old porch to watch as she got into her car. As night washed over the vast farm property before him, he couldn't escape a bit of a chill that ran down his spine. He never realized how dark this place got at night. Nancy waved as she drove back up the old dirt roadway, her headlights playing across the eerily deserted path.

      As her headlights dissipated, the night sky peppered with bright stars accompanied by a crescendo of crickets. A cool breeze ran through the old place capturing a whiff of damp grass and distant pines. A place like this definitely could appeal to a city boy like himself, if it weren't for the ominous circumstances that brought him here.

       It had been months since anyone had seen or heard from his old man, who was undoubtedly going insane before his disappearance. Sitting there now in the pitch dark, all alone in the creepy old farmhouse, Mike understood how easily someone could lose their wits in a place like this. Mike plopped himself down in the dusty old rocking chair that sat abandoned on the porch. He gently rocked himself as he considered what was left to get done before they'd finally sell the property altogether. As he rocked he felt his eyes become heavy with the weight of the day's end setting in. Within moments he felt nothing, his snoring now competed with the band of noisy crickets in the cool night air.

       When Mike finally came to, he wasn't sure if it had been out for just minutes or hours. For a time he hadn't felt fully awake, watching strange bright lights dancing in the night sky. He'd thought it was a dream. He glanced at his smartwatch and realized it was a quarter past one. He couldn't believe he let himself sleep for that long.       

       He grabbed his cell out of his pocket and found two missed calls from his sister. It was late so he figured he'd send a text but oddly enough, his texts didn't appear to be going through. He'd been able to call and text earlier with no issue and his phone read full service. Maybe it was just a dead zone. Getting out of the chair, he started back into the house when he heard it.

       As the old screen door creaked open Mike froze listening intently. While distant, it sounded like muffled static. He crossed the front porch scanning either side for the source of the disturbance. No static, nor any other noise for that matter. Mike realized his cricket friends had grown oddly silent. The burst of static broke the dead silence again, this time it was clear the sound erupted from the house. 

      Puzzled, Mike made his way back over to the front door. Paused at the entrance, he listened intently. Hadn't his father sabotaged all the electronics in the house? He stepped in searching the poorly lit home for the source of the noise, making his way through the entrance hallway toward the kitchen. He passed the basement door just under the staircase to his left and stopped dead. 

      Mike placed his ear to the rotting old wooden door. In their efforts going through the house they hadn't quite gotten to the basement, which now appeared to be where the static emanated from. Mike grabbed the mag flashlight he'd left on the kitchen counter and wrenched the basement door open. As the sound erupted from it, it became apparent that this must have been the source. Probably some old forgotten radio of his left on.

       He made his way down the crickety old steps whose wood bent and yawned as he descended. The beam of his flashlight fell over a rusted old chain connected to an exposed bulb. Reaching the bottom Mike pulled on the chain which broke free clattering to the dusty cement floor. Mike smirked to himself, convenient timing for the damn thing to break.

     He swept the flashlight over the old cellar revealing a scene just as disorganized as the rest of the cluttered old place with one exception, the the glowing hue of light emanating from the back wall. Mike begrudgingly made his way through the sea of work tools and forgotten trinkets that littered the tight space. As he grew closer he could make out an old work bench which held equipment in better condition than he'd seen throughout the rest of the house thus far. 

      Clearly his father had coveted this space, kept it clean and the equipment functional. Among the tools and equipment stood a working transistor radio, a rambunctious static blaring from a surprisingly loud speaker. Mike startled as the radio received another burst of static, this time a low tone of a voice could be heard.

      Mike reached the table in time to hear another short burst with a distinct "Come in…anyone Come In!..". Incredulously, Mike glared at the receiver of the old radio and hesitantly unhooked it from the old device. Mike considered the absurd circumstances for a moment before finally bringing the receiver to his mouth and keying the mic.

     "Hello?..." A moment of silence followed by another short burst of static. He could make out a distant voice on the other end. The thought had crossed his mind that the individual on the other end may know his father.

      "Hello is someone there?.."

      "Can you hear them?" The voice came through crystal clear in a mischievous whisper. Perplexed, Mike keyed in again determined to ascertain the identity of his radio pen pal. 

      "Hello who is this?"

      "Can you hear them?... I think someone is listening..."

      "Who is this? Who are you talking about?"

      "They're listening… I think they're watching…"

       Mike grew frustrated and hung the mic back onto the radio. Obviously someone playing some type of practical joke. He shook his head in disgust, just another peice of junk to list on ebay.

       Mike turned and began making his way back through the maze of his father's effects. As he sifted through the decaying rubbish he heard the bursts of static again from behind him. Reaching the stairs there was one more audible objection from the radio, "Can you hear them? They're coming…."

      After Mike's ridiculous encounter with the ghost voice over the radio, he'd stomped his way upstairs intent on texting his sister about the whole ordeal. Pulling his phone from his pocket again he swiped to the familiar messages application and once again tried sending a text. Once again his message was coming back undeliverable. 

       He studied the phone scrupulously now, determined to get it working again. To his dismay, Mike noticed the time on the phone hadn't changed. A quarter past one. Mike checked his watch, it read the same. How could they have both frozen? While fidgeting with the phone to troubleshoot the issue, the phone screen began glitching. Frustrated, he attempted to power down the phone which was now completely unresponsive and frozen. 

      A loud blaring siren trumpeted through the homestead interrupting his fiddling with the phone. The noise was so disruptive it nearly drove him to drop the phone and flashlight he'd clung to. Startled, he frantically searched for the source of the racket, discovering the two televisions and old stereo on the first floor echoed the resounding alarm. The televisions lit up with full screens of static, the stereo bounced through stations, and his phone relayed the same tone as the screen continued to glitch out. The electronics were going haywire. What concerned him most at the moment was the cords to those tvs and stereo were found cut hours earlier. Confusion set in, what the hell was going on?

       The treacherous tone becoming unbearable, Mike threw his phone back in his pocket and began smashing buttons on the stereo. With no response he moved over to the large outdated tube television set, fumbling the knobs and dials helplessly. Each second that passed the noise coming from the devices seemed to drone louder, breaking his train of thought. He checked the cord to the old TV again, still cut. He watched the screen as static danced across, bewildered by his predicament. 

        As he stared, he made out faint shapes forming amongst the black and white chaos that jumped and shuttered. Shapes turned to silhouettes, the silhouettes grew closer filling up the screen. He was so fixated on the silhouettes encroaching, he hadn't noticed the sound was dissipating. As the shapes grew larger on screen, the sound grew lower in intensity. 

      The sound halted, Mike snapped out of the trance he'd fallen into as he heard the words erupt from all the devices at once. "They're comminnnnggg".

       With that, the house went dark and eerily silent. Stunned, Mike stood motionless, taking in the pitch darkness that had enveloped the room. His labored breathing was the only sound penetrating the quiet.

     After his momentary inaction, he let the flashlight dance over the room laying out the same desolate scene he'd become accustomed to in the light. He breathed a sigh of relief, while the room appeared even creepier in the dark he still remained its only occupant. No menacing silhouettes, the fleeting thought now seemingly outrageous. 

      Of course he was alone, he was happy to write this all off as some kind of technical anomaly. The phones, the electronics, all related to a weird scientific explanation. Probably culminating in the fuses being blown for the entire house. Though Mike wrestled with some type of logical explanation, the theories couldn't explain the voice coming through both the radio and television. There was another issue that lingered as an outlier to his simple logic.  

     He walked back into the kitchen letting the beam fall across the kitchen table. There amongst the clutter the old man left behind, sat Mike's logic problem…the notebook. He flipped through the last several pages, remembering the words that now resonated with him. "They're listening… They're watching.."

      Could his father have experienced the same things? Did this all have a hand in his disappearance? How was it all possible? As Mike stood mulling over any theory that explained this, he noticed a dramatic drop in temperature with literal chills causing him to shiver. His breath, a puff of dense visible air escaping his lungs into the plummeting temperatures around him. 

      Mike finally realized whatever contemplating he had left on this insane scenario he'd manage far from this place. He dropped the notebook and made his way out of the old rickety death trap. As he approached the front door he paused for a moment listening intently. 

      Above him the floorboards creaked. It was slight at first but became more apparent, the dust literally unsettling from the ceiling above. The hard deliberate steps of someone on the second floor. Mike listened as the steps grew louder and closer. 

      He had no interest in greeting an unexpected house guest after the night he'd had. He burst through the screen door now breaking into a jog toward his truck less than a hundred feet from the porch. Reaching the driver side he yanked on the door. The door stood shut, the car rocking from the force he applied. With a watchful eye on the front porch, he scrambled through his pockets for his keys.  

      Gripping the keys he wrenched them out of his pocket, fumbling them into the door handle. The light click of the lock followed by another yank of the handle released the door swinging open. A wave of relief washed over Mike and he threw his body into the cold leather seat. He slammed the door and slipped the key into the ignition. 

     He turned the key, and his previous wave of relief instantly extinguished when nothing happened. Mike frantically tried turning the key twice more with no response, the truck sat dead on the gravel driveway.        

      Panicking, he glanced back up at the house. He could barely make anything out through the heavy darkness, his heart raced at the thought of what awaited him just beyond his vision.

       A cold chill blew through the truck's compartment adding to the intensity already in the air. Mike locked the doors and scanned the property for movement as he considered his options. The radio burst to life with static disrupting the truck's tense silence. 

      Mike shifted uncomfortably in the seat, trying the ignition once more. When the truck hadn't turned over he tried getting out but the driver side door seemed stuck. As he kept working the door, the radio static tuned to the same malicious whisper from earlier, only deeper this time.

     "Mikey…. Can you hear them Mikey?"

Mike sat in shock, he knew that voice all too well. His eyes fell over the rear view mirror, a pair of soulless eyes glared back at him. His father's eyes. 

       Frozen in fear, Mike's paralyzed body sank deeper into the seat. He barely noticed as the temperature plummeted, the car windows frosting over as a result. He couldn't see the silhouettes gathering from a distance, not until the crowd of disembodied figures now converged on the truck.

    Surrounded, a tense silence filled the truck as Mike struggled to breath. His father's whisper pierced the heavy silence, a devious tone reverberating. "They're here Mikey…. They've arrived…"