“What happened?” Maria asks, her eyes wide.
“They were all found the next day ... dead. Nobody had any answers, and nobody could figure out who or what killed them. After that, the barn became somewhat of an attraction, cursed as it was. Rhett’s great, great grandfather blocked the property off and left the barn out there, untouched, but occasionally teens would manage to get through and find their way in ...”
“And?” I ask, unable to help myself.
“Only two lots of teens got in there over the years, and both lots were found dead the next morning. It’s said to be cursed, or perhaps someone watches over it and waits for someone to go in there, either way, nobody has been in there since, nobody has even dared to burn it down incase the curse follows them ...”
“So it’s still there?” Grace breathes.
Enzo nods. “It’s still there, but we stay the fuck away from it.”
“When was the last time someone died in there?” Maria asks.
“Long before our time, if there was someone watching and murdering people, he’s now dead but there is no way in fuck we’ll ever go anywhere near it. In all the years I’ve had the ranch, or lived on the ranch, nobody has ever entered that barn,” Rhett tells her. “Eerie fuckin’ place it is.”
My curiosity burns, and I know, I just know, that if I were a teen I would have totally gone into that barn. I was one of those children, always needed answers, always loving the unknown. The idea of a murder barn completely fascinates me, and yet it’s utterly terrifying at the same time.
I’m the crazy person who would go in there.
“Is it bad I kind of want to see it?” Grace asks, giving a nervous smile.
“No,” I say, “because I kind of want to as well.”
Rhett shakes his head. “Women, you’re all fuckin’ crazy.”
“Maybe, but you can’t deny that it’s fascinating,” I point out.
We talk for a little bit more about the barn, and then, busting to pee, I take my flashlight and head to a nearby bush to relieve myself. I flash the light around first, making sure I’m safe, and then I squat down. It’s only when I squat that I hear a rustling in the bush I’m currently using to shield me from everyone’s view. That’s when I hear the distinct hissing sound coming from deep within the bush.
I turn around and shine my flashlight toward it only to see the head of a snake peering out at me. Screaming, I topple backward, pants around my ankles, flashlight flying out of my head. Whipping my head back and forth, I scurry backward trying to get as far away from the bush as I can but not having a single damned clue where the snake is.
The very thought of that does it.
My world goes dark.
“Hey!”
It takes me a minute to come back to the land of the living, and when I do, I’m in Rhett’s arms and he’s carrying me toward camp. His big strides bounce my body as he moves, and I quickly recall the snake and the fact that I passed out with my pants down.
I reach for my pants, realizing they’re firmly up.
Oh god.
He pulled my pants up.
He pulled my fucking pants up.
Oh god.
I want to die.
I want to die a thousand painful deaths right now.
“Hey, you good? Did the snake get you?”
“No,” I squeak. “My pants ... my pants ... Oh god did you see my bum?”
Rhett pauses and looks down at me, then he carefully places me on my feet. “You’re worried about me seein’ your bum, and not the fact that you saw a snake?”
“I’m getting to the snake,” I squeak. “I’m currently concerned about the fact that everyone probably saw my bits.”
“They didn’t, I covered you up before they got there.”
Oh god.
So he saw my bits.
He saw ... oh no. Oh my god.
“You saw my fanny?” I squeak.
He stares at me, and then, he bursts out laughing. It’s a sound I haven’t heard come from him in all the time I’ve been here, and it’s a sound I absolutely love. Clearly everyone else is just as shocked as I am, because the guys are all looking at him with confused expressions on their faces, like they can’t believe he’s actually laughing.
“What’s so funny?” I cry, throwing my hands up.
“Just the way you see the world, sweetheart. It’s fuckin’ gold. I didn’t look at your ...”
He starts laughing again.
“Stop laughing at me!” I cry, stomping my foot angrily. “I could have died out there with my pants around my ankles and you’re laughing at me.”
“I’m sorry,” he chuckles, “but it’s fuckin’ funny.”
“Ugh, fuck you.”
I turn and walk back to my tent, frustrated. I hate being laughed at, even if what he’s laughing at is a little funny.