A Dream
When Nicole and her fiancé, Sonny, first saw the farm and house, they nearly cried. The house was a large, beautiful cream-colored thing with dark gray aluminum roofing, a wraparound terracotta porch, 5 bedrooms, and 1.5 bathrooms.
The property – it came with three acres – and the price were a dream even though the corn looked a bit odd to Nicole. Just enough for a small batch of crops, a vegetable garden, and a pen for who knows what animals, Nicole had thought when she first took it all in from the large kitchen window. Sonny had been outside on the top step of the front porch.
Nicole watched him, wondering if they were on his mind. Sonny had come from a farming family but had a falling out with them several years ago. They had “sold out,” as he saw it when they changed their farming and business methods.
Years of fighting had ensued until finally he left, swearing never to return or farm again. When Nicole had shown him the listing for this place, he’d simply replied, “Anything for you.” Nicole knew he wasn’t loving the reminder, but as always, he put her desires ahead of his own. She called out to him just then and smiled warmly.
* * *
On the first night, Nicole stood by the kitchen window washing the last of the dishes, procrastinating. The expanse before her was dark but for star- and moonlight bouncing off the fields. It was one of the most beautiful things Nicole had ever seen.
Just as she thought, maybe the dark here isn’t so bad, the tiniest, almost imperceptible dust up at the side of the house caught her attention. Nicole felt her face warm, and her throat tighten.
She jumped to turn on the porch light, simultaneously yelling for Sonny and letting the plate she was washing slip from her grasp. The sound of the plate bursting as it hit the floor, and her yelling, brought Sonny stumbling down the stairs.
“There’s, there’s someone by the house,” she managed to eke out. Sonny grabbed their security baseball bat and ran out outside. He felt no hesitation – Nicole did not scare easily – as he ran around the house inspecting every inch. Nicole felt dizzy as she held her breath, kitchen knife in hand.
Just as lumps of dread began to form in her throat, Sonny popped back around the side of the house and entered the house with a slam of the door.
“It may have just been an animal, babe,” he said, choosing not to tell her about the footprints by the back porch. He was moseying around earlier, after all.
This is silly, she thought to herself. The two stood there for several seconds, both with darting eyes patrolling the dark outside the window before sharing an awkward laugh. Sonny wrapped his arms around Nicole and squeezed tight, then searched her eyes.
The two still shared a modicum of anxiety at the perceived intrusion of their new home but wanted to comfort each other. She buried her face in the crook of his shoulder, took a deep breath of him, and instantly felt comforted.
Nicole decided to write. Writing was like her comfort food. She sat at the simple, black painted mahogany four-post desk. It was small, but efficient, and faced the fireplace. It wasn’t lit, but she enjoyed the idea of the feel and sound as she wrote.
Unsure yet if it was in working condition, Nicole purchased a Woodwick candle instead that gave at least the sound of a crackling fireplace. The desk, like her candle, was new and so was the current twitch in her eye.
By the second day, Sonny had installed the 3-person porch swing. Nicole had watched, of course, seated on the top step. Her fiancé was 6’2″, with olive skin, dark hair and a slim, ripped build.
His lean muscles torqued as he worked in his usual tank top and jeans; hints of his spearmint and basil-scented soap mixed with sweat wafted towards her.
They made love shortly after; Nicole returning to the porch to apply her part of the decor. She lovingly adorned the porch and yard with a red chestnut wagon wheel, metal milk jugs to the left and right of the door filled with hydrangeas, toad lilies, dahlias, and wildflowers, and her handmade wreath of orange hops and leaves.
Afraid of heights, she left the ladder on the porch for Sonny to later hang the string lights on the awning and second floor window sills. She loved this house and being here with Sonny, and the thought of owning a small farm, but not the dark.
She loved waking to the rising sun coming through the windows, unencumbered by a skyline of city buildings, and the rustling of the wind through the tall corn stalks on her morning and afternoon walks.
In the late hours of the third night, however, she looked out at the open darkness and her eye twitched again, ever so slightly. A small shudder unintentionally puttered out as she took it all in – the stars, the night, and the now partly dying corn. Nicole felt Sonny press up against her from behind and gulped down a small yelp.
“Sorry, love, didn’t mean to scare you,” he whispered into her ear. It did not escape him that Nicole had been jumpy the last few nights, but he knew she wasn’t ready to talk about it yet. She didn’t like appearing weak, and so he decided to help ease her anxiety in more subtle ways.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she said wobbly. Then she reached up and snapped the shades shut, turning to be enveloped in his large, muscular arms. Nicole loved him in his white tank tops and Levis. You’re fine, she told herself silently as Sonny gave her a big squeeze, then slowly ran his hands up and down her back.
“Let’s go into town tomorrow night, explore a bit,” Sonny said, hopeful.
“Yes! I could use a couple of things – make this place a bit more cozy,” she said. Nicole felt excited at the prospect of cozy blankets, scented candles, and maybe a new cute coffee mug. She needed… Something. “Is the corn dying, or are the animals getting the best of it? We need a scarecrow,” she said.
“Are we keeping the corn?” Sonny asked, bemused, knowing Nicole was more in love with the idea of a farm than actual farming.
“I don’t know, but even if it’s just for decoration. What’s a farm without a scarecrow?” Nicole giggled.
Sonny laughed from his belly at that. “You’re hilarious, city girl,” he chuckled, “but okay.”
“I mean… Why not continue to grow it? We could sell it. How much work can it be?” She asked. Nicole wondered if Sonny noticed that she was rambling now.
“Honey, let’s not get carried away. We didn’t buy this farm to farm. You always dreamed of a farmhouse and land and a beautiful, quiet place to write. And I have a store to run,” he added.
Nicole sighed, knowing he was right, but let her mind drift to the morning light on the fields. She pecked him on his sun-kissed cheek and smiled. He smiled back, and Nicole’s face warmed. “Your smile is like the sunshine babe,” she said, and she meant it. He was her only light and sanity in the evenings.
***
Feeling only peckish on their fifth night, they had a simple dinner of buttered pasta with garlic and bread by candlelight. Her eyes floated nervously toward the open window. She reached up but decided not to touch her face as her eye twitched, harder this time.
Then, for the first time, Nicole noticed the scarecrow with his red and blue plaid shirt, dark faux denim pants, big straw hat, and pleasant face. She smiled tentatively, trying to remember Sonny putting it up. Nicole stood up, faster and harder than she meant to, making the chair screech loudly.
She walked briskly to the window, glancing at the scarecrow once more, then snapped the blinds shut. “Babe, I need a bath. The locks – doors and windows, please – before you head up?” she asked.
Of course, Sonny was already on it. It had become part of his nightly ritual since the “incident.” He wondered if it was time to say something.
Nicole hoped the essential oils and warm bath would assuage her anxiety. By this night, her fears were a howling wolf. It would be difficult to pretend to sleep for a fifth night in a row, especially as Sonny held her.
When did he buy these? she thought to herself as she eyed rose soap petals by the bath, not recalling Sonny buying them on visit to town the night before. Once in the bath, Nicole took several deep breaths, not quite able to shut her eyes.
She breathed in as deeply as she could, focusing on the weight of her limbs as she lifted them out of the water and submerged them again.
“Babe, when did you have time to put up the scarecrow?” Sonny yelled from their bedroom. Nicole’s eye twitched. Four nights of very little sleep had her jittery, and apparently, forgetting things.
She concentrated hard, willing a memory of erecting the scarecrow to form in her mind. Her heart rate quickened and suddenly she lifted herself from the bathtub, spilling water, oils and soap rose petals all over the floor. Slipping naked, and almost falling, she rushed to their bedroom.
“Sonny.”
“Yes, love. Done already,” he asked, smiling at her naked body and eyeing what looked like a rose petal sliding down her toned abdomen. Nicole had been holding the towel but forgot to wrap herself in it.
With a smile and a devilish look in his eyes, he sauntered toward her, but she moved past him quickly towards the window. She wrapped the towel around her as she stood by the window with her eyes squeezed shut and willing both to stop twitching.
“Sonny.”
“Babe, come here,” he said with his come-hither voice. Sonny walked towards the window to pull her to the bed.
“What did you say before… About the scarecrow?” she asked him, voice trembling and with her eyes still closed.
“I asked when you had the time to put it up. I’m supposed to be the put-things-up-er around here, you know,” he said, his voice trailing off as he realized there was something wrong. She used her index finger to pull the curtain aside ever so slightly.
“Sonny, where’s the scarecrow?” she asked. This time her eye twitched and her stomach rolled.
“What?” He peeked out of the window just a half second later. The scarecrow was gone, and he had almost missed it… The shadow of someone in a large straw hat disappearing around the side of the house. “Oh God,” he didn’t mean to say aloud as he stumbled backwards.
Nicole’s heart drummed in her ears, and she must have been hyperventilating because she couldn’t feel her lips. Before she could ask, Sonny was making a beeline for the bedroom door. “Stay here, lock the door, and call the police,” he yelled as he ran down the stairs.
He gripped the bat, hands already sweating, but ready for a fight. Cursing himself for not paying closer attention, he flung the front door open, but did not leave it ajar. No one is getting in here, he thought to himself as he swung it shut. Sonny’s eyes swept the corn field, then the side of the house as he ran as stealthily as possible.
He ran low to the ground, taking in every sight, sound, and smell. All the while, he questioned everything he had heard and seen over the last few days. He questioned not asking Nicole what had her so spooked, and deep down he knew this place wasn’t right for her. He even questioned whether or not he had locked the back door.
This time, he knew the footprints leading up onto the porch were not his own. “Oh God,” he murmured as he eyed the open back door. His mind went blank.
“Sonny, please. Where are you?” Nicole whispered, now in the fetal position in the corner of the room. Her breath labored; she was frozen in place. She could smell her sweat, taste bitter anxiety, and hear footsteps heading up the stairs and towards the bedroom.
The seconds felt like days.
Thump.
“Our father, who art in heaven.”
Thump.
“Hallowed be thy name,” she whispered, quietly sobbing.
“Nikki,” a low-gravelly voice whisper-sang into the dark room.
Just as Sonny reached the top of the stairs, he heard a loud scream. Rushing forward, he caught the menacing smile of a face as it lowered out of the bedroom window. He fought the urge to chase after them knowing he had to lay eyes on Nicole. Sonny scanned the room frantically before finding her in the fetal position beside the bed – something breaking inside him.
Why don’t I hear sirens? Sonny thought as he scooped her into his arms. They sat there for a few moments; Sonny criss cross legged on the floor with Nicole rocking in his lap.
He reached for his cell phone on the nightstand and dialed 9-1-1.
***
The police officer took their statement, all the while failing at masking his disbelief. They were advised to lock up, get some rest – to which Nicole audibly scoffed – and look over the house for missing items with fresh eyes in the morning. Both could not quite understand how this was their only recourse. Sonny thanked the officer, then locked the door behind them.
Nicole sat at the table with her knees under her chin, eyes squeezed shut. She felt paralyzed as Sonny continued to check every door and window. Then, she felt his hand squeeze her shoulder and usher her up to bed. He held her hand as she trailed behind him.
Sonny tucked Nicole into bed, building a cocoon around her made of throw pillows. Then, he pulled up their moon chair close to the bed and snuggled in for the night. Nicole’s eyes were puffy and red, and she felt her eyelids becoming heavy. How can I sleep after that?
“Babe, you okay,” Sonny asked, though not quite sure what answer he expected or wanted. A small part of him wanted to yell. Why hadn’t she defended herself?
Where was his strong fiancé who once fought off a mugger in a Harlem street? Why hadn’t she called the police, at the very least? He both disliked the helpless person she seemed to be melting into and himself for feeling that way.
Nicole wasn’t sure if it was the lack of sleep, the scary experience of having her fears requited, or knowing Sonny would probably stay up all night watching over her, but for the first night since they moved into their dream house, she slept.
She had the kind of sleep where there are no dreams, or memories of tossing and turning, or that awkward, lazy feeling of hoping that urge to go to the bathroom would just go away. Nicole had the kind where a puddle of drool was awaiting your wake.
And Sonny had not slept. Instead, Sonny had lied there, arm tingling under the weight of his head, replaying the night’s events in his mind; he cursed himself over and over.
As the sun rose, Sonny’s jittery feeling began to subside. He stared toward the window wondering what to do next. Should they leave? Should he look up crime statistics for the town?
He wasn’t sure the man had time to steal anything, so Sonny didn’t bother checking. Is it worse that he didn’t steal anything? “How the hell did you get down there,” he asked no one as he peeked at Nicole. For no reason at all, he hesitated before walking to the window. He wasn’t sure what he was afraid he’d see.
The ladder was laying in the grass looking as if it were spilled over. What the hell is wrong with me? He found himself checking the window locks. Sonny peeked at Nicole, an odd look crossing his face.
He went into the bathroom, fussing over everything, trying to avoid his feelings of guilt over not having locked the back door. As he brushed his teeth, he noticed the wet floor, shiny with what must have been bath oils, and speckled with rose soap petals. When did she buy those? My fiancé has a shopping problem. Sonny decided to let Nicole sleep for as long as she needed.
A part of him wanted to run to the store so that he could make them a nice dinner, but he didn’t want her to wake up and find she was alone. Instead, he went outside to pick up the ladder, pausing to wonder about fingerprints but deciding the police did not care enough to come back to check.
As he rose from the bent position, the scarecrow pole seemed to jab into his line of sight. Curious, Sonny drew closer to the pole. He physically shook his head side to side, thoughts loading in his mind. It all seemed impossible and nightmarish.
As he slowly looked from the ground near the pole to the house, he noticed it – there weren’t any footprints.
***
There was a low hum and an incessant beep – beep ringing in her head. Nicole tried to push herself from the dark and deep fog of her mind. She could feel an odd pressure on her hand and arm. Still, only darkness. The flash of a broad smile below a torn piece of dark canvas. She felt her eyes twitching and squeezing.
Then, his eyes, painted on, but boring into her, nonetheless. A scary Halloween costume, someone following her on a dark street in Harlem.
Had she seen him before? He was the only scarecrow at the party. All night, she had caught him staring, in the crowd, never really closing the distance. Then, he was there, in the street, on top of her. Nicole couldn’t breathe. Her throat tightened. Her lips numbed. Oh God! Oh God! She screamed, but only in her mind.
Her eyes flashed open, vision blurry save for a kaleidoscopic of images. The humming and beeping continued. “Sonny,” she tried to whisper. Nicole heard a gasp and then a frenzy of touches on her face and neck.
“Nurse! Doctor! Someone! Help! She’s awake,” a man yelled. Too close, Nicole winced.
“Nicole, honey, can you hear me,” a woman’s voice, with cries so thick Nicole almost couldn’t recognize it as her mother’s.
“Paging Dr. Ramos, paging Dr. Ramos,” an overhead blurted somewhere in the distance. Nicole felt panicked as she realized there was something literally in her throat.
“Don’t try to talk honey. There’s a tube –” Nicole’s mother held back tears.
“Where’s Sonny?” Nicole wanted to say, but only a garbled version of his name was audible with the tube down her throat.
“Honey, don’t speak. You’ve been through so much,” her mother trailed off, hesitant to agitate her.
Nicole couldn’t understand. Where was Sonny? What was going on? Someone come get this damn tube out of my throat. Why does my stomach hurt?
A doctor and nurse entered the room. “Nicole, we’re going to remove the tube from your throat, but you still shouldn’t try to speak,” the nurse said. Nicole nodded but signed to her mother for something to write with.
Once the tube was removed, Nicole made haste writing Sonny’s name and asking where he was. She was extremely confused about what was happening but knew he should be there.
No one would give her any real answers, she had no idea how she had gotten to the hospital, and the wiry memory of being dragged, then thrown to the ground by a scarecrow-masked man stretched in her mind. Finally, Nicole yelled, “Where the hell is Sonny?”
She instantly regretted the fierceness of her scream as her throat felt like it was simultaneously lit on fire and dragged along barbed wire.
“Honey, who is Sonny?” her mother asked, trying her hardest to hold back tears. Her daughter’s confusion was to be expected, but there was still the incident to discuss.
Just as Nicole was about to cry, the nurse and a different doctor entered the room. The doctor pulled up a chair next to her bedside and smiled at her warmly. Something about his smile made Nicole’s pulse race.
“Nicole. I’m Dr. Singh. Do you know where you are? Can you tell me what year it is?” he said slowly, then stopped to gather her answer. When she responded, he continued, “Good, good. What is the last thing you remember?”
Nicole swallowed hard, then reached for a cup of ice chips the nurse had brought in.
After sucking and chewing on the small morsels, she replied, “I – I don’t know. I want to say it’s being at my farm with Sonny, but somehow that feels wrong. I want to say… A Halloween party, but I just can’t go there either. Please. Someone just tell me what happened,” she relented. The doctor looked to Nicole’s parents who were shaking their heads.
“Nicole, who is Sonny?”
“Why does everyone keep asking me that? You must know he’s my fiancé. Mom. Dad,” Nicole said even as her own mind told her the past 6 months were a lie. Now, tears soaked her hospital gown. She watched as everyone shook their heads and eyed her with pity.
And Nicole wished for an unencumbered life, the rising sun and rustling wind of a dream.
Looking for more great short fiction? Check out these great works by MockingOwl contributors and staff.
- Hail to the Chief
- Faith and Dandelion Seeds
- Chorus of the Waiting
- Memories on a Rainy Evening
- Too Pointless
- The Girl in the Sand
Nicole Negron
Nicole Negron is a novelist, short story writer, and museum professional. Nicole works as a museum Program Manager where she oversees programming and events for four different museums. She is passionate about writing, reading, and providing accessible educational, enrichment experiences for the community. When she isn’t writing or reading, she is spending time with her husband, son, doggo, and the rest of her large family or making/using/enjoying planners, journals, and all things stationary. Nicole is currently working on an MFA in Creative Writing where she plans on revising her first novel and honing her writing acumen to write many more.
You can find Nicole on Instagram.
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