At first, the babysitter did not understand what the children were attempting to tell her. That a man had emerged from the barn. That he had apparently been living in the barn. That he had gone into the woods, and, not long thereafter, a gunshot had sounded.
Why do you say he was living in the barn? the babysitter asked the eldest child, the girl. Had you seen this man before?
This was the first time she had looked after these children, and she had never known a child to have such long hair. It was as though it had never been cut.
And perhaps it hadn’t. The parents had been wearing strange, out-dated clothing. Not quite so out-dated that it marked them out as members of a religious sect but enough to indicate an inclination toward aberrant behavior.
You don’t believe us, said the girl, whose name she now recalled was Circe.
Of course I believe you, said the babysitter. Why wouldn’t I believe you? But I need to know the facts of a situation before I make a decision. I wouldn’t want to make a careless decision.
About what? said one of the boys, the youngest and dirtiest. What do you have to decide?
There were three boys and all were so blond their hair was almost white. If it hadn’t been for their difference in size, the babysitter would have found it difficult to tell the three of them apart, especially the two middle boys.
Let’s take a look in the barn, she suggested, and she took the youngest boy by the hand. Now show me where you saw the man.
Waylon, said the girl, addressing the youngest boy. There is nothing she needs to see in there.
Why don’t you want Waylon to take me into the barn, Circe?
The babysitter examined the girl, and the girl trembled.
Are you afraid to go into the barn? Why would you be afraid to go into the barn?
I’m not afraid of anything, said the girl.
The two other boys had stepped back, clearly hoping to remain uninvolved. The babysitter now directed her attention to them.
Did you also see the man come out of the barn?
Both nodded, hesitantly.
Fine, said the babysitter. Let’s go have a look. Waylon?
The man’s not in the barn anymore, said Circe. He left. He went into the woods.
And then we heard a shot, said Waylon, who was still holding the babysitter’s hand.
She gazed down at the small boy who was staring up at her and said, But that could have been anyone!
Waylon smiled. He was missing his top four teeth.
The barn lay some distance from the house and was situated at the edge of the woods. It was a large structure, somewhat taller and perhaps even a little wider than the house. If the man had been living in it, she reflected, he would have had plenty of room for stretching out.
Don’t you children ever venture into the woods yourselves? asked the babysitter. If I had such a lovely stretch of woods behind my house I’d go for a walk there every day.
Although she had directed her gaze to Waylon, it was the girl, of course, she was speaking to. It was the girl, Circe, who was her interlocutor.
The two middle boys lagged behind.
Waylon said, Let’s go into the woods and look for the man.
He couldn’t have gone far, said the babysitter.
We shouldn’t stray too far, said the girl. It’s late.
There’s plenty of daytime left, said the babysitter. Look at all this gorgeous light. How it drapes itself across the grass like that. You’re very lucky, you know, to live in such a wonderful spot.
Where do you live? said Waylon.
Me? I live in the city.
Are you married?
Stop pestering, Waylon. She doesn’t want to put up with your prattle.
They were allies now, thought the babysitter. She and the girl were the adults and the boys were the children.
When they reached the edge of the woods, they paused. It was that hour of the evening when the insects became a nuisance, landing in the corner of your eyes and getting into your nose and mouth.
Have you lived here long? asked the babysitter.
We’ve always lived here, said Waylon.
I was born elsewhere, said Circe. John, too. Garner and Waylon were born here.
Do you remember when Waylon was born?
Wasn’t all that long ago.
I don’t remember it, said Waylon.
You’re stupid, said Circe.
Do you have any brothers or sisters? asked Waylon.
The babysitter remembered her brother. Yes, she had once had a brother – but she had not spoken to him since they were children.
Do your parents know about the man in the barn? she asked.
The children looked at each other but did not respond.
I wonder where they went tonight, she said. They had on such nice clothes.
They went to help Avril, said Circe. She’s just had another baby.
Waylon said, Let’s go look for the man before it gets dark.
She regarded the small boy who stood holding her hand. Do you want to look for him in the woods or in the barn?
In the woods.
Now that we’ve come all this way, though, we may as well have a peep in the barn. Don’t you think?
The man is not in the barn, said Circe.
What’s in the barn?
Nothing’s in the barn. It’s a nothing place.
The babysitter turned and inspected the barn. Another hundred steps and they would be there, looking through its windows.
Does Avril have a lot of children? asked the babysitter.
Three or four, said Waylon.
Four, said Circe.
The babysitter regarded her for a moment. She was not unintelligent. Whatever her secret, she would not easily give it up.
The babysitter peered into the spaces darkening between the trees and wondered how far back the woods went. How deep they were.
She turned and saw that the two middle boys, Garner and John, had returned to the house. They sat on the porch steps, their thin arms wrapped around their knees, watching them. She wondered if they would wave back if she waved at them. Or would they just stare like that?
Yes, you’re all very lucky to live in such a nice spot, said the babysitter.
We like it here, said Circe.
It’s true, though, it’s getting late.
These damn bugs are eating me alive, said Waylon.
Was he repeating something he had heard his father say? wondered the babysitter. His mother? Someone else?
Where do you think your man got off to? she asked him. Where did he go?
The man from the barn? We already told you. He went into the woods.
I hope nothing terrible happened to him. You said you heard a loud noise.
We heard a shot, said Waylon.
He shouldn’t have let us see him, said Circe, her voice rising, threatening to become shrill. He should have been more careful!
The babysitter examined the girl, and the girl trembled and looked away.
We’d better go find out what your brothers are doing, said the babysitter. We wouldn’t want them to feel left out.
She squeezed the young boy’s hand and he squeezed back. She glanced into the darkness under the trees, allowing herself to rest there a moment, and then led the two young children back to their brothers.
~
Kevin Spaide has published stories in New World Writing, Witness, Wigleaf, Frigg, and elsewhere. He lives in Madrid.