According to my younger brother, the cow refuses to sleep on his bed because he knows the truth.
He used to be the noisiest child in the house. I can’t sit still, I’m always laughing and moving around.
But since we returned from the farm last fall, something has changed.
These days, he speaks almost entirely in whispers.
He also insists on spending every night curled up next to Daisy, the cow, in the barn.
Mom finds it adorable.
Dad says he’ll outgrow it.
But yesterday night, I heard something that will always stick in my memory.
He was leaning in Daisy’s ear when I heard him whispering:
I didn’t tell them about it. I am aware that you saw, but you said nothing. Thank you.
Daisy didn’t move.
She only blinked gently, as if she understood every word.
When I asked him later, he broke down in tears.
No, not out of fear.
It seemed more like a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders at last.
He held my hand and cautioned me against opening the toolbox. Don’t let them see the photo.
I didn’t understand what he meant.
Until this morning.
Dad took the box out of the truck’s trunk, and I watched. Inside… I was taken aback. I let out a gasp.
It was awful.
I was blown away by what I saw on the one dusty photo that had been smuggled in.
The old farm image, which had a barn covered in vines, was unrecognizable to me. However, there was an issue. The barn was still standing in the photo. The one we visited in the fall of last year? It was destroyed by fire two years ago.
I inhaled deeply. When Dad realized how perplexed I was, he slightly dropped his face.
“You don’t remember this place, do you?”
“No.” I whispered in a hoarse voice. “I’m trying to understand.”
“This shouldn’t have been seen by your younger brother,” he said, a little embarrassed.
“What have you observed?” I exerted force.
He didn’t answer. He flipped the photo over. And there it was. Near the barn, in a corner, stood a shadow. There was nothing or no one familiar. A strange, almost otherworldly form, towering and dark.
A shiver ran down my spine. When I turned to look at my brother, his small figure was just barely visible at the top of the stairs.
He said almost imploringly, “Don’t open it.” His speech was hoarse, and his eyes were wide with an unimaginable fear.
“What did you see, Tim?” Quietly, I asked.
He glanced at the photo and shook his head softly.
“I can’t tell.”
“Why?”
His eyes were so focused on something that he seemed incapable of speaking. He shuddered and whispered, “Daisy knows the truth.”
It didn’t make sense. What is the reality? Tim doesn’t do things like that, particularly not with such gravity. Usually, he jokes or laughs at everything. But now there was nothing funny.
I couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling that something wasn’t quite right. Not the image itself, but what Tim did. Something had happened at the farm. Something we didn’t know. He could no longer sleep indoors because he was so afraid of it.
That night, I went to bed, but I had trouble falling asleep. I kept thinking about the picture, the shadow, and the barn fire. Why had we gone back to the farm that fall? Why had Dad taken us there after all these years?
The next morning I was at the edge of the property. The barn was now reduced to ashes and rubble. But the very air itself seemed to be charged. I walked slowly because my heart was pounding. I heard a faint murmur as the wind picked up speed. Daisy was the only person behind me when I turned around. The cow was still where the barn had been. I became icy.
I spent a long time observing her. Her eyes were heavy, as if she was hiding something from everyone. Then I understood… Tim had to share his knowledge with me. Daisy had to share her knowledge with me. The toolbox. The image, the shadow in the corner. Everything was related to everything else.
That night, I couldn’t resist. I went to Tim’s room and knocked. The barn door was open when I heard him whispering. When I quietly entered, he was snuggled up next Daisy.
“Tim, what happened?”
He didn’t answer, but stared into space. He whispered, “I won’t tell them anything.”
I took his hand. Tell me. Please. I have to understand.
For the first time, I saw a lapse in Tim’s resolve when he closed his eyes.
The last thing I wanted was to hurt anyone.
“What do you mean?”
“Even though I shouldn’t have, I couldn’t stop when I saw it.”
“Look at what?”
“The shadow.” The one in the photo. It was real.
My blood turned to ice. “What was in the toolbox?”
Maybe something in the barn. The fire did not happen by accident.
The next day, I opened the parcel. Inside are odd relics, such as pieces of old cloth, a faded image, and a sign carved into the wood. I had no idea what that meant. But Tim couldn’t sleep inside for another reason, and there was no question that Daisy was watching over him for a cause.
Since then, Tim has evolved. Though not out of fear, he nevertheless whispers. It’s a failure to understand. No one ever spoke of the box again. Some facts are too weighty to discuss. Sometimes you have to trust the stillness.
