It''s crazy how things always end up back to where we started.


    “Wouldn’t Mr. Morris have noticed someone lurking around his fields on a frequent basis,” Mom asked. “He''s a nice guy and has been a good neighbor, but he doesn’t seem like the type who would rent out his land unless he was one hundred percent sure that he’d get the land back in perfect condition.”


    “Unless that wasn''t him,” I said. “What if Mr. Morris, who we spoke to, wasn''t actually the real Mr. Morris? Maybe that''s why the shapeshifter Someone was brought here. They’re great at infiltration. It wouldn’t have been just him, Suzy, and others who would have had to worry about, but his workers as well.”


    “His fields are pretty far back from the road,” Pop said, “and I bet it wouldn’t be too much trouble to keep his workers away from a section of land.”


    “It''s genius if you think like a villain,” Tony said. “You attack the town and get the authorities to worry about a populated area. Meanwhile, Suzy can do her job in the middle of nowhere, without any interruption, and no one to bother her.”


    I took it in stride, thinking it a half-baked idea, but as we considered it, along with everything that we knew and had determined seemed to put the pieces into place. Suzy had to take out the government agents. Then they needed to get the fear energy on a large scale. Once done, and with some minions looking for where Fowler’s body was located, or some other kind of information. Why not set up a shop where no one would think to look?


    Pop headed out of town, and it didn’t take long before we spotted purple, blue, and gold lines stretching across the sky, resembling something that reminded me of an Aurora Borealis, but it didn’t have the beauty that an Aurora would contain. The further we got from the city limits the brighter and more pronounced the lines and swirls became, and a tint wove them together into something I could only describe as sinister. We moved across some hills and passed some developments and then we reached the county junction.


    “Something is definitely happening,” Pop said.


    He motioned to the sky and after about a mile, I spotted ghost soldiers on horseback, and slow moving corpses resembling the stereotypical zombie trudged sluggish through the winds and didn’t appeared impeded by the ditch bank or any sections that were divided by a wire, or a solid wood fence.


    “Since we have a second,” Tony said, “I’m curious about fear energy. Is there happy energy, sad energy, nervous energy, or even, I don’t know, rage energy or magic?”


    “Based on what the last few weeks, I would say it''s possible,” Dad said.


    “I would as well,” Pop affirmed, “however, as I mentioned emotions are raw and unpredictable. They can’t exist outside of a being for every long and reactions vary.”


    “So, in essence, don’t mistake cowardice for fear,” Mom said. “And don''t mistake rage for anger when it could be desperation.”


    “Is there a translation to the motivation statements?” Tony asked.


    Pop grumbled. “When people are scared, not everyone runs for cover or curls up in a ball to hopefully go unnoticed. Reactions vary.”


    “Which would hold true for monsters,” Dad said, “as Emma pointed out, while Minotaurs are territorial. The farm is an open space, and I bet he perceived the area as an oncoming threat. Suzy hadn’t called on any ghosts but until we prove otherwise. They must have been priming the spot and when we showed up, it was the tipping point that put him on the defense.”


    “I think we’re on the brink,” Pop said. He slowed and turned on his bright headlines as fog spiraled across the road filling the fields and the underdeveloped areas that served as parking lots. We continued in silence, and the fog nearly obscured the entire area, and it was only disrupted by tiny flecks of light offered by the distant homes and a few residential subdivisions.


    “Keep your eyes open and stay alert,” Dad said, “we may encounter other Minotaurs or some creatures investigating the fear themselves.”


    “Should be quite a party,” I said.


    “Or a Monster Mash,” Tony added smugly.


    We moved up the bumpy road. Small animals were in the weeds and brush, but none had stuck around long enough to be identified as Mr. Morris’s barn, and the main house came into view from the street. The fog had lightened up, but the residual layer was still present, and it gave a fitting but unholy ambiance against the shadows of the various buildings and the larger trees I had passed when we had been there earlier.


    Pop controlled our descent down a hill and rolled cautiously to a stop on the farm grounds. The brakes squeaked twice as Dad pulled to stop and put it in the dark. The main house was dark, and a single light illuminated an empty carport. A few cats scurried toward the trees and bushes for safety as we idled and took in the scene. I spotted a few cows grazing in the manger that had been loosely repaired. The night hid the full extent of the Minotaur’s rampage.


    “Let''s go,” Dad said, “but stay close. We’re going to bolt at the first sign of any serious trouble.”


    For us Fosters, trouble came in layers, and there were several layers before we hit serious trouble, but each one was progressing worse when compared to our family’s battle plans. Pop remained seated, and we all piled out. I could smell diesel fumes and overpowering manure coming from the corral. I wasn''t sure how anyone could get used to a smell like that.


    Come out, come out wherever you are.


    “It doesn’t look like anyone is home. Do we want to try and search the house?” Pop suggested.


    Dad shook his head. “It’s unlikely they would have done anything in there, and if they happened to simply be sleeping, I’d rather not have to explain to a deputy or the Morris’s while we’re back, and late at night, all things considered.”


    “If we’re right, I’d suspect there are active traps inside,” Mom added. “Just in case a monster hunter or M.A.G.E got suspicious at some point before the strike.”


    “Or after,” I said, “They could have pieced it together.”


    “Fan out,” Dad said, “Let’s see if we can figure out what Mr. Morris has been up to today?”


    Pop wrinkled his nose. “I don’t think we need to. Has that tractor been used recently?”


    We crossed the grounds and stopped beside a large machine shop. I could smell oil, grease, and other smells I tried to ignore, but there were puddles and stains on the ground, and I could see the van’s light reflected across its fluid surface. Pop studied the tractor and risked shining a light on the engine and then the tires before looking at the machine hooked up to the back of it.


    After a minute, Pop clicked his light off. “I’m not sure why or how, but I think this thing has been run into the ground. I can smell the fumes, and visually, it’s in desperate need of fluid changes; there are parts that have been fried, cracked, or nearly mangled. It’s a bit bizarre, the whole thing can’t be over two years old.”


    I wasn''t going to question him, but that''s when I noticed the equipment attached to it. I pulled out my own flashlight and examined the blades.


    “The tractor might be two years old, but I think these blades are brand new, or very nearly,” I said.


    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    “He had this attached the last time we were here,” Dad said. “I nearly tripped over that wheel when I set off the smoke.”


    “Why have a brand-new plow or attachment on a nearly destroyed tractor?” Pop questioned.


    “It’s got to be for show,” Mom said. “Shapeshifters are actors, and this was his stage. He puts this here to keep up the pretense in the event that people come by for a visit.”


    “It looks like there are tools and parts out on that table,” Tony added, shining a light inside the machine shop. “I bet he’s got his guys working on it, so they stay away from the special place.”


    “The question is where?”


    “Since we don’t know what we’re looking for, it could be in any of his sheds or the barn,” Dad said. He had a look that showed he was piecing things together. “You’ve got something you want to hide, and you’ve got people working on your land. You can’t kill or threaten all of them, so where would you make your move? Would you keep it close by? Or would you try and hide it out in the open? Make it look like a pile of junk?”


    Those were all good questions, and as we came to the van, I heard a few cows bellow, and I turned my attention down towards some of the old tin sheds. I squinted into the darkness, and a twinkle of light caught my eye.


    “We need to head down that way.”


    I pointed towards the shed as a lone cloud plumed over a shed roof, but its source was hidden several feet past the shed, the adjacent corral, and a line of trees that had appeared near a stretch of railroad tracks.


    “He was down in the fields last time,” Tony said. The cloud began to dance side to side before adopting an erratic pattern that enlarged certain portions that began to resemble a human body. The image presented no human actions until its hands rose a few inches and then puffed away and was replaced by a translucent calf bounding up and down like a bull trying to buck off its rider. The calf raced across the sky, and as it circled a shed, I heard living calves cry out to it, and it turned away, but before I noted the splotchy black and white pattern across its body, it even had a number branded across its neck.


    Hand out from the plums. There was a calf. I could make out the black-and-white contrast and a brand mark across its neck.


    “Are you kidding me?” Tony said. “That’s a ghost cow?”


    “Looks like it,” Dad said, “and it looks like we’re onto something.”


    The calf ran in circles before taking off through the sky and down towards the fields. I couldn''t see any stars as we descended about some shed and grain storage areas. The live cattle and a few sheep approached the gates but hurried away once they realized we weren’t there to feed or tend to them. A few of them shook their heads in dismay and then seemed to resign themselves to the leftovers. Like grumbling toddlers, the animals stuck their heads through the space between two bars and took a few bites of grain. As far as they were concerned, this was business as usual, and I was happy we hadn’t seen the bull yet.


    Probably licking his wounds.


    Once clear of the shed and a large hay barn. We inched along, half expecting some kind of trap. We hit several bumps in rapid succession. The contact jostled the van, but we rebounded quickly, but each time compounded the intense likelihood that the next one would trigger something. We hit a set of bumps and then moved through a small puddle before mounting a stretch that had been cemented to provide stability for a larger shed housing several enormous bales of straw. A feed trunk sat abandoned beside tractor attachments, a buckle to scoop the grain, or a fork to stack the bales. I could hear our tires crunching the small rocks, and the light reflected across the ground, revealing patches that had been eroded over a number of years. Beyond that, we reached a single-lane road with a line of weeds running down the middle like the mane of a horse. The road separated two distinct fields before coming to a line of trees, a wide canal, and a stretch of railroad track.


    We were getting close, but now that we were here, there was no sign of the cloud or the calf. Mom rolled down her window and stuck her head out a little bit to get a better look at something. With interest, but she said nothing until she pulled herself back inside and rolled the window up.


    “I see some fresh tire tracks,” Mom said. “a lot of them, and the impressions look deep, so several tractors or large vehicles came down here, and recently too.”


    “It’s something to look for,” Dad said as we cleared the railroad tracks and found an abrupt incline that jostled the van harder than the potholes had. Our headlights spread across the open terrain. The fields showed ample evidence of the plants and crops that had been harvested. The fall weather had taken a toll. For a brief instant, I saw a section of film that was being fenced off. A decent chunk was left to be done, and I found it odd that what had been done had fallen into considerable disrepair.


    I huffed and settled back in my seat. This open space offers a lot of cover. It was brilliant to plot their scheme this far away from civilization.


    New pockets of trees were grouped and hovered over weeds or fields like decaying fingers. It was a morose comparison, but the lights caught branches, and I expected them to tighten their grip.


    I’ve dealt with my own fair share of scary monsters, but nothing has reached the level of necromancer and a dark witch.


    We passed by some ditches and various birds, and what I assumed were deer scampered off to avoid being caught in our light. The further away we got from the farm''s central grounds, I felt that we were tiptoeing into the heart of an enemy lair. We were truly cut off from any immediate help, and all we had to rely on was each other and what we had brought with us. We had strength in numbers, but we did not know what we were facing and despite my history, I was starting to feel intimidated by that unnerving prospect.


    Pop pulled the van off the road as we reached a junction where we could move to the left or proceed forward until we came to a side road that eventually connected to the main road that led to town. Once I got a sense of my bearings, I saw a falling tree line and the remnants of a recent corn harvest. Some shadows and silhouettes were beyond our ability to identify.


    He probably has animals down here, I reasoned. If I was right, none of the animals braved coming closer, and as long as one wasn’t a bull I figured we’d be ok.


    “Where do we go now?” Pop asked.


    “Let’s check for tracks or some kind of clue,” Dad said. “We don’t know how much land he has or what they may have done to prepare for intruders. Let’s do what we did up by the house. Don''t wander too far and keep a light and enforcement ready.”


    We found out in advance in a predetermined pattern. We created a half arch perimeter, which allowed each of us at a decent line at the van to jump in and take off if others had gotten apprehended. I moved a few feet and came to the edge of the high beams in less than twenty steps. I could see several piles of weeds and several square miles of open space. The plot had been prepped for something, but it didn’t seem at all sinister.


    “Being this far away, it''s pitch black,” Tony said, “I can hardly see anything.”


    “Stay alert nonetheless,” Dad said. “They’ve had unfettered access to this space, and we’re dealing with people who deal with the undead.”


    “Zombie then,” Tony muttered, “Great.’


    The silence felt like a knife hovering over my skin. I dug my foot into the dirt and then turned to the van. A moment passed. Then Tony came over to my side. And we headed back.


    “I’ve got nothing,” Mom said.


    “Likewise,’ I said. Was I wrong? Had I misread the whole situation?


    “We’d probably have a better idea of what''s going on here if we could see more than a foot in front of our faces,” Tony said. “It''s like looking through a dark curtain into a basement.”


    I smiled and brought my hand to my face, and I started wiggling my fingers.


    It was dark. Unnaturally dark.


    “Guys!” I hissed, “This is just like the never see me coming!”


    We booked it toward the van as a gritty voice yelled. “Giddy up!”


    The outburst snapped us to attention, and we hurried to regroup but hadn’t got more than a dozen steps before a figure bolted through the darkness. The movements were swift, and I barely caught a glimpse of the person before they vanished again, but I heard the click of a door, the rustling of leather, and the jingling of keys.


    “LOOK OUT!” I cried as a series of engines roared to life. I stumbled and almost fell on my butt as a large, enclosed cab tractor sped forward, trampling the ground where I had been standing. The speed was incredible, and the tractor swerved to avoid me, but not before kicking a fair amount of dust, dirt, and weeds right into my face. I spit, blinked, coughed, and did my best to brush the debris from my face. A fair amount of dust coated my tongue, and it gave me the worst taste in my mouth, and I started to gag. I heard other engines kick into gear and advance across the field. After a minute, I felt like I was back in action. But I didn''t dare move, fearful that one of the tractors would catch me before I could make it anywhere. The sheer number of them, and the amount of exhaust and smog that kicked into the air was immobilizing and terrifying.


    “Roundup,” the same voice yelled, and then, for good measure, he added, “Giddy up.”


    The words were crisp and distinct, and the tractors obeyed like a pack of dogs, and they began circling like wolves waiting for their Alpha right before they pounced on their prey. I felt the breeze across my face and hair. I closed my mouth to protect my throat and tongue. The breeze helped with the mixture of natural and automotive smells, but the reprieve was short-lived. My senses caught a thick wash of different sends from wood and lacquer and varnish. Then I smelt what I recognized as gasoline and the initial spark that had begun to smoke. One tractor stopped and I saw movement through the darkness, but only in millisecond intervals. Once, my eyes suggested I spotted a structure. I could barely make out some shapes, but then my eyes caught up with my nose, and I saw tiny flickers of orange light and the silhouette of a figure standing at the base of the structure.


    The defense had been an ambush, and we had stumbled right into the middle of it. The figure lifted its hands, and I gasped as the large structure burst into flames in a large and spectacular inferno, that mushroom cloud into the sky and drew all those energy lines into one centralized point.