I Don't Know You Anymore (Sully)

[lylesullivan]

It felt like this latest stint of the travel was years long when in reality, Lyle had only been on this move this time for a few months. He'd made his way through a few states but, upon running out of money, found a place to settle and get a labor job. That's what really brought him to Eugene, Oregon. It was a place that he had been passing through and could find work.

Lyle had presented himself to the farmer as a handy man; a jack of all trades that could do an adequate job for a fair price. The terms were simple. Lyle had to reside the farmhouse and give it a fresh coat of paint and in return, he'd get a moderate daily pay, meals with the family, and a place to sleep in the loft of the barn. Lyle, who had enough knowledge and determination to do a decent carpentry job, couldn't pass up the offer. All this traveling was wearing heavily on his wallet.

And so, armed with a hammer, nails, and a pile of wood as tall as himself, Lyle began the seemingly monstrous task of residing the farmer's home. He worked until sunset, accomplishing significantly more than he thought he would. (He discovered that, once he had established a solid method, the task went rather smoothly.) At sunset, the farmer welcomed Lyle into his home to sit and enjoy a homecooked meal.

Lyle accepted the invitation graciously and enjoyed the company of the family, as well as the nutrious, delicious meal they provided him with. Upon the conclusion of the meal, the farmer led Lyle to the loft barn and showed him the rudimentary living set up his wife had put together for their visitor earlier that day.

Lyle was genuinely appreciative of the offering. Beside the small army cot against the wall, there was a wooden, wire spool serving as a night stand with two candles, a pitcher of water and a glass. At the end of the bed, there was a small basin filled with water for washing up and a fresh bar of soap.

"Before I leave you be for the evenin', you should probably have this 'ere piece of paper." The farmer looked around suspiciously and passed Lyle a small corner of what seemed to be an envelope.

Lyle looked at the farmer, confused as to why there was some kind of covert phone number exchanging going on. Lyle read the number to himself and looked back to the farmer. "What's this for?"

"Well, you see son. There's been some strange goings on in these parts 'round here as of late. If you find yourselves in any types of trouble, you give that there number a call and someone'll supposedly come out to take a look. The farmer looked around nervously again, as though the emptiness of the barn might be listening in on their conversations. "It's getting late. I'd best be getting back to the house. Good luck."

Lyle couldn't help but laugh at the farmer's uneducated grammar and at how he'd said "Good luck" instead of "Good night." Lyle thanked the farmer and was left on his own in the now dark, creaky barn. Now that he was alone in the dim, drafty loft, the quirky departure of the farmer was beginning to sound more like a warning.

Lyle lit the candle and began washing his arms and face in the basin at the end of the bed. This isn't so bad, Lyle thought to himself. Sure, the loft was a little ominous and creepy, but he was sure it was just his imagination running wild. It did that sometimes in unfamiliar places as the night wore on.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Lyle pulled off his boots, peeled his shirt off over his head, and decided to put the number that the farmer had given him into his phone. Not that he thought there would be a problem and he would need it, but he figured it might be better not to have to scramble for a bit of paper. Just in case, he told himself.

Resting his phone on the nightstand, Lyle laid back on the cot. This isn't so bad, he told himself as he listened to the wind whistle through the slats of the walls and under the roof shingles. Nothing weird or out of the ordinary at all. Lyle soon found himself drifting off, deciding in his half-conscious state that the farmer was probably just a simple minded, paranoid, gullible enough to believe the lore and horror stories that passed around the local feed shop.

Lyle hadn't been asleep long, maybe an hour or so, when he was jolted out of his sleep by a loud slamming noise. Still groggy for sleeping, Lyle decided it was probably just the wind having its way with the barn door. He rolled over and went back to sleep.

Just as he was falling back into a deep state of sleep, he was jolted away by yet another loud slam. Well, even if it is just the wind, I can't have this keep waking me. I've got work to do in the morning. Lyle sat up, pulled back on his boots and scratched at the imprints the fabric of the cot left on his bare chest. Running a hand through his hair, Lyle carefully climbed down the ladder from the loft and made his way to the oversized barn doors.

Lyle was surprised to find, upon reaching for the handle, that the barn doors were tightly shut, and heavy enough to stay that way. He determined that this couldn't have been the source of the sound. Standing in the dark, having not thought to relight the candle and bring it with him, Lyle wracked his brain, trying to remember if he'd seen any animals in the stalls. He couldn't seem to recall any. In fact, he was almost certain that he was the only one here in this barn, a quarter mile from the farmhouse.

As Lyle turned to go explore more of the lower level of the barn, his heart skipped a beat. He turned around to see a pitch fork hurtling through the air at him, planting itself in the wall just inches from his face. Lyle, not letting himself be easily shaken, pulled the farm tool from the wall and, using it for defense, headed in the direction from whence it came. Lyle was sure that this was some local teen who, upon discovery of a stranger in town, came to play tricks.

Several steps later, Lyle reached the opposite wall of the barn. There was nothing there. Lyle stood there for a moment, perplexed as he stood the pitchfork on end and looked around. Once again the barn fell still.

Taking a deep breath, Lyle couldn't shake the feeling that something beyond his control was happening. Not only had a farm tool gone flying through the air at him, but something felt different. Like the barn wasn't the same as it was when he had fallen asleep hours earlier.

Just as Lyle was about to turn and head for the ladder back up to the loft, (He'd had hopes that going back to bed would shake the eerie feeling he was having) Lyle heard the sound of feet shuffling through hay and dirt.

"How's there?" Lyle called out loudly as he spun around, pitch fork still in hand. Lyle turned to brief catch a glint of something up in the loft across the barn from where he was. "That better not be some pesky teen stealing my stuff Lyle though to himself as he rushed toward the ladder.

Realizing he couldn't really climb the ladder with the pitchfork, he rested it on the ground by the foot of the ladder and rushed up the rungs. At the top of the ladder, Lyle looked around. He knew that as long as he was in front of the ladder, nothing up in the loft could get down. Unless it jumped and, at this height, it didn't seem like such a good idea. Attempting to catch his breath, Lyle scanned the loft area. Everything seemed to be where it was left, except the basin at the end of the bed which was now overturned, the water just beginning to drip of the edge of the loft.

Lyle's fear elevated as he stepped toward the cot and found himself suddenly cold. It was the middle of summer so there was no logical reason why goosebumps were rising on his arms, why the hair on the back of his neck was sticking up or why he could suddenly see his breath before him as he exhaled. Before this moment, he'd been explaining away the occurances he was experiencing. Now he was beginning to feel uneasy.

Lyle sprinted to his bedside table, against his body's cries for him to climb back down the ladder, and grabbed his phone. Fumbling with the buttons, he managed to call the number that the farmer had passed him. Part of him felt foolish for doing so, (Honestly, who was going to believe that he thought an old barn was haunted) but he couldn't spend the rest of the night feeling like this.

"Is anyone there?" Lyle called into the phone when it sounded like it had connected. "Mr. Carter, this farmer I'm working for told me to call this number if anything weird started happening out here in the barn and I must say, this all seems a little weird to me." Everything he said sounded like one giant word, and his chest heaved as he paused to take a breath. "I don't know the address here but if you could do whatever it is that you do, that would be swell."

Despite his gut telling him that he needed to get sleep, Lyle couldn't bring himself to stay in the barn. Climbing back down the ladder and retrieving the pitch fork, Lyle made his way to the door. Pushing with all his force, Lyle emerged into the warm summer night, breathing the fresh air in sharply. Standing on guard, pitchfork in hand and cell phone in his pocket, Lyle stood shirtless beside the barn doors, on the look out for anyone or anything coming or going. Hopefully the person on the other end of that phone line would get here sooner rather than later.

[Deleted]

Sully had sort of been sleeping. Sort of because the nightmares that were plaguing her woke her every half hour or so. They were hellish reminders of the recent ordeal she'd gone through and she was trying to push them down, forget them like she had so much of her childhood. You would think it would be easier to forget as an adult, but no this shit was determined to stick.

The fact that she was still severely underweight and about as strong as a kitten had lead Sully to stay in motel rooms mostly, avoiding hunts and keeping to herself. The physical wounds had healed, but there was still a long way to go before she even had the stamina to run a mile again. Hunting was a long way off, even though honestly she had taken some cases already. She was determined to prove she could get back on her feet.

Sully was splayed, faced down in bed, a pillow over her head, foot peeking out beneath the sheet dozing lightly. Images of her captivity flashed behind her eyes. It was like being on a bad trip she couldn't be free of. Hell she couldn't even sleep it off. Still, exhaustion was tugging at her. Sully had almost made it into what she would have hoped would have been blissful darkness when her cell phone rang.

Honestly she thought it would be Dean calling to check on her and make sure she wasn't doing anything reckless. Without looking at the phone, Sully fumbled for the answer button bringing it to her ear under the pillow.

"Ello?" Her voice was thick with sleep even though she was having a hard time finding it.

"Is anyone there?"

For a moment Sully was wondering if it was a wrong number. The voice sounded calm yet slightly panicked at the same time, which was the only reason she didn't hang up.

"Mr. Carter, this farmer I'm working for told me to call this number if anything weird started happening out here in the barn and I must say, this all seems a little weird to me."

Carter? Sully had done a job for him a few years ago. Had a Chupacabra eating up his chickens and other farm animals if she recalled. Now he had another problem, and apparently a new farm hand.

"I don't know the address here but if you could do whatever it is that you do, that would be swell."

Sully sighed into the phone. She should call someone else and let them take the case, but Carter was a particular guy. He probably wouldn't want her sending out someone else. Beside, maybe it was just another chupacabra. They were easy enough to get rid of and kill. If it wasn't, well she'd deal with that when it came down to it.

Sitting up, Sully looked at the clock. Her hair was shoulder length once more and fairly even, unlike the jagged cut her captors had given her. She was two hours out which would put her there at close to three in the morning. Carter had let her use a room out in the barn for workers last time. She didn't think he'd have a problem letting her use it again.

"Get some salt," Sully said into the phone. If all else failed, salt was always good to have. "Salt the doors and windows, and keep it buy you. I'll be there soon."

Before he could answer, Sully hung up the phone, and moved to get dressed. Grabbing her things she headed out to old blue. Driving was better than sleeping anyways. Sully headed out.

[lylesullivan]

"Salt?" Lyle mumbled to himself, slipping his cell phone back into his pocket and changing his grip on the pitch fork. "Where am I supposed to get salt at this hour?"

Lyle shrugged to himself and continued to stand guard by the door of the barn. Where he could get salt was really the least of his worries. Even if he could find some, he didn't know what kind of salt he was looking for. Would table salt do the trick? Or would be need special rock salt like the kind they used to melt the snow? Lyle stood there alone, shaking his head at how vague the voice on the other end of the line had been.

Lyle was also slightly baffled that the voice on the other end of the phone seemed to be female. To be honest, it was the absolute last thing he had expected. He had figured that the number belonged to a ghost hunter of some sort, but he associated ghost hunters with balding plumber types, not women. Not to say that he didn't think women could do it, maybe more just that it took a bit of a stab at his ego. Like he as a man wasn't able to handle to situation so he had to call in a woman.

Regardless, had the farmer trusted the woman enough to hand out her number, she must be good.

Lyle stood beside the door for a little longer, waiting for something, anything really, to happen. He'd pushed the idea of finding salt out of his mind, but upon hearing another noise (and an angry noise at that) come from within the barn, he decided to look for some.

Lyle knew that the walk back to the house would be a waste. It was certainly locked for the night as the family slept away inside. He didn't want to wake them. Not for something as silly as this. Lyle was still trying to convince himself that this all wasn't just his overtired imagination acting up. Instead, Lyle walked around the barn, hoping to find some rock salt that that farmer might use in the winter.

He made his way around the entire perimeter of the barn, only to return to the barn doors empty handed. He knew that there was probably a pail of rock salt IN the barn, but he wasn't ready to go back in there yet. So, he tightened his grip on the pitchfork and leaned with his back against the heavy barn door.

I sure hope this lady gets here soon. It's kind of creepy out here alone with the barn noises.