Farming Fear (2 page)

Chet rose and dusted himself off, then all four teens and Bernie went into the barn and shut the door behind them. The interior of the barn was one big room. A hayloft circled the building’s high ceiling. Numerous storage stalls lined the walls, and straw covered the bare dirt floor.

A doorway on the far wall led to the horse and cow enclosure. A big, green tractor with a toolbox next to it stood in the middle of the room’s floor.
Harness and tack for the horses were stowed in a stall to the right of the main doors. To the left, a big sheet covered an object the size of a small car.

“You’ll love this,” Chet said, pulling the burlap off with a flourish. Underneath rested something that looked like a huge go-cart. It had two seats in front, a bench seat behind, four fat wheels, and an engine all the way in the back. The machine’s body consisted entirely of metal frame—it had no side panels or roof. A padded roll cage ran above the passenger compartment. Bare headlights—like bugged-out eyes—stuck out on top of the vehicle’s front bumper.

Joe scratched his blond head. “Urn . . . what is it?”

“It’s the chassis from an old VW Beetle, right?” Frank said.

“Give the man a prize!” Iola replied.

“Okay, but what’s it for?” Joe asked.

“It’s for tooling around the farm,” Chet explained. “During the work season, the farmhands use it to get to and from the fields. We call it ‘the buggy.’”

“It’s not street legal, though,” Frank noted.

“We only run it on our own property,” Iola replied. “That way it doesn’t need a license. It’s sort of a stripped-down dune buggy.”

“Goes great in the snow, too,” Chet added, “kind of like a big four-wheeler. Maybe we can run around in it later.”

“Sounds fun,” Joe said.

The four of them finished the tour of the barn, stopping to meet the horses and cows, and then they went out back to look at the rest of the property. Old snow crunched lightly under their boots as they walked across the pasture behind the barn.

“Are those the trees where your grandparents have seen shapes lurking?” Frank asked, pointing to the forest north of the pasture.

“Yeah,” Chet said, “and in that stand of pines to the east.” He pointed to the right.

“Coyotes?” Joe suggested.

“Our grandparents didn’t think so,” Iola said. “They used to see coyotes out here in the old days, but not recently.”

“Development keeps pushing the wild animals farther west,” Chet noted. “There’s talk of putting a mall or an industrial park out here.”

“Just what the world needs,” Joe said sarcastically, “more urban sprawl.”

Chet shrugged. “You can’t fight progress.”

“You said the Zuis farm is to the north beyond the power lines,” Frank said. “And Kendall Ridge Road is at the property’s west edge. What’s east beyond those pines?”

“A big sloped hill that leads down to an old factory,” Chet replied.

“Is the factory still working?” Joe asked.

“They have one or two small businesses out there,
I think,” Iola said. “It’s kind of a failing enterprise.”

“That hill next to it is great for sledding,” Chet added, “but it’s so steep, you almost need a chairlift to get back up.”

As he and the others walked back toward the house, Chet pointed out the numerous small ponds dotting the pastures to the east, as well as some old stone walls and copses of trees. “The farm was a great place to play when we were younger,” he concluded. “Lots of hiding places, for hide-and-seek.”

“Plenty of places to lurk around, too—if you’re intent on causing trouble,” Frank noted. “Let’s sit down inside and figure out where to start checking for clues.”

The others nodded their agreement, and they all walked around the barn toward the rear of the house.

As they passed the barn doors, a loud roar sounded from inside. Without warning, both doors burst open and a huge tractor barreled out, heading straight toward them.

“Look out!” Joe called. He grabbed Iola and dove out of the way.

Chet and Frank jumped aside as the tractor lurched toward them. Chet landed face-first in a small snow bank. Frank turned his leap into a roll and landed on his feet.

“Are you all right?” Joe asked Iola as he got up. Iola nodded. She looked frightened but unhurt.

Frank ran toward the tractor with Joe right behind. No one was steering, and its big engine revved loudly as it rumbled toward the house. The teens followed quickly. Bernie the dog sprinted after them, barking and running circles around the tractor.

Chet spat the snow from his mouth and called,
“Don’t hurt the tractor! Our grandparents need it!”

Joe smiled grimly as he ran. “Maybe he should be telling the tractor not to hurt us!” The Hardys easily caught up with the runaway machine; it wasn’t moving very quickly. Frank said, “Give me a boost into the seat.”

Joe clenched his fingers together in a makeshift step, and Frank put his left foot into Joe’s hands. The younger Hardy heaved, vaulting his brother toward the saddle of the tractor.

Frank caught the back of the seat and swung himself up to the controls. He reached the steering wheel and twisted it left just in time to avoid plowing into Bernie’s doghouse. The tractor lurched across the snow-crusted driveway and out toward the eastern pastures. The Morton’s sheepdog jumped out of the way of the lumbering juggernaut just in time.

Joe had fallen behind after giving Frank a boost, but caught up quickly as the runaway machine turned.

“There’s no key to turn it off!” Frank called. He pulled the choke out, and the engine slowed a bit. He tried the control pedals, but nothing happened. “Both the gas and brake are stuck!”

“Help me up and I’ll pull the distributor plugs,” Joe shouted back. The tractor was an older machine with an open-sided engine case, which made some of its wiring accessible.

Frank extended one hand to Joe while continuing to drive with the other. Joe swung up beside his brother, then reached forward toward the tractor’s nose. But the younger Hardy’s thick gloves made it difficult to seize the correct cables. After fumbling twice, Joe finally grabbed hold and pulled the wires from the distributor cap with a firm jerk.

With that, the runaway tractor sputtered to a halt. Frank and Joe sighed with relief. “Another minute, and I’d have figured out how to work the clutch on this thing,” Frank said apologetically.

“Another minute, and you’d have been in that pond there,” Joe said, pointing to a nearby snow-encrusted waterhole.

Frank nodded. “Thanks for pulling the plug,” he said. “These old machines are trickier to operate than modern ones.”

He and Joe lowered themselves to the ground, and Bernie came over and ran excitedly around their feet.

As the brothers caught their breath, Chet, Iola, and a man the Hardys didn’t recognize came running from the barn toward them. The stranger was tall and lean, with a thin face and balding head. He was dressed in grease-stained overalls, a plaid flannel shirt, and scuffed black boots.

“I am
so
sorry,” the man blurted as he and the Mortons caught up to the brothers. “I was working on the tractor and it just got away from me.” He
puffed out white clouds of breath into the snow-dappled air.

“This is Bill Backstrom,” Chet explained. “He’s one of our local farmhands. He lives just up the road.”

“Just about the
only
local hand,” Backstrom said. “A lot of the hired help don’t like these cold, Bayport winters. I do most of the farm’s mechanical work. Thanks for keepin’ this from becomin’ a real mess.”

Joe and Frank shook hands with him. “No problem,” Joe said. “We never shy away from a little excitement.”

“What in the world is going on out here?” shouted Grandpa Morton’s voice. He came dashing out of the farmhouse’s back door with Grandma right behind. They both looked worried and angry.

“We had a bit of an accident,” Backstrom replied. “I was workin’ on ol’ Bess when she up an’ leaped out the barn door.”

Both Grandma and Grandpa Morton crossed their arms over their chests and raised their eyebrows at him.

Backstrom turned red. “Don’t ask me to explain it, ‘cause I can’t,” he said. “A lot of strange things have been goin’ on around here recently.”

“What do you think might have happened?” Grandpa Morton asked.

“Well, nothin’ I was doing should have caused the tractor to barrel off that way,” Backstrom
replied. “It could be that someone got into the barn and messed with the machine somehow—jammed the throttle open or something.”

“They jammed the brake, too,” Frank added.

“Or maybe it just got iced up,” Grandpa replied. “That seems a more reasonable explanation. There’s plenty of snow and ice around here nowadays.” Bernie barked loudly, as though agreeing with his master.

“Could be, I suppose,” Backstrom said. “That part of the barn ain’t too well heated. I better take ol’ Bess back inside and get her fixed. Better fetch my coat first, though.” He hurried back into the barn to retrieve his jacket.

“Sometimes I think that man would forget his own head if it weren’t attached,” Grandma Morton said. The others chuckled.

“No harm done, I guess,” Grandpa replied. “I’m glad you boys managed to get the tractor stopped before it hurt anyone or broke anything up.”

“Let’s get back in the house before we all freeze,” Grandma said.

“What about the tractor?” Joe asked.

“I figure if it got away from Bill and ran out here, he can run it back in,” Grandma Morton replied.

As they all turned to go inside, a blue, late-model sedan rumbled up the driveway.

Grandpa Morton frowned. “Well, it figures she’d show up,” he said.

“Who?” the four teens asked simultaneously.

“Gail Sanchez,” Grandma replied, mirroring her husband’s frown, “the lady from the farm supply company.” She sighed. “She’s seen us, so I suppose we can’t pretend we’re not home.”

“Why would you pretend not to be home?” Frank asked.

“Well, she wants us to switch to her company,” Mr. Morton explained, “and she’s a bit pushy.”

“More than a bit,” Grandma added.

The car stopped near the group, and a fashionable brunette in a fur-trimmed coat got out. She took off her dark glasses and smiled at the Mortons.

“Well, what do we have here?” she asked. “A family reunion?”

“Close enough, Ms. Sanchez,” Grandpa Morton replied. “What can we do for you today?”

Ms. Sanchez flashed a perfect smile. “It’s not what you can do for me, Dave,” she said. “It’s what I can do for
you.”
She looked around the property appraisingly and quickly spotted Backstrom, who had returned from the barn and was working on the tractor. “I could set you up with a new tractor, for one thing.”

“We like our old tractor, thank you,” Grandpa replied.

“But it’s practically a
dinosaur
,” Ms. Sanchez said. “Really, I could get you very affordable payments on a much nicer one.”

“Ms. Sanchez,” Grandma Morton said, “we’ve been with our farm co-op for thirty years—”

“Then it’s high time you had an upgrade to something more modern,” Ms. Sanchez said. “You’d be amazed what my company can do for you. You can even order supplies over the Internet.”

“And have ’em delivered by a computer?” Grandpa retorted wryly.

Ms. Sanchez looked momentarily flustered. “Well, of course not,” she finally replied. “But it would be a lot more convenient than driving into town. Tell you what. I’ll drop by with some more information in the next day or two.”

“You’re welcome to visit,” Grandpa said, “but we still ain’t interested.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will be,” Ms. Sanchez said confidently. “See you soon.” She climbed into her new car and headed back down the driveway to the road.

“ ‘Pushy’ is the word I’d use to describe that woman,” Joe said.

The Hardys and the Mortons went back inside and warmed up for a while. Grandma Morton fed them hot chocolate and more cookies as they sat by the fire and chatted. Despite some careful prodding by the Hardys, the Morton grandparents avoided mentioning any difficulties with the farm.

After their snack, the four teens did some household chores before dinner. They heard the
tractor start up while they were working, and went to the window in time to see Bill Backstrom drive Bess slowly back into the barn. Bernie ran rings around the tractor, barking playfully as the machine rolled along.

Dusk came early to Bayport during the wintertime. Upon finishing their chores, the teens set the table and the Morton grandparents served a hearty farm dinner: chicken and dumplings with carrots and peas, and apple cider. A third course of cookies for dessert left everyone feeling very well fed.

After washing the dishes, they all retired to the Mortons’ living room and played games in front of the fireplace. Grandpa Morton quickly got a nice blaze going. Both Frank and Joe challenged Grandpa to chess, but neither brother managed to win. Grandma trounced Chet and Iola at Chinese checkers.

All four teens headed for bed shortly after nine
P.M.
The Hardys retired to their guest bunks on the second floor while Chet and Iola went to their usual rooms.

“I’m worn out,” Joe said, stifling a yawn.

“And we didn’t even do much regular farm work today,” Frank commented. “Tomorrow will probably be even tougher.”

“I think stopping a runaway tractor, helping to clean the house, and doing the dishes is enough for our first day here,” Joe replied.

Frank yawned. “I guess so.”

In less than twenty minutes, both brothers were sound asleep. But soon they woke with a start. At first, neither Hardy realized what had woken them up. The clock near their bunk read five past midnight. It was pitch black, inside and out.

Suddenly a piercing scream broke the silence.

Joe dropped quickly from his upper bunk to the floor. “That was Iola!”

Frank leaped down beside Joe.

“Come on!” the younger Hardy said. Despite being barefoot and in their pajamas, both brothers dashed out the bedroom door. They flew down the stairs to the first floor, and skidded to a halt outside Iola’s door. Chet, wrapping a bathrobe around his body, arrived just behind.