Blake Hollow Barn Novels & Stories

He denied it instantly, "You must've got the wrong person. He's at home all the time." Yuna smiled. "Really? I don't think I saw him the last time I went home. He must be seriously ill. "Is he alright? I'm friends with Dr. Storm. Should I call him to check on Blake?" "It's fine." Herbert turned the offer down. Someone chimed in, "Speaking of which, my son told me yesterday that Mr. Blake is having a party on a yacht at Wellstone River." Herbert nearly lost it. "Mr. Blackwood, could your son be mistaken? Didn't Mr. Feron say Mr. Blake is resting at home?" Liam said.

RONNELL POV I pulled up in front of Blair's house and parked at the driveway. I had never been here before. From the background check I had done on her, I had known that she owned a home, but I hadn't let myself look any further into her. Nor had I come up with a reason to drop by on an evening or weekend despite repeated temptation. Blair lived in a two-story craftsman. Its modest exterior provided little hint from the outside. There wasn't a landscape, a crumbling porch, painting chopping off the rails and trim. The windows couldn't have done much to regulate the temperature. They had to be at least forty years old, and only half had a screen on them.

inted. For a time, I saw only sheets of water. Then there was a flicker of light. It grew stronger as we approached. Through the rain, a faint neon sign read "Lakeview Inn." Blair steered the vehicle into the parking lot. The tires crunched on gravel, spraying water into the air. He parked into a place near the office and turned off the engine. For the moment, We sat in silence. The rain battered on the roof. I could hear Blair's rapid and shallow breathing. "Well," he concluded. "This isn't quite what I had planned." I looked at him. Water rushed down the windows, blurring the view outside. It made Blair's face appear odd, almost liquid. "What did you have planned?" He shrugged, quickly lif

“Well, I’ve got your back. Let’s see what secrets the Blackstone Pack holds, then.” As they approached the pack house, Kane’s sharp eyes took in the looming structure of the Blackstone mansion. It was large, formidable, its stone walls framed by tall, ancient trees that created an eerie canopy around it. The pack house sat high on a hill, almost hidden, as if it wanted to keep its secrets close.

We move through the western half of the town, Rose taking dozens of photos, continuing to narrate into her little recording device. We discover a building stacked with shelves and barrels of preserved goods, a springhouse with a couple of bottles of spoiled milk, and an empty barn that smells like cows. “So, they left the food?” Shayne asks, frowning as she steps into the barn and looks around. “But they took the animals?” “Apples can’t walk,” Tommy mutters.

Some of the walls had gaping holes in them, the wood rotting around the edges from years of decay. A lone wooden wind mill sat erect next to it. The blades had long fallen off and sat scattered at the base of the hexagon body. The wood on it's body was in greater shape than the barn, but it was still just as faded. It was very sad to look at, and the moon light only made it look that more pitiful and haunting looking. But it's the best spot for a hideout, especially when there in a few injured parties. Why would any one want to hide out in a place that has little to no coverage? But it was bad luck for them if a storm happened to pass by, it would make the situation for Jerimiah and Maxwell

I was a fucking kid. “We always stayed in a barn a few hundred yards outside the stone circle. I showed you photos of the barn once and you said it looked like a place old people die in. It was stuck in some forgotten era and didn’t even have a TV! There were about twenty houses on the road, all backing onto fields, and yet we spoke to nobody from any of them. We got funny looks off the neighbors a few times, but that was about it.

It was time to tell him my terrible secret that I even kept from Sebastion. The grass crunched under our feet as we approached a large, and disfigured barn. It sat in the middle of a meadow well over run with weeds and tall grass. The roof caved in the middle, making a giant hole. The windows had long since shattered, only leaving a frame in it's place. Crows cawed loudly and took off in a flash, dozens screeching as we approached. We where well outside the village limits. No one would be here unless they where absolutely spying on us.

“We’re going to have to update the maps, Tal.” All four men came to a standstill and stared over the grasslands in amazement. A homestead streamed smoke steadily through a stack-stone chimney. The building itself had been built of mud-packed logs, creating a sturdy, rustic appearing, comfortable home. A fence contained a herd of sheep, frisky lambs dancing in between them in play. From the half-built barn to the side came the sound of construction, two men visible as silhouettes on ladders. “Trying to finish before the season turns,” Thaelen murmured.

Half-shrouded by a broken overhead bulb no one ever fixed. Before he could sit, she was there. Raven. Her heels tapped softly, black lace gloves on her hands, a bottle of whiskey balanced against her hip. No smile. Not at first. She poured him a glass—slow, careful, like it mattered. Reyes stared at the glass. Then at her. “The farmhouse—Bramley Lot—it’s gone,” he said. “They burned it. Nothing left but bones and ash.” Her hands froze for a second. Then she finished pouring and set the bottle down.