[2006-06-14—01:17]
It was a small farm on large acreage, with not enough people to work it to turn it into a larger farm. The land that was worked though, provided sufficiently for the few people who did live there and work it. The farmer himself was in his early forties and with him were a wife, two children, and a single hired hand—of sorts. His wife was not the mother of his children, a nineteen year old daughter and a fourteen year old boy, though she had been with the family since a year after the death of his first wife in childbirth—neither she nor the baby managed to complete the birth. Their mother had died when she was eight and he was three and though her memories of her mother were clear, there were not many to be had. He only had two memories of his mother. One of her face lit gently in the late afternoon sun with the lone large tree that grew in front of their house behind her in the background. She was smiling and seemed happy, and he thought he remembered being so too. The other one he could never fully recall, at least while he was conscious. It always brought him straight out of sleep in a cold sweat, breathing heavily. Every time he thought he heard screams, or at least he thought he remembered hearing screams, but the memory of hearing screams faded all too quickly and he was never sure if he actually had heard screams. Partly, this was because the screams he thought he remembered hearing were from two women, or at least he thought they were two women. One he was sure was his mother, yet the other he couldn’t figure. It didn’t sound like his sister, even when they were children, and it also made no sense that the screams he though he remembered weren’t screams of pain or agony – not at first – they were screams of fright and terror; pure terror.
[01:44]
