My family used to own a farm; it was one of those farms that were passed down from generation to generation since people first started staking claims in the new country. By the time my dad inherited it, the place was rather run down and wasn’t actually being used to farm anything. Dad was a mechanic, not a farmer, so he spent most of his time working on machines and letting the property go to hell. The grass grew to knee length level, the barns began to fall down, and the fields were dry and barren.
Growing up, I was never a fan of living out there in that old house or on that old property. It was nice to visit my grandparents every summer, but living there was another story. There was just a strange feeling like something wasn’t all that right or normal. You know that indescribable feeling you get when a place just feels…wrong. Especially so any time you went out by that old drainage pipe.
See, there was always a local myth surrounding that pipe. Everyone in our little community knew about it, too. They said that a little boy was once out walking the roads after school and was struck by a car. The car never stopped and the boy was thrown into the ditch just off the road. They say that he crawled, battered and bruised, into that draining pipe. That’s when the rain came. Most people claim that his body was never found, while others say it was washed up miles away, being taken by the current.
I don’t know whether or not that story is true, but I do know there’s still a boy in that pipe. How do I know that? Well, I saw him once, that’s how. It was the dog days of summer, just before school started back up. I was out in the yard, catching lightening bugs, when I heard thunder rolling in off in the distance. But I heard something else, too. A voice of a little kid whispering, the sound echoing off the pipe, and I went to investigate.
But the closer to the opening of the drain, the more I realized that I was making a huge mistake. I saw the shape of a little boy in the darkness of the opening, and noticed that he’s eyes were glowing a strange color of orange. My own eyes widened to an incredible size and all it took for me to book it back up the driveway was the figure to reach its little pale arm towards me.
I still think about what I saw that evening, the image of it burnt into my mind at a young age. A wet, white, cold looking little boy with burning eyes who seemed to want me to join him in that pipe. How could I ever forget that?