THE STRUCTURE

            “…And that’s what they say about the old Douglas Place.”

            “Fuck, Henry, if I have to hear that damn story one more time, I’ll blow my brains out.”

            A contagious laugh filled the dingy bar, accompanied by the loud sound of back slaps. Chubby’s Bar was a lonely little outpost alongside the TransCanada Highway. A watering hole for the constant traveler. Many folks wouldn’t give the bar a second glance. A lone lighthouse surrounded by on ocean of nothingness. Tonight would bring something different.

            Roy and his friends had pulled into the bar on more of a whim. The trio had spent most of the evening cruising along back roads and generally being obnoxious assholes. What else was a trio of twenty-something’s to do on a dull summer night? The other two, Travis and Dennis, weren’t employed and, even if they had been, their behavior wouldn’t keep them employed for long. Even as they waited for the next round as calmly as possible, their sloppy nature crept forth. Roy looked disgustedly at the spit bubbles forming at the edge of Dennis’ mouth. Roy was different, or at least he thought he was. He was a man looking for adventure. A man of action. A man of excitement. He ran a hand through his bleached blond hair, stood, and approached the bar.

            Henry and his friends were still laughing when the odd looking young ‘un approached them.

            “Evening gents,” said Roy in a friendly tone. “What’s this Douglas place you folks were talking about?”

            Joviality around the bar died. Henry looked at Roy coldly.

            “Some folks,” started Henry. “Don’t much care for being eavesdropped on. Some places, it’s a good way to get your lights punched out.”

            Roy put up his hands in submission.

            “Whoa, whoa young fella! I didn’t mean any offense. You see, my friends and I are just doing some sightseeing and that sounds like just the place we’d like to see.”

            Henry leaned back on his stool to get a good look at Roy’s cohorts. Travis and Dennis were up to their usual exploits when they became bored. Travis was stuffing Cheetos up his nose while Dennis played a pitiful game of five finger filet with a butter knife. Henry chuckled under his breath.

            “Some mighty bright friends you got there,” Henry said. He prodded the toothless coot beside him and gestured towards the two idiots at the table. Henry’s compatriot laughed.

            Roy’s cool began to falter. He breathed deeply to reestablish his calm.

            “While they may not look bright,” retorted Roy, “they’re damn good guys.”

            Roy then heard a yelp from the table. He turned and saw Dennis cradling his hand. A fresh welt from the butter knife gleamed red on the back of his right hand.

            Moron, thought Roy.

            He turned back to Henry and began:

            “I feel like we got off on the wrong foot. How’s about I buy you guys a round? In fact…”

            Roy looked around the barroom. Aged banners clung to the walls announcing victories long past. Taxidermied pike and trout were attached to the walls. They had clearly not been moved or cleaned in years, if not decades. Yellow and brown cobwebs hung ironically from their dead mouths. The biggest customer in the bar though was the thoroughly deteriorated mount of a moose. Most of the fur had rotted away and the glass eyes had become discoloured with the passage of time. Besides the trophy animals, the bar was deserted but for the two groups of friends.

            “…How’s about I buy the house a round?”

            Tension in the air dissipated like a fart in the wind. Soon the two groups colluded and began to share laughs.

            One hundred and eighty five dollars and promises to help Henry during the harvesting season later, Roy had all the info about the Douglas farmstead he could ever need. Not that it all mattered much to him. Roy and his boys were far more interested in having a good time and wrecking things than any sort of local superstition or history.

            It took far more cajoling and friendliness to get Henry to reveal the location of the farm than Roy had expected. He’d be eating bologna for the next few weeks. The old timer had revealed it under the pretense that Roy and his morons didn’t go there the following night.

            “…That’s when the children come.”

            Stupid old bastard!

            It was nine PM on June 21st and Roy, with the boys, sped down the grid road leading to the old Douglas farm.

            The sun loomed low on the horizon, bathing the countryside in a warming orange glow. The scene was almost like a postcard.

            Travis leaned out the passenger side window and sprayed puke down the red paint job. He followed it with a half empty bottle of Pilsner, which sailed in a high arc directly into a muddy slough.

            A bend formed in the road and Roy saw the farmstead in its silhouetted glory. The area was larger than he anticipated. A dilapidated house sat on the west side of the property. The yellow paint had faded and peeled. The eavestrough had detached from the edge of the roof. It leaned out into the overgrown yard like an accusatory finger.

            In the middle of the property, an old barn leaned toward the horizon precariously. Its aged wood showed paint flecks which suggested it had once been coloured red. Now, the dry boards were mostly the color of the moss and fungus which called the planks home. In the uppermost window frame, gazing out on the countryside, the moldy remnants of a hangman’s noose danced in the gentle breeze.

            On the eastside of the property sat the structure the farm had become infamous for. The elaborately constructed circle caught the last rays of the sun in its western most doorway. Henry hadn’t been kidding about the weird feeling the architecture. With walls nearly twenty feet high, it was hard to imagine one man had built it with ingenuity and bare hands. Henry said when old Mr. Douglas had started building his circle that all the children had been frightened of it. That feeling still lingered to this day.

            The car slowed to a halt amongst the crab grass, dandelions, and cattails. Roy was the first one out of the car. Dead vegetation crunched beneath his feet. Travis and Dennis rolled out of their separate positions. Both flopped about like fish out of water. Roy began to think letting them start drinking at noon may not have been a good idea.

            Roy was mesmerized by the atmosphere of the place. He could hear neither insects nor the normally present call of birds. A sphere of silence seemed to encapsulate the property. He looked about the ground, and barring the trash he called his friends, not a single piece of litter lay anywhere. No candy wrappers, beer cans, or newspapers.

            Roy made his way towards the house with his two companions stumbling behind. The sun gave off its final light, illuminating the interior of the house with a warm orange shade before dipping below the horizon and leaving the world in darkness. The cement of the front stoop had cracked and split from years of exposure to the elements, yet no weeds had taken root. Roy didn’t pay much attention to this detail. No, what Roy noticed was all the windows remained intact. A very rare sight on the prairies. Almost all abandoned properties fall victim to young male vandals and their need to break things.

            The front door was unlocked, which was unsurprising. Judging from the rot on the wood, Roy figured he could put his fist through it like so much Jell-O.

            When they stepped in, the overwhelming scent of mildew assailed them. Rugs clung to the old hardwood floor like leeches. Very desiccated leeches, but leeches nonetheless. The entrance rug split into chunks when Roy’s foot touched it. The five individual pieces took on unusual shapes. One perfectly spherical. Another resembled the caricature of a child, complete with oversized lollipop and toy truck. The other three were harder to define. Roy didn’t wish to pontificate to his drunken friends. They moved further in.

            The living room was a relic from the past. Two wing back chairs flanked the picture window. Their pattern was indistinct in the shadows so Roy withdrew his cell phone and clicked on the flashlight. Just like grandma’s house. The chairs were once fuchsia with strange floral patterns. He expected to find plastic covers on them when he reached to touch with his long fingers. They weren’t there. The aged upholstery came off in his hand like a second skin.

            Travis couldn’t take the silence any longer. He lifted one of the moldered chairs and threw it through the window. He unleashed a howl of relief. Dennis clapped in appreciation.

            “What the fuck did you do that for?” asked Roy, turning sharply to face his friend.

            “Needed to be broke,” was the reply.

             Roy felt disgust rising in him. He couldn’t figure out why. Were this any other place, he would’ve done the same. But something about this property prevented him from reveling in its destruction. A cool chill crept though the new aperture and sent shivers up Roy’s spine.

            Outside, a kestrel screeched and Roy jumped. Travis and Dennis seemed less perturbed. They continued to stare out the broken window. Roy turned and motioned for the others to follow.

            When they had returned to the main foyer, their eyes were drawn to the staircase leading to the upper floor. Roy thought it unwise to ascend. Some voice in his head said it would be foolhardy and dangerous to check the inner sanctum. He led the two clearly disappointed vandals back out of the house and into the cool night air.

            The trio looked at the moving crabgrass and cattails. The wind had died. Roy felt more chills traverse the length of his spine. He wasn’t sure what was about to emerge from the vegetation but, judging from the size and sway, it wasn’t a coyote or gopher. When the creature presented itself, Roy was shocked.

            The child couldn’t have been older than eight or nine. He crawled on hands and knees in a filthy set of denim overalls. His dirty blond hair shone in the pale moonlight. Roy nearly called out to the little boy when he stopped himself. The little boy was followed by five more of similarly indeterminate age. Three of them were little girls.

            “What the fuck is this?!” Dennis called. “You little shits! What the hell are you doing?”

            The children completely ignored the trio and moved in a line to the east, towards the structure. When Roy glanced over to the mammoth structure, his mouth went dry.

            A bonfire had been built in its center. Flames danced high above the other children’s heads. Yes, there are more, he noted. Six other children stood at the structure’s center. Three small bodies used blankets to fan the flames. The other three danced with streamers in their hands. Roy saw that the other three were also girls.

            Though he knew he shouldn’t, Roy led his group over to the structure. The heat was intense and they crouched low to shield themselves and watch.

            All of the children danced and swayed to unheard music. They flew their streamers in the air as high as their arms could reach. They chanted in a strange tongue. When they began to disrobe, Roy felt the urge to flee. He could not. The sight so transfixed him that his feet refused to move. He could only watch the orange flames lick skyward.

            Travis and Dennis were not held by this strange paralysis. They stood and walked towards the ritual. Roy wanted to call out. To stop them. He feared they did not see the twisted, menacing face in the flames.

            Travis and Dennis entered the circle and immediately started to hassle the kids. The children didn’t seem to notice the two morons but the face in the flames did. It stared with malice upon the two intruders. Travis pushed one of the kids and, in an instant, he and Dennis rose high in the air as though pulled by marionette strings. They looked about at the magic occurring around them. Roy looked on in horror. His horror only rose with what occurred next. Before his very eyes, Travis completely vanished from existence. Dennis’ fate was far more painful. Dennis screamed as one of his shoulders was dislocated by an unseen force. His screech reached fever pitch when the arm was wrenched from his body. Steaming blood rained down on the entranced children.

            Roy screamed uncontrollably. The next few minutes were a complete blur. He didn’t remember running for the car. Didn’t remember tearing out of the property like a madman. All he remembered was stopping on the side of the road and passing out when he felt safe.

            Roy’s final two weeks were paranoid. Sleep evaded him. Children terrified him and everywhere he went, he was followed by that face in the flames. When he finally put the gun in his mouth, closed his eyes, and pulled the trigger, he thought peace would greet him. He instead met that face in the flames and knew his suffering would be eternal.