Abandoned Farmhouse Novels & Stories

"Why hello young man of course we can but would you like some sweet tea or water" "No ma'am I'm good. I was wondering if you could answer some questions for me about your neighbors" "My neighbors? Sure I suppose so." "Thank you. Has anyone moved in in the past week or are there any abandoned buildings around here?" "Well let me think...a nice elderly couple moves into the log cabin about 10 miles from here and there is an abandoned house about 5 miles back down the way you came but I suppose you wouldn't have seen it hidden behind some of the trees that have grown in front of it most people don't see it unless they drive up the back ways."

Grayson response enthusiastically. "Three men, four teams. Grayson, come on." After setting up the teams to look into the other abandoned farm house, Grayson and I went to the oldest abandoned one. This farm house belonged to a retired psychiatrist. Dr. Freddy Martin died at the age of eighty-six. No wife, no kids, and no other family to claim the property. It was abandoned for so long that nobody wanted to buy the farm. It didn't take long for it to fall on ruins.

Florence's POV The farmhouse sat far from the main road, hidden behind a thicket of skeletal trees. Weeds grew tall around it, and the ground was a churned-up mess of mud and old tire tracks. The building itself looked like it was dying. The roof sagged in the middle as if a giant hand had pressed down on it. One whole side of the front porch had collapsed into a pile of rotten wood. The windows were boarded up from the inside with thick, gray planks of wood, nailed in a haphazard X-pattern.

I want us undercover—and Frost locked away for our safety and his—before the rest of the world wakes. Finally, we come across a two-story white farmhouse with peeling paint and a giant wrap-around porch that’s clearly empty. There are no cars in the drive, no animals in the pens out back, and the barn door swings on creaky hinges in the light breeze. A farm that’s fallen on hard times, maybe, and a family that ended up somewhere else. Whatever happened here, it makes no difference to me.

Across town, Elena sat in the small apartment Stephan had rented for her after her release. The space was modest — pale curtains fluttered with the evening breeze, an old sofa sagged in the corner, and the faint scent of disinfectant still clung to her clothes from the hospital where she’d last been examined. The walls were bare, yet every shadow seemed to echo the ghosts of the past three years.

Neither did I. *** We reached our destination, an abandoned farm in the desert at sunrise. The old farmhouse looked like an old man on his last legs. The shingles drooping from the roof, windows like tired eyes, watched us approaching. A front door hung on its hinges like a scowl. “This is an odd place for an interrogation,” Steven frowned and scratched his head. He picked out debris, pieces of glass and burned plastic from his mop of fair hair. I dragged the vampire’s undead body out of the SUV. “No one for miles. I’d say it’s perfect.” There was a barn at the back of the old house. I went to check it out, leaving the vampire lying in the dust.

He was dead. Taking shelter behind the only thing he could find, a decaying wooden fence that had seen better days, Gabriel crouched down and took one last look at the farmhouse. Navy awnings extended out from the windows like giant eyelashes and a curling trail of smoke rose up from the chimney. There was a horse-yard with stables, a bird feeder that looked handmade, and a pink hammock, its fringe so low that snow had dampened the tassels. Inside a shadow moved across the window and Gabriel got to his feet. It was time to move.

my mom says as we pull up to the farmhouse. The farmhouse is destroyed. Both the giant, red barn, and the house next to it we didn't see before are destroyed. All that remains are piles of simmering, black pieces of wood. What is worse than the burnt buildings are the two burnt corpses. Laying on the ground, not too far from us, are two burnt corpses. Red and still sizzling, both of the bodies look as if they are trying to crawl away, one hand far out in front and the other near the head, one leg bends while the other behind.

I’m going to change them. I take Jackson back to the packhouse around 10, and I know I should get some sleep, but something draws me out to the Whitehouse farm instead. I find it abandoned. The crops in the fields are dead. The door is hanging open. It's clear troops have still been using it as a stop-over point like Amalea and her family were never here.

“Me? Why?” A ghost of a cruel smile touched Kieran’s lips, a flash of predatory amusement. “Because I said so. Consider it your orientation. You need to understand what you’re tangled up in.” They reached the Henderson farmland as the last light of day bled from the sky, casting long, skeletal shadows across the blighted landscape. The place was a picture of decay. The fields were overgrown with thorny, skeletal weeds that clawed at their clothes as they passed. The barn listed dangerously to one side, its roof caved in like a broken spine. The farmhouse itself was a husk, its windows boarded up with rotten wood, the paint peeling away in long, brittle strips like dead skin.