Gutless

I saw the farmhand, first. He started out as a small silhouette, barely visible though my car windshield, his frame dwarfed by the vast expanse of cornfields.

That must be Ben, I thought, remembering the letter my uncle had sent me the week before. 

            I sighed. 

As much as I hated myself for getting into this situation, I knew there was no way out. Not after my divorce and my failed career as an author. It was either this: live with my eccentric uncle on his farm in the Midwest, or scramble to find a minimum wage job in order to stay off the streets. 

The sky was cloaked in darkness when I finally parked, and the only light for miles shone through a second-story window. A lone rocking chair sat on the porch, creaking in the wind. 

I shivered. 

I had lived in cities my entire life, and there was something surreal about being so far from civilization. The nearest town, Gray Rapids, was ten miles away, but its population was just under three thousand. In addition to that, my phone had lost service an hour ago. It would definitely be an adjustment, but a few months away from the city wouldn’t kill me.  

I retrieved my small suitcase from the backseat, locked the car, and walked up the steps of my uncle’s porch. Taking a deep breath, I knocked on the door.

For a moment I couldn’t hear a thing besides the creaking porch. The wind picked up, and at first I thought I heard screaming, but I dismissed the idea. 

Just an autumn storm, I thought. 

Finally, I saw the farmhand’s thin silhouette through a peak in the curtains. He swung open the door. 

“Who are you?” he asked. He couldn’t have been more than a few years older than me, had shaggy brown hair and the face of a man who didn’t get enough sleep. 

“Paul Miller,” I said, shaking his cold hand. “Simon Miller’s my uncle. Is he home?” 

“Oh, Paul!” the farmhand said. He smiled, revealing a missing front tooth. “Mister Miller’s said so much about you, come on in. I’m Ben Callahan.” 

“Nice to meet you,” I said. The living room hadn’t changed in the fifteen years since my last visit. I was twelve at the time, and my memories of the trip were blurry. 

I quickly became lost in my thoughts as I scanned the bottom floor, staring at the bookshelf, the old upright piano, and small dinner table that couldn’t host more than four people. 

A kettle cried.

“Sorry about that,” Ben said. He took the kettle off the stove and poured steaming water into a cream-colored mug. “There’s Earl Gray if you want it.” 

I declined. I hate tea. My ex-wife Carly loved it, and the house always smelled like chai. 

“Where’d my uncle go?” I asked.

“Oh, he’s visiting a friend a few towns over,” Ben said. “He should be home tomorrow.” 

“Thanks,” I said. 

“Of course,” Ben said. “Sorry, Simon didn’t mention you were coming. I would’ve cleaned up a bit.” 

“Oh, don’t worry,” I said. “It’s spotless compared to my house.” 

I thought back to the pizza box-filled wasteland I called an apartment. I missed my old house, but Carly had taken that, too. 

Divorced at twenty-seven. What a loser, I thought. The marriage had been doomed from the start. Carly—my ex-wife—and I had gotten hitched a few months after we graduated from college. We were young, and there aren’t many things as destructive as two kids, barely out of their teens, who think their version of Romeo and Juliet will have a happy ending. 

It hadn’t been all awful; in fact, the first year was great. But it soon became clear that things wouldn’t work out between us, and the divorce was officiated six months ago. 

I thought it would only be temporary, that the new book I sent to my publisher would raise enough money for me to live in a decent home again. 

But it wasn’t the bestseller I hoped for. In truth, it did so poorly that my publisher canceled any future book deals. I wouldn’t have been able to keep a roof over my head, and right before I thought I was officially going to be homeless, a letter arrived at my doorstep. 

It was from my uncle. He told me he heard about what happened and felt sorry for me, and invited me to spend a few months at his ranch. So, I sold my apartment, deciding to save the little money I had left and worry about finding a home when I returned. 

If I ever go back, I thought. Depending on how things went with my uncle, the prospect of staying here in a small, quiet farmhouse had started to grow tempting. 

“Where are you from?” Ben asked, sipping his tea. 

How could he swallow the wretched stuff? 

“Chicago,” I said. “And Detroit, before that. Always been a man of the city. Well, not anymore, clearly.” 

“No, not at all,” Ben said. There was a distant look in his eye, like that of someone who didn’t get out much. “I’ve always lived here. Well, not here here, not always on the farm. I lived with my father down in the village, before he passed.” 

“I’m so sorry,” I said. 

“Don’t be,” Ben said. “It wouldn’t be life without a little hardship.” 

Lately, I’ve had more than a little, I thought. 

We talked for a while longer about my uncle, the farm, and Gray Rapid, and after we ate a humble meal of cold sandwiches, Ben showed me upstairs to the guest room. 

“This look fine enough for you?” he asked. 

“Looks great,” I said. 

“Great,” Ben said, smiling. “I’ll be down the hall if you need anything.” 

To my embarrassment, the cobweb-infested bedroom was still an improvement over the apartment I had been living in. I lay down on the quilt-covered bed and stared at the slanted ceiling. 

How had I gotten myself into this? A year ago, I was a successful author who had a wife I still cared about. Oh, how cruel fate was. 

I finished packing a few minutes later. I hadn’t brought much, just a few pairs of clothes, toiletries, and a notebook in the hopes that an idea for a novel would come to me. Exhausted from the day’s journey, I flipped off the light and fell to sleep in minutes. 

Screams. Hoarse, like that of someone who had been shouting for hours. 

I bolted upright and fell out of bed, hitting the ground with a loud thud. 

Scrambling to my feet, I put  on my glasses and rushed out into the hallway. The cries continued, a sound so distorted that I couldn’t tell if they came from a man or a woman. 

“Ben,” I shouted. The hallway felt dark, so terribly dark. I scraped my fingers against the walls, desperately feeling for a light switch. 

Nothing. 

A hand seized my neck from behind, choking me. Fear pulsed through my body as I scrambled to get free, but my attacker wouldn’t let go. Right before I ran out of air, I heard a familiar voice. 

“Paul?”

The hands released me. I got to my feet and whipped around to find Ben standing behind me, a kitchen knife in his right hand. He was covered in sweat. 

“I’m so sorry, are you alright?” Ben asked. 

The wails continued. 

“What’s going on?” I demanded. I could barely see his thin face in the darkness. 

“I didn’t tell you—” Ben said, voice shaking. “I thought it was going to stop, I swear—” 

“Tell me what?” I asked. 

As quick as it began, the screaming stopped, and all I could hear was a soft breeze through an open window. That wasn’t the wind, I thought. It sounded like a damned soul, suffering in hell’s fire. 

“Come sit down,” Ben said, motioning for me to follow him into my room. I sat at the foot of the bed, while Ben pulled out a chair from the desk. 

“What was that?” I asked, emphasizing each word. 

Ben looked down. 

“I thought it would be gone,” Ben said, staring at me with his pale blue eyes. 

“You thought what would be gone?” I asked. 

“It started two weeks ago,” Ben said, spinning the knife in his hand. “The screams. I didn’t know what was going on. I thought an animal had gotten stuck somewhere, but Simon told me no, that it wasn’t an animal. 

“Simon told me that there had been a lot of strange occurrences around the farm. At first he thought they were coincidences, but soon he realized something darker was at play.” 

“What sort of ‘strange occurrences’?” I asked, realizing then that maybe I shouldn’t have gone to my uncle’s farm. 

“He told me he found a single dead cow, close to the border of his property,” Ben said. “Its entire stomach was missing. He had no idea what could've killed it.

“And then the nightmares. I was spared, but one night I heard Simon pacing in his room. The next morning I asked him why he had been awake, and he told me he had the most terrible dreams. Dreams of animals and people without stomachs.” 

I shivered. 

“And now, the screams,” Ben said. “Paul, I don’t know if the house is infested by some evil spirit or—” 

“Of course, the house isn’t infested,” I said, laughing. “Ben, you do know there isn’t such a thing as ghosts or ghouls or banshees.” 

Ben stared at me dead in the eyes, and I was immediately consumed by a primal fear. 

“You don’t know that,” he whispered. 

“This is ridiculous,” I said. 

“That’s what I said,” Ben said. “That’s exactly what I said. I lied, he’s not off visiting a friend, your uncle. He ran, because he was terrified that something was gonna get him! I called him gutless as the coward drove down that road.” 

Ben pointed out the window to the dirt road that led down to Gray Rapids. This isn’t real, I told myself, taking a deep breath in a futile attempt to calm my racing heart. I’ll wake up in a minute, and I’ll be back to my normal, pathetic life. 

“What should we do,” I asked. “Call the police?” 

“I already tried that,” Ben said, rubbing his hands together. “They searched the place inside-out, and they found nothing. Said if we called them again, they’d hang up. Called us crazy.” 

“Then what?” I asked. 

“Pray that God delivers us from our torment,” Ben said. 

“I don’t believe in God,” I said. 

“I do, for my own sake,” Ben whimpered. “Because if we’re alone, we’re done for. The screams should be over, and you can go back to sleep, if you like. There isn’t much else we can do tonight, and we’ll make a plan tomorrow. Oh, and stay in your room. I wouldn’t want anything to happen.” 

I nodded, but right before I shut the door I saw Ben turn towards the staircase. 

“Where are you going?” I asked. 

“Just going to check the grounds,” he said. “See if I spot anything strange. I’ll be right back.” 

I was about to protest, but decided otherwise. He knows the land, he can handle himself, I thought, reaching for the light switch, but I stopped myself. I’m not sleeping tonight, I realized, sitting down at the foot of the bed. 

Like a skittish puppy, I jumped every time the wind whistled or the house creaked. I should have stayed home. Even that would be better than death by some vengeful spirit—

No, I told myself. Stop thinking like that. There’s no supernatural, no such thing as ghosts. 

Suddenly, I became very afraid for Ben’s safety. But what was I going to do? Walk out there in the dark and hope I find him? Yeah, something about the possibility of running headfirst into some unnamed evil didn’t sound appealing. 

But what if Ben was killed. What was I going to tell people, that I hid upstairs while a scrawny farmhand faced down whatever murdered those cattle? 

At that moment I didn’t care if I was about to face some hockey-masked lunatic or the devil himself. Ben was out there, alone, and if I didn’t do anything, he could very well be dead before dawn. 

I creeped down the stairs and slipped onto the front porch. The rays of moonlight were few and far between, and there was barely enough light to make out more than silhouettes. I stood there for a few minutes, scanning the land. 

“Ben,” I shouted. 

Nothing. I called again, but still no response. Then, I heard a soft cry, like a dying man’s last breath escaping from inside the house. 

A figure emerged from behind the building, and it took me a second to realize it was Ben. He was hunched as if he had stomach pains and was muttering something incoherent. 

“Ben?” I asked. 

He crept up the porch stairs, and at first I wasn’t sure if he saw me. 

“You made me do it,” he whispered, reaching for the doorknob. “You, not me.” 

“Ben?” I repeated, stepping back. Before I could move, Ben wheeled around and aimed a revolver at my chest. He had an unrecognizable look in his eyes. 

“Don’t move,” he growled. 

I froze.

“Good,” he said. “I’d hate to have to hurt you, too.” 

“What did you do,” I whispered. 

“You said you were sorry,” Ben said. “When I told you about my father, how he passed away. But I don’t even miss him. 

“He was a drunkard, terrible to me and my mother. He killed her, and then it was just me and him. So I ran. I was afraid. I was gutless. But then I got courage. I went back there to my father, and I got justice for what he had done.” 

I let out an unintelligible sound. 

“You’re uncle tried to be good to me, he really did. He gave me a home, taught me to work, and was a better man than my father ever was. But when he found out who I truly was, he hated me, just like the rest of them.” 

“That’s not true,” I said. “Ben, I’m going to call the police, and we’ll sort this—” 

“No,” Ben shouted, poking me with the revolver. “Look, you almost made me shoot you!” 

“So it was you,” I said. “There’s no demon in the house, no ghosts—” 

“No,” Ben smiled. “Only me.” 

“So the cow, the nightmares,” I said. “That was all lies?

“I’m no liar,” Ben said. “I’m not like my father, or your uncle—” 

“My uncle was a good man,” I shouted. “Where is he, what did you do to him?” 

“I’M GETTING THERE,” Ben roared. “It was all true. I just forgot to tell you I was the one who carved out the cow’s stomach with a chainsaw. But the cows were only the beginning, and after about a week, Simon found the first victim. The sight disturbed him to the point of nightmares, but at first he didn’t know I was responsible. 

“But your uncle did find out, eventually, and he was horrified. Said he’d call the cops, said they’d lock me up for what I’d done. I didn’t understand why he was angry. They were just animals after all. So I locked him up, and then I wrote you a letter.” 

“That was you?” I said.

“That was me,” said Ben. “Your uncle spoke so highly of you, so I thought I’d meet you. I’ve never met a good man, and Simon said you were good. But he was bad, and now he won’t hurt anyone ever again.” 

“He never hurt anyone,” I said. “You’re insane.” 

“No, you’re insane,” Ben yelled. “You didn’t even recognize your uncle’s screams.” 

I was speechless. 

“Didn’t see that one coming, did you?” Ben asked, laughing. “I locked him away in a secret room he had shown me. Barely gave him any food or water, just enough to keep him breathing. He screamed whenever he awoke, begging for someone to rescue him. I told him to be quiet now that you’re here, but he didn’t listen.

“So, I cut out his stomach. Now he’s gutless like the animals.” 

“You monster,” I roared, charging Ben. He hadn’t expected that, and for a moment I caught him off guard. Ben raised his gun at me, and in that second I didn’t care if I died, so long as I took him down with me. 

I grabbed his wrist and ripped the gun from his fingers. Seizing him by the collar, I slammed him against the wall and aimed the revolver at his face. 

“Where’s my uncle,” I bellowed. “Where did you put him?” 

But he only laughed.

“You’ll never know,” he cackled. I slugged him in the face, knocking him unconscious. 

I tied him up and locked him in the garage, then called the police. The sheriff arrived a half hour later. Once I gave him my statement, he handcuffed Ben and threw him in the back of his car. I sat on the porch with my back against the house as the police car drove back to Gray Rapids. It was then, I think, when I decided that I needed to stay at the farm.  

True, the past twelve hours had been some of the worst I had ever experienced, but that didn’t change the fact that I had nowhere else to go. I’d hire new farmhands, granted, after I made sure none of them had a history of homicidal tendencies. And maybe I’d be able to build a new life here. 

I spent weeks searching the house and the grounds for any sign of my uncle’s body. I tore down walls, dug trenches throughout the property, and hired numerous investigators. 

But I never found it.