Kesler's Barn
by
Laura Payeur
Copyright 2011 by Laura Payeur
Published by Laura Payeur at Smashwords
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events either are products of the author's imagination are used fictitiously. The use of some licensed products have been used without permission, however, not in any defamatory manner. Any resemblances to actual persons living or dead, businesses, places or events is entirely coincidental.
Kesler's Barn
Old man Kesler was nearly ancient when I was a kid, so by the time I was grown, I was certain the man was immortal. Perpetually old, but immortal. He stood all of five feet, with a slight hunch and wild white hair. His face, although sagging and wrinkled, was cleanly shaven. Sunken deep in his eye sockets, the elderly man had eyes of black marble, shiny and dark.
It was a dreary Saturday afternoon when I had my first official run-in with old man Kesler. I probably should have kept walking, but my curiosity got the better of me. I don't regret the events that followed. I spent the next twenty-eight years being haunted by the truth of Old Man Kesler and his barn. I still wonder now if it wasn't simply the stories of horror and mayhem that effected my impressionable ten year old mind.
A storm was coming. The sky on that bleak June afternoon was menacingly dark. I heard the guy on the radio say maybe even a tornado was possible. In all of my ten years I hadn't seen one yet. I didn't guess on seeing one that day either.
The road passing by Kesler's was dirt and, as I scuffed my already tattered sneakers along the road, dust wafted up as far as my knees. I knew my mother was going to be ticked off when I came home leaving a trail through her kitchen. She always was, but I would do it anyhow.
As I approached the house, a pale green farm house with a busted screen door and missing porch spindles, I noticed Mr. Kesler standing by the large maple tree on his lawn. He plunked his rake down hard beside him, eying me carefully. His clothes were considerably neat for a man out raking his lawn. Black slacks and a neat white shirt, the sleeves rolled just below his elbows. I raised my hand to wave, but he turned away. I took a step forward, just to the edge of the grass. To this day, I don't have the faintest notion what I was thinking.
"Hi there, Mr. Kesler," I said, smiling.
He hesitated, but then continued on his way, with no other indication that he'd heard me. I watched him walk to the barn, a structure twice the size of his home with faded red paint, where he leaned the rake against one of the doors and moved on around the side. From where I stood, I saw the barn doors were secured with a heavy chain and padlock.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, startling me slightly. I looked up, watching the darkening clouds roll closer.
"What're ya still doin' here?" Mr. Kesler demanded. He'd come back around the front of the barn while I had been staring at the sky.
I shrugged, tucking my hands into the pockets of my dusty jeans. I couldn't think of one good reason for why I was standing there at the edge of his lawn.
"Go on home t'ya mother," he said, waving the back of hand at me.
"What d'ya keep in ya barn, Mr. Kesler?" I asked, ignoring his request.
"None ya business," he snapped. "Go on. Git outta here."
The wind picked up, my ponytail brushed against the back of my neck, sending a chill down my spine. I shivered. Mr. Kesler's screen door banged open and then slammed shut. He muttered under his breath, taking long strides toward the house.
