Page 23 of Stronger Than Blood
Iarrived at the farm before Mick and decided to explore the pretty little cottage with its summer flowers spilling over sidewalks and rose bushes that looked as old as the house itself.
The moment I opened the door of the car, I felt malevolence.
I couldn’t consistently see ghosts, and I could never communicate with them, but I sure as hell could feel them all the time. This one was here, and it was powerful.
I let instinct guide me to where the entity was strongest and ventured onto the front porch. I instantly felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Oh, this one was truly evil. It wanted to destroy, hungered for it. Usually, dead people mellowed over time, but I don’t think this one had mellowed at all, and if he had, I would’ve hated to meet him when he was alive.
Despite my own mind’s defenses kicking in and telling me to get as far away from this place as possible, I knew Mick needed help, and if nothing else, I was feeling more protective of him than I should after just meeting him. So, I concentrated onfeeling what was here. At least so I could get Madam’s opinion when I finally consulted her.
Luckily, the entity felt confined, which was good, at least. I could sense the energy was just on the other side of the wall, between the porch and the inside, and I could tell it knew I was there, that it desperately wanted to get to me but somehow couldn’t.
I quickly exited the porch and went back to the car to wait for Mick. No use antagonizing that thing—Mick had called him Preston Garrison—if I could avoid it. Thankfully, I didn’t have to wait long before a battered old pickup pulled up behind me. “Wow, you beat me here,” he said as he came up to my side of the car. “I didn’t expect you to get here so early.”
I laughed as I closed the car door behind me. “You didn’t know my grandpa. He was very dedicated to early rising on the farm. Anyway, you said you had a garden to till. Humidity is already tacky, so it's best to get to it.”
His smile faltered, and I figured he was probably feeling guilty about me coming to work. “Besides,” I quickly added, “who doesn’t love an early morning till?”
That seemed to take the edge off my earlier words, and I followed him around the back of the house toward an old shed with a lean-to. I recognized most of the power tools and yard equipment and almost laughed at how similar it looked to the stuff my grandpa had me using growing up. “So, why don’t you start the tilling, and I’ll come behind with the hoe? And before you ask, I’m good at getting around plants without chopping them down.”
His smile sent happy currents through me. Something had changed since yesterday. A wall that’d separated us since I’d started helping him seemed to have come down. He didn’t say much; just handed me the hoe and started the tiller.
My grandpa was a master at keeping his small engine tools running, and I listened for the telltale sound of a clicking motor or other problems but surprisingly heard none. Someone had done a great job taking care of their equipment.
The garden was massive. It was even bigger than the one my grandparents had kept, which was saying a lot. Beautiful well-kept rows of vegetables perfectly aligned spanned in front of me. Seeing how well the place was kept, naturally made me want to lend a hand to keep it that way. It took a couple of hours of constant work for us to finish tilling and hoeing the large garden. When we were done, Mick went over to the house, opened a small door, and pulled out two glasses before handing one to me and taking the other. “The water here is good, and we can avoid tracking dirt inside by using the well,” he said.
I knew he didn’t want to go inside because of the entity, and to be honest, I was in full agreement. I had zero interest in meeting or even seeing that monster.
We drank to our heart's content. Then Mick used the well to clean up before putting the glasses in a bucket with a lid outside the back door. I didn’t have anything like that growing up, but it looked like a clever trick. Have outdoor glasses and indoor glasses that could be washed separately and avoid all the tracking in and out, which had inevitably gotten my butt smacked by an angry grandmother.
When we were done cleaning up, Mick led me to a partially hidden swing under a pair of rather large fruit trees. “That’s a huge garden to farm, and it’s just you and your granny?” I asked.
Mick snorted. “The woman won’t have it any less. Says if we don’t eat it all, someone else will.”
“Yeah, I noticed you have quite a lot of produce needing to be picked. Green beans mostly.”
“Oh yeah, Joann, my cousin, will come out later and pick them. I talked to her yesterday on my way over to see mygrandmother. I don’t have the time or energy to deal with that and Uncle Eddie’s mess, and Joann doesn’t have a garden.”
“Sounds like your family have it handled.”
He nodded and leaned against the back of the swing. “I’ve always loved this spot. When I first arrived, back when I was around fourteen, Joann and sometimes Brenda would show up in the early hours of the day. After we’d finished harvesting the garden, we’d all sit around and snap beans, shell peas, and talk about the world. Those are some of my favorite memories of living here.”
“I avoided that like the plague. My grandmother always wanted my hands busy, but luckily, with all the other chores on the farm, I managed to get away without shelling peas that often. I hated how your thumb turned purple.”
Mick laughed. “I’ve always preferred working in the kitchen over the outdoor chores, although I didn’t hate them. Like this morning, you get into a groove with the tiller or even the hoe, and before you know it, the work is done, but there’s something amazing about taking plants from seed to food on the table.”
I shrugged. “I can’t say I miss farm life. It wasn’t really my favorite thing. But I adored my grandparents, so I did whatever they asked to keep them happy.”
“Same, although I came into the farm life late. Before that, I was mostly a street rat.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “I can’t see you as a street kid. Where’d you grow up?”
Mick shook his head. “Mostly in Chattanooga, although my mom tended to piss people off wherever she went, so sometimes we had to hightail it out of town and spend a few months in Nashville while things settled down enough for us to go back.”
“Where’s your mom now?” I asked, and when Mick’s face fell, I knew I’d asked a difficult question.
“To be honest, I have no idea. She sent me here when things got particularly out of control. Granny Ida agreed to let me stay, but I don’t think she knew it meant forever. The woman was seventy, almost eighty when I moved in. Neither of us have heard from my mother since.”
“I’m so sorry,” I apologized. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
