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The Sand

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic


The abandoned piece of land with the run down barn had always freaked me out, and I was about to find out exactly why... or was i?

Submitted: September 25, 2017

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Submitted: September 25, 2017

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The Sand

 

There’s this strange piece of land, I cycle past it on my way to school every day, it freaks me out so much, and until recently I had no idea why! With a large piece of land like that, empty except from a dilapidated old barn you would think that a developer would snap it up, build a bunch of houses and make a giant profit. But no-one even spoke about it, sometimes I felt like I was the only one who could see it. There was something eerie about the whole thing, it gave me a funny feeling in my tummy and made the hairs on the back of my neck prickle with trepidation.

 

I always made sure to cycle as fast as I could past that spooky area of land, the strangest thing about it, or so I thought, was that there was always a thin layer of sand over the grassy field surrounding the barn, yet we lived nowhere near a beach! So where did the sand come from? I can honestly say I had never in my fifteen years of life seen a single person set foot on that sandy grass, and I personally had no intention of being the first, yet I had no idea why I felt that way.

 

I was becoming so intrinsically intrigued with that piece of land, I decided to break our towns silence and ask my Grandma if she knew anything about the area. My Grandma was not impressed, she met me with a steely glare and told me, “Leave well alone girl! Sometimes it’s best to let old news be”. So, because I knew Grandma was not going to break her silence I thought I would check out the towns news archives in the local library… and guess what I found? That’s right NOTHING!

 

I went to bed that night feeling frustrated, both with the world for being such a strange, secretive place, and with myself for becoming so strangely obsessed with this patch of sandy grassed land and its run down old barn!

 

That night I had the worst dream of my life, well, I am calling it a dream because if it was anything other than that, I fear I may be losing the plot. Although I’ve never actually had a dream like it before or again, and I hope it stays that way. I remember feeling like I was drifting off to sleep, my body felt heavy, I was curled up in my duvet, in my King size bed, my safe haven, my beautiful bedroom decorated in pastels, minimalist because I hate clutter, and my mongrel dog Buster in his spot snuggled up next to me. I began to feel lighter, like I was rising upwards, and Buster was growling but I couldn’t see anything or speak to calm my poor dog down. I was rising higher and felt an all over calmness, a feeling of total tranquillity, I wondered for a moment if I was dead and if this is what death felt like! How I wish that moment had lasted because what came next will be forever etched in my memory.

 

All of a sudden, I could see, it was dusk and I was standing in a field, I could see that barn, but it was not run down it was well looked after, and there was a stone farm house nearby. It was the land, but a long time before now and it had originally been much larger and had a house, and been home to a family. There were two boys, in their late teens, and two girls who looked a couple of years younger, they were working together to load hay bales onto a trailer which was hooked up to a big brown tractor. They looked so happy, laughing and joking and throwing clumps of stray hay at each other.

There was a rumble in the sky and a howling noise, like the wind makes in a storm, and what looked like a tornado swirling towards the field, the family seemed unaware and continued loading the hay bales, until the tornado swirled closer, and I realised that it was no ordinary tornado, but in fact a big swirling mass of sand. The teenagers looked up at the sand and screamed, they began to run to the stone farm house but they were not quick enough, the sand landed on them like a giant golden blanket, they lay there, still.

 

I was no longer able to see and felt the floating sensation once more, I was being moved to another location, intrigued by these strange events, I would ordinarily be scared senseless but for the feeling of sublime tranquillity afforded to me by what I was starting to identify as an entity, showing me a story.

 

Once more my sight was restored and I was inside a barn, the barn?! The two boys were there too, lying on the barn floor, I try to shout out to them but I am unable to move or speak. I am now feeling uneasy, not fear but a strong sense of anxiety, they don’t know I am here. They look drowsy, like they have just woken from a deep sleep. The boys are beginning to stand up, I watch as they stumble, and notice at the same time as them, two masses, covered by hessian sacks, tied up in what looks like a praying position, on their knees with their hands tied together in front of their bodies. Paralysed, I am unable to do anything but watch as the events unfold in front of me, it is now me who is invisible.

 

The boys make their way over to a cart, next to where the hessian shapes kneel. On the cart is an ocarina and a xylophone, there are music sheets and a note. I hear the oldest boy read:

 

“Play this merry ditty and beat to death the two sacks, if you want to see daylight again. The sand is the beginning and the sand is the end.”

 

The boys run to the door and try and get out, the door is locked, sand begins to blow in from beneath the door, it circles the boys in a golden mass and just as quickly it is gone. The boys are covered in a thin film of fine sand, their eyes have changed from their previous blue to a demonic red, they begin to grunt and snigger in low tones whilst hammering large nails through a plank of wood, making their weapon. One of the boys picks up the ocarina and begins to play whilst the other beats the first sack with the spiked stick, the mass of the sack puts up no resistance, they are almost fluid with the beating, the sack is beginning to change colour, the brown hessian is covered in red blotches which are gradually getting bigger and joining together. The tune from the ocarina is a surreal circus tune, one akin with big tops and family laughter, not this horrific spectacle in front of me. The boy administering the beating omits loud maniacal laughter, putting his whole-body weight into each swing of the stick, grunting between swings and becoming out of breath. Satisfied with his work, he switches places with his brother, who looks manic and eagerly grabs the spiked weapon. The xylophone is played now, an awful eerie rendition of ‘Mary had a little lamb’ whilst the second boy gleefully beats the sack, grunting, laughing, and kicking with his large boots in between swings of the spiked weapon. Before long the sack is the same dark red as its counterpart. Two lifeless, praying shapes, laying sideways on the dirty barn floor, amongst hay, dust and being looked on by two demonic, manic boys, so overcome with evil they don’t see the sand swirling towards them once more.

 

Everything is dark, I try to open my eyes but they feel gritty, I must have been sent to sleep by the sand! As I begin to focus I am drawn to two shapes, grief stricken, wailing, the crying is too much to bear, I can feel their pain. The two boys are hunched over the lifeless bodies of two girls, the hessian sacks have been cut open to reveal the bloody, swollen, battered bodies of their two little sisters. The boys remember the thrill they got, the feeling of satisfaction from beating those sacks, being unaware that they contained their own flesh and blood. The pleasure garnered from their actions had in turn caused untold pain to their beloved siblings. The boys could not even bring themselves to make eye contact with one another.

 

The oldest boy reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a hand gun, releasing the safety he puts it in his mouth, pointing upwards, he fires and his head is blown open as he falls to the floor, his brother screams, an agonising wail of total agony, he scrambles towards his dead brother, looking for the gun, finding it he points it in his own mouth and pulls the trigger ‘click’, nothing, ‘click’, nothing, ‘click’, one last try, and nothing, he checks the cylinder, its empty. Frantically looking around he picks up the spiked stick, the one he had fashioned himself and used on his sisters, he begins to beat himself with it, wailing, not in agony for the pain he is inflicting on himself but for the loss of his siblings and the painful knowledge that he had been partly to blame.

 

So consumed in this family tragedy, I didn’t notice the sand creeping in until the barn doors blew open and the swirling sand surrounded both myself and the remaining brother, who was bloodied and still attempting to beat himself to death. Again, my sight was gone and the weightless calm ensued.

 

Waking up in my soft bed, with the comfort of my lovely Buster curled up with me, I felt mildly traumatised by my ‘nightmare’. I still have no concrete evidence that my dream was anything more than a dream, I no longer ask questions about the strange piece of land. I now go the long way to school because I can’t face being near that barn. And every time I hear the wind howl I am reminded of the sand, my awful nightmare and the mystery of the eerie site in my home town that no one ever talks about.


© Copyright 2018 EJS. All rights reserved.

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