DARK COUNTY (14 page)

Overnight, the wheat had sprouted and grown about eight inches. That sort of growth would normally take weeks, yet this had happened in the space of one night.

He remembered the words of the note.
Your crops will grow quicker and stronger than ever before. This is our gift to you
. The builders of the fence had not been lying about that part. He looked at the wooden ladder propped against wall of the farmhouse, and the rest of the note sprang to mind.
What grows in the far field is not for you. You MUST stay out of there
. There was something about the capitalisation of the word
MUST
, the emphasis they obviously intended to convey. If they had not been lying about their ‘gift’ to him, perhaps he was best to heed the warning, at least for the time being.

The wheat continued to grow at the same increased rate. Not only that, so, too, did his potato crop and the sprouts. If you looked first thing in the morning, the plants would have doubled in size by the evening. Within in a week David had to hire in teams of labourers to help him harvest the crops. From nothing to harvest in a week, this was an astounding reward for giving up his smallest field.

The unseasonal nature of the harvest was not unnoticed by some of the hired men. They asked him how he had managed to get the crops to grow so early. He lied and said that he was trying a new technique involving sowing earl and using different fertilisers. Most of them seemed to buy his story, and those that didn’t were just happy to be receiving a good wage at such an unusual time of the year.

He sold his crops, feeding the buyers the same new technique story. He assured them that it was an all natural process, and that the produce tasted better than ever before. The buyers with an eye for profit accepted this and gladly bought his crop.

As soon as the harvest was over, David planted another crop in each of his three remaining fields, the next morning the seeds had begun to sprout. He was convinced that by the end of that week he would be able to do another harvest, he would have to hire in completely different labourers and sell to different buyers in order to avoid awkward questions, but this second crop would solve all of his money problems. It would save the farm. The loss of the far field really was a small price to pay, well, that and the loss of sleep.

Every night the noises and lights returned, with the deafening sound of machinery and the blinding bright lights. He had given up even trying to sleep in his bedroom, it was just impossible with the lights. Instead, he had moved into his parents’ old room at the front of the house. With the door shut, this room offered some respite from the lights, but little from the noise. He tried wearing earplugs, but they were uncomfortable and only seemed to remove some of the higher frequency noises, not the low rumbles and thuds.

Most nights he sat awake, reading or watching TV with the subtitles on, trying to block out the incessant sound of machinery. Each night, though, as the sun rose, the sounds would cease. It was only then that David managed to get a little sleep, but with so much to do in the fields, he couldn’t allow himself a full night’s sleep. He was tired, but grateful to his mystery benefactors.

Halfway through that week, as his second batch of super crops began to reach maturity, he went out into the far barn to look for some of his dad’s old tools. When he emerged, he looked towards the shining metal fence. What he saw made him drop the old toolbox in surprise. There, stood watching him, was a tall slim man in a long dark coat and wearing a wide brimmed hat. The figure was too far away for him to make out any of his features but he was just stood watching him.

Was this one of the people who was responsible for all of this? If so, David felt like running over there and kissing them. He decided, though, that a friendly wave was a much better way to go. He raised his arm and smiled at the figure. For a few moments, the figure remained motionless, just observing him, then slowly he raised his arm and returned the gesture. David nodded then lowered his arm; the figure turned and ran towards the copse. Part of David wanted to follow this stranger. He wanted to know who he was, and why they had chosen him. He thought better of this, though, he couldn’t afford to be too curious, otherwise they might reclaim their gift.

David felt simultaneously elated that his money problems were disappearing and exhausted from the lack of sleep. However, he could not wait to take the cheques into the bank after the next harvest. He wanted to see the look of disappointment on that smug prick Porter’s face as he realised the bank would not be taking the farm from him. He thought even though it was only Wednesday he might head out into town that evening, to celebrate his new found success, and drink a toast to his mysterious helpers.

He did just that, he drove his four by four into Sleaford at about seven thirty, he would leave it there overnight, and get a taxi home. He first went to the Barge and Bottle and ate his first proper meal in weeks. He loved their deep fried brie, which he had as a starter, followed by a mixed grill, and for dessert, he opted for the baked cheesecake. After the meal he sat and had a few drinks in the Barge, but decided to move on quite quickly. It was a reasonable place to eat, but he never enjoyed it much as a pub. Instead he crossed through Money’s Yard and walked up Southgate and went to the Nag’s Head. This place had gone down hill recently, complaints about noise from petty neighbours meant that they never opened the small club they had upstairs anymore. This had led people to drink elsewhere, but David still liked the place. He took a seat at the bar and ordered a pint of John Smith’s. He had all night, there was no need to hit the whiskey just yet.

He had a pleasant enough night, there were a few familiar faces out and about and he enjoyed the company and conversation. There was more variety of people in town than in the village pub. In there, you were guaranteed to see the same few faces night after night. By the time the Nag’s closed at midnight he was feeling quite well oiled. Not paralytic, but pretty tipsy. He supposed part of it was his good mood and the company. Of late, he had been drinking to ease stress and worry, not for enjoyment. He walked up Southgate to the taxi rank near the train station. He recognised Alan, the taxi driver who lived in the village, waiting at the rank and walked over.

‘Hello, Mr Barker,’ Alan said with a smile as David reached his window.

‘Evening, Alan, how much to get me home?’ David asked.

‘Eighteen pounds unfortunately, Mr Barker,’ Alan said. ‘It’s after midnight.’

‘No problem, Al,’ David said getting into the passenger seat. ‘Money is not a problem tonight.’

The drive from the taxi rank to his farm took about fifteen minutes. David asked Alan about his family, how they were and so on. Alan told him, in depth, how each of them was. David sat and listened, he had forgotten just how many children the taxi driver had, but still it was more company and conversation, and after the months of isolation at the farm, it was even a pleasure to listen to Alan bang on about his kids.

When they reached the farm, David pulled out his wallet. He handed over a fifty pound note and told Alan to keep the change. At first, the taxi driver refused, saying it was too much of a tip, but eventually David persuaded him to take it. David stood out the front of the house, inhaling the pleasantly warm air. It was so still and quiet. He checked his watch and saw that it was nearly quarter to one. The commotion in the far field would begin in an hour and a quarter—two in the morning, every night, on the dot.

He found himself, in his inebriated state, getting curious as to who his mysterious friends were? Why they had picked him? And just what the hell were they doing in the far field? He had seen that figure by the fence that morning; they had waved at each other. The figure had been dressed oddly for a farmer, in a long dark coat and a wide brimmed hat. To David he had looked more like a spy than a farmer.

The Government. Was that the answer? Were they conducting some cloak and dagger experiments in the far field? Something to do with genetically modified crops, perhaps? There had been a huge backlash against that sort of thing in the media, so it would explain the secrecy. Or, maybe they were testing some kind of super fertliser, something that could make crops grow from seed to harvest in a week. That would explain his crops.

What were the potential dangers of this, though? David had already started selling his crops. If they were the result of some top secret Government experiment then there could be health risks. The public were so conscious about their food at the moment, what with the whole horse meat in beef burgers panic. What if the crops he sold drove you mad or gave you cancer? The Government would deny all knowledge and he would be left taking the flack, with no answers to give. The money he was making would be worth nothing when the lawsuits started. He would be ruined.

Suddenly he felt less genial towards his helpers, after all, they could easily be setting him up for the fall if everything went pear shaped. He needed to know what was happening in the far field, and he needed to know right then.

He took the ladder that was still propped up against the front of the house. He walked with it around the house, across the courtyard, and past the barns and outbuildings. He then headed towards the metal fence at the southern edge of the far field.

He propped the ladder up against the fence and started his ascent. To his pleasant surprise, the ladder reached all the way to the top of the fence. He tried to peer down into the field, but it was a new moon and the light was dim. He wished he had brought a torch out with him, but he did not have time to go and get one and come back. The fence itself was actually more like a wall. It was thick enough for him to sit on at the top and dangle his legs over the other side. Sober, he might have thought how dangerous this whole thing was, but in his current state he decided to pull the ladder up and set it down on the other side. He began to climb down.

He stopped with a jolt half way down. He had heard a sound, a sound that made no sense, not in a field at night. He was sure he had heard the faint cry of a newborn baby. He listened intently for a few moments, waiting to see if the sound came again. It did not. He figured that it must have been a sound from one of the houses down the lane, carried on the wind. Sounds had a funny way of traveling at night, especially in such a flat area.

He continued his descent and stepped off the ladder. The ground below him felt like normal earth. He looked around. In the dim light he could make out rows upon rows of dark shapes. They were plants of some kind, though he could not imagine what. They each stood at least ten feet tall, and their stalks were as thick as a young birch tree. They had large, fanning leaves. To David they most resembled palm leaves, though they were completely the wrong shape, far too rounded. Each plant also seemed to hold about five strange lumpy fruit, about the size of marrows. In the gloom, he could not make out much detail. He remembered that he had a lighter on him. He had officially given up smoking years ago, but still carried a lighter whenever he went on a night out, as he would indulge in the odd cigar. He began searching his pockets.

There was a scuttling sound off to his right, about fifty yards away at a guess. There was no way in this light he could possibly see what it was. He knew full well, though, that the area was full of rabbits and foxes, both of which would find a way into the field under the fence.

He continued his search for the lighter. When he found it, he walked closer to the nearest plant to him. He stood in front of it and struck the wheel on the Zippo. The flickering light of the flame illuminated the plant a little. David couldn’t be sure, because flames have a way of distorting colours, but he was pretty sure that those palm like leaves were blue. In all his life, even in his time at university, he had never heard of a plant this size with blue leaves; come to think of it, he couldn’t remember ever hearing of any plant with blue leaves.

The scuttling sounds came again, closer this time, and there were more, they were off to his right and left now. He felt a little unnerved; rabbits would usually run a mile at the merest hint of a human, not get closer. He now suspected they were definitely foxes, and if there were enough of them, they’d be able to give him some nasty bites.

‘Piss off!’ he yelled at the top of his voice. It worked; he heard them scurry away at the sound.

He re-struck the lighter and continued to examine the plant. This time he focused on those large lumpy fruits. They were dark green, and mottled with a deep red. They were fascinating. They had a rounded piece at the top that was attached to the plant by a thick stalk, like on a pumpkin. This flowed into a longer section, which did quite resemble a marrow. Four long, thin prongs protruded from the midsection. It was almost shaped like a person. He remembered stories from his childhood of mandrakes, the living, humanoid plants that screamed when they were pulled from the ground. He was sure that in the stories, though, they had been some kind of root vegetable, not a fruit that grew on trees. He was not sure if they were even real, or just some old wives tale.

The scuttling returned in force, there must have been at least half a dozen foxes out there in the darkness. They had edged closer to him this time.

‘Shoo, you bastards!’ he screamed at the top of his lungs, hearing his voice echo around the field as it bounced off the metal wall. Once more, they scurried away.

David struck the lighter again, the wheel was getting hot now, but at least due to the heavy, metal casing, the lighters body remained cool. He looked at the fruit again, moving even closer. He held the light against the top of the fruit where the pumpkin like stalk joined the plant. On this rounded section there were a series of raised bumps and slits, he looked carefully and saw how much they resembled a rudimentary face—eyes, yes, but closed; a nose, yes, but small and a mouth, narrow and shut.

He felt a chill run down his spine, he had no idea what these plants were, but they made him feel uncomfortable. Yet, with his lighter in hand, he could not stop looking at it.