Paranormal Story Archives
February 2002 Page 19
in the Barn
by Vivian S.
Back in the 1950s, when I was about 12 years old, we had a farm in the Sikeston Ridge area of Missouri. I had an egg business. My father didn't believe in allowances, so he set me up with some laying hens. From the money that I made I gathering, candling, washing and boxing eggs, I bought some strawberry plants. Fertilized with the copious amounts of compost, they thrived and produced many berries. I had a U-pick business. The money from these enterprises led to my trading horses. I learned as much as I could about breeding and caring for foals. I sold a bred mare to my coach, Mr. Mansker and guaranteed him a palomino foal. The mare had a buckskin, so I offered to return his money and take her and the colt back. He kept the unit and was happy. Mansker exempted me from gym class, and the other boys resented this so I invited them to ride with me and that smoothed things out.
One day, a neighbor boy and I had taken a ride until dusk. Ordinarily, a rider would unsaddle his own mount, but it was getting near dark and my friend had to ride home on his bicycle. So I told him that I would let him slide this time and put both horses up. I had the saddles, blankets and bridles, two in each hand, when I opened the barn door. As I swung the door open with my knee and looked up, there was a strange old man in an old fashioned wheel chair in the doorway of the barn. He had salt-and-pepper hair combed back with a widows peak, a smoking jacket with a velvet collar, a cravat with a diamond stick-pin. A Scots plaid lap robe covered his legs. I was transfixed like a head-lighted deer. I could not move. Eventually, I dropped the gear and slowly turned and walked to the house. I didn't tell anyone at supper. I got up my nerve, turned on the lights in the barn from the back porch and made my way back to the barn. He was gone.
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