Farm House

By Steve Soderquist

Ten years ago a little girl was supposedly murdered. Ten years ago, that little girl got away.

Now after eight years of living on her own, feeding from garbage cans and doing what she must to survive and still remain anonymous, the lies that had been told to her have led her; her sense of vengeance and retribution, back to the doorstep of whom she considers to blame.
Those who stand in her way receive nothing of mercy, as her relentless pursuit to exact revenge on those who robbed her of her life come to a chilling close as nothing will stop her...

And no one is to be spared.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Foundations Books Publishing Company
• Release date: Jul 30, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370494842

Steve Soderquist

Steve Soderquist is the Operations Director, Chief Editor, and Acquisitions Editor of Foundations Publishing Company. He has written and published five novels, one novella and a children's short story of his own. He has edited, formatted, and worked with some of the best-selling authors of today and still insists he has the best job in the world—helping others reach their dream of being a published author.He will freely admit to his rather unorthodox style of teaching 'All-Things-English,' but the results from those he has taught in seminars, webinars, and workshops speaks for itself. He lives in Brandon, Mississippi with his beautiful fiancé, fellow author and editor/illustrator and owner of Foundations Books Publishing Company, Laura Ranger.For more information, visit FoundationsBooks.net or stevesoderquist.com

Book preview

She crawled out of the hole made for her. Her mind was dull and she had a headache.

She stood for a moment by the grave, reflecting on the past eight hours. Her feet pushed the dirt back in the place where she was thoughtlessly discarded.

When this happened, Crystal cried, her small hands balled into fists over her face.

Mommy!

She lost her jumper shorts on her way out of the hole. She still had her Powerpuff panties and tank top, but it was so cold tonight...so cold. She wondered briefly if she should try to dig up her pants.

She decided not to, sighing. Her vacant eyes stared at the fresh mound of dirt. Lost in contemplation, she could not begin to comprehend what had taken place.

She left the woods and made her way south. She thought she heard someone call her name, so she ran through the tall weeds to get away. It might be Daddy with more people to make sure she was still in the hole. Had she run to the playground, which was north of her, she would have run directly into the path of three deputy sheriff’s, but she didn’t. Had she run in any other direction but south, she would have left fresh tracks and would be safe at the police station within the hour, but she didn’t.

Her thumb was in her mouth, like she used to do when she was only three, her mind a wondering forest of confusion. Her daddy had hit her; she remembered that. It hurt; she remembered that. She remembered his big loving form over her. Then his big ham of a hand came down on her head, as she looked up with a sense of wonder and confusion. She didn't believe he would do such a thing, so she didn't try to duck.

Daddy.

He had hit her on her head then put dirt on her. Mommy didn't love her anymore. She remembered that as well. Why?

Crystal ran on for what was close to two hours. Her thumb was still in her mouth.

She found a swing in someone’s backyard and sat down, twisting lazily back and forth in the cold morning. She remembered when her daddy pushed her on a swing just yesterday—they were both laughing. She started to feel dizzy and felt exhilaration at this feeling Mommy didn’t love her anymore. She knew this now. She tried to figure out all the new feelings she was having. Fear? Helplessness? No, not quite. Something combined and fused to something more inner-twined than any the combination of emotions could begin to explain. Crystal felt first torn apart and then whole. Exploded and then reassembled. She began to feel hate.

It was as if they were the only two people on the planet yesterday. She loved her daddy. No, make that three in her world. There was Mommy, Daddy and her little sister, Jules, who was two years younger than she was.

Within the short span of eight hours, Crystal became insane.

After about an hour on the swing, she got uncomfortably cold, so got up and wandered down the street. When she saw a vehicle approaching–only two did–a big jeep, then a police car, she faded into the shadows, unseen.

She came across some laundry hanging from a line, as if it was the 1900's. Crystal remembered watching Little House on the Prairie with her family. She saw clothes hung out like this on the TV. In the show, Momma would come out and take down the wash right before a big storm was about to come in.

Crystal was a big storm about to come in.

She clothed herself in teenager’s pants and a shirt and a pair of men’s socks. Now, she looked more like a rag-a-muffin than ever, but she was warm at least.

Crystal was very hungry, but had no idea where to get food. She had no money, as the pockets of her stolen clothes were void. She wandered along for a couple miles, dodging cars. She hid behind signs, trees and sometimes just laid down in some tall grass.

She came up behind a Burger King restaurant. She plundered the dumpster. There she found what she needed. Hamburgers, fries, discarded shakes, and much more that had either passed their time of sales, or had been returned by customers. She fed. She ate ravenously of this feast. To her, it was a magnificent meal. She would have many like this.

Thirsty, she went to the side of the building and found a faucet. She drank deeply from her crouched position and stood up, her stomach sloshing uneasily from the meal and the metallic taste of the faucet.

Wiping her mouth, her eyes grew dark and brooding. She needed to make plans. Oh, yes. Even at her young age, she understood very much that some things needed to be put right. That some things could not fade away, anymore than a show that ends on television but would be watched again the next day. Crystal stood stock still behind the closed restaurant, bent and tilting to the left. Her small hands in fists so tight, her nails cut into her hands. She would be the one to bring the final ending—the future having been rewritten for her.

If God existed, she surmised she was unworthy of her life. Crystal ate a few more French fries that passed their prime several hours ago and thought contemplatively. If a psychiatrist were to analyze this young girl now, they’d nod gravely, then lock her up with strict instructions to never let her leave.

They’d know some circumstances could push people over edges without much hope of pulling them back. Some limits are not meant to be reached.

Crystal crunched on her stale fries and let her mind wander freely.

First, she’d deal with Mommy who decided she didn't want Crystal anymore. She didn’t reflect on why this happened, only that her daddy said so. His saying so—made it true. Mommy wanted her dead.

Well guess what, Mommy? I didn't die. In fact, I am coming for you, Jules and Daddy. I love my sissy, but you love her more than me. But not tonight. I need to get bigger, then when I find you...

Crystal completely lost the last of her rational mind. She screamed in a high-pitched little girl voice and dropped her cold fries, the last three bites of the Whopper she was trying to eat that had already been gnawed at by rodents, and looked up at the dark sky. She screamed out the last of her humanity to the stars, the moon, to any god who may exist. She calmed with her thumb again going to her mouth.

She crawled into the wooded area by the restaurant and decided it was time to sleep. She had been beaten by her father, thrown in a hole, had dirt thrown on her, was left for dead, survived, and had to eat out of a dumpster. Crystal Christiana...eight years old, fell asleep only to wake up four hours later again forever changed. God may take His vengeance, but only after she decided on whom she would leave for the Almighty.

Chapter Two

Three days later, Timothy Raymond saw a small girl walking down the road sucking her thumb. He pulled over and asked if she was okay. She looked at him with huge, dark, haunted looking eyes that stared at him from a dirty face half covered by dark, matted hair. She didn’t say anything, but continued to suck her thumb. He eyed the girl and knew she was either lost or traumatized by perhaps the very thing on his mind right now. He smiled at her.

Hey, get in. Looks like you could use a meal. Maybe we can find you some shelter too.

The little girl looked at him and shrugged. She got in his car. Timothy licked his lips as his heart raced. He knew exactly where to go. Oh, it was bad. Oh, it was so good. Oh, he couldn't believe his luck!

He reached over and stroked the girl’s leg gently as he put the car in drive. She did not flinch or pull back. This made him even happier. He let his hand caress up her thigh until it reached her private area. She still did not move, but kept sucking her thumb and stared numbly ahead.

Timothy's throat clicked audibly.

Hey, there's a private place I know about. Don't worry, I'll take care of you. He paused and smiled at girl, but she was non-responsive and simply stared directly ahead.

He drove about five miles, his eyes ever peeled for any signs of other cars or the authorities. He saw nothing. He pulled behind a grove area off Healey Road, to a dirt road that led up to some abandoned buildings and old work shacks, which had been out of operation for at least two years.

Occasionally, the local kids came here to throw a party, smoke cigarettes or play games. That was truly the only thing Timothy was concerned about. He didn’t worry about being caught by the police as much as some damn kids down here, smoking stolen cigarettes and drinking stolen liquor. He knew the police rarely came down here, as this old area was so close to the open road, all of these dilapidated establishments had a perfect view for at least a mile in either direction. Anyone up to no good, could see who was coming. The kids had learned to take turns placing lookout's.

The few times the authorities bothered trying to catch them was a futile attempt. The lookout simply gave the signal and off they’d bolt to the woods behind. They led to a residential area less than an eighth of a mile, where they could blend in easily.

Timothy pulled his old Dodge Charger behind one of the larger buildings and turned it off, listening to the ticking of the cooling engine for a moment or two. He then unbuckled his seat belt and slid next to the child, letting his arm rest on her slender shoulders. He was sweating now and breathing heavily.

Hey, you wanna try something? It'll be fun. He laughed, while inside his mind the snakes crawled. All you have to do is do what I say, okay?

No response. This was starting to get him a little unnerved, not that it would deter him in anyway...oh no.

He stroked her hair and the side of her dirty face, as he unbuckled his pants. He used his left hand to pull them down halfway, taking his underwear with them. He exposed a semi-hard, uncircumcised penis. He panted as he took her small hand and placed it on himself, moaning out.

He said shakily, Now baby...I want you to kiss it. Can you kiss it for me? There's a good girl.

He smiled, not sure if he would scream in this unprecedented turn of events today. He took her by the back of her head and guided her mouth down to himself.

Crystal opened her mouth.

His scream was heard for a mile in any direction.

Timothy weakly tried to beat at the back of the girls small head, but her teeth were clamped down hard and grinding, actually grinding. Within seconds, Timothy Raymond need not think about being a pedophile any longer, and no one in the world would weep for his demise.

He managed to slam her away. Her eyes for the first time were alive, vibrant and focused. To Timothy, she looked like a small demon. Her mouth was full of blood and his now lopped-off penis hung out of it like a shredded trophy. She spit it back into his lap as he screamed weakly. The blood poured out of the stump and he turned his head to the side and threw up. With his head turned, she jumped on his lap and slammed her two thumbs into his eye sockets as hard as she could.

For a moment, he couldn’t even try to throw her off. The pain was too much, too intense and burning. He heard this tiny monster growling in his ear, as she pushed her small thumbs in deeper. It wasn’t until Timothy heard the distinct popping noise as his right eyeball was punctured, did he start buckling wildly to get her off of him. It was like trying to get a pit-bull off its prey.

He beat at her back weakly as his left eyeball then audibly popped louder than the first. Timothy was convulsing now and still screaming. It would have looked to the onlooker as if he indeed was raping the child inside the car. Her thumbs had disappeared all the way to her joints.

He passed out from the pain...then went onto a deeper sleep.

Crystal sat on him for several minutes, continuing her grinding; a satisfied smile on her bloody lips. She removed her thumbs with a sucking noise, like pulling your finger out of a bowling ball a little too snug. She stuck the torn and shredded half of what was left of his penis, in the hole that used to hold his blue eyeball.

For the next ten years, Crystal lived in a few homeless shelters that didn’t ask for I.D. or lived out in the open. More often the latter, as she preferred the solidarity of her own company, coupled with the fact most people grated on her to the point she became murderous. In fact, in the course of those ten years since her meeting with Timothy Raymond, ex-child molester, she'd committed forty-seven house break-ins, more than a hundred shoplifting scores and murdered eighteen more people, including five children.

She ran across many like the late Timothy Raymond. After a while, it didn't even bother her. She realized she simply couldn't kill every dirty old man that came on to her, lest she went on a killing spree that would have left dozens upon dozens in her wake. She was a realist and sometimes used those advances to her advantage, scoring food, shelter, and money.

In all of her strange, twisted history, she had yet to be caught by the authorities. Her murders and house break-ins were so random and there was never a pattern to follow, save the fact the murders she had committed were always gruesomely carried out. She was highly intelligent and learned quickly about forensics and what could be used to identify someone with. The most baffling issue the police detectives had to deal with were the few prints they were able to lift, or the hair and skin samples they had gathered, led to dead-ends on all sides. It was as if this person simply didn't exist. This would stand to reason, as Crystal disappeared when she was only eight, hence there were never fingerprints or any other physical clues that could identify her in any way. They could identify her blood type, but that did the police no good.

As Crystal grew, her features changed, as do all children, but what made her unidentifiable was due mostly to her travels. She had her nose broken three times, her jaw broken, and when she was twelve she suffered a broken left eye socket. All of these added to the fact that she simply didn't look like the child who was left to die. If she'd not suffered such injuries, if her growth and been allowed to mature naturally, she'd easily be identifiable by family members or very close friends.

When she was sixteen, she lived in a house with eight other people on Campus at the Ohio State University. None of them liked or trusted her, but as they all were extremely afraid of her, none had the courage to tell her to leave. She had told them she was eighteen. None seemed predisposed to dispute her, despite the fact that no one believed her.

Luke, the only one in the house who actually somewhat got along with Crystal would let her use his computer in his room. She used this time wisely, instead of what she considered wastes of time such as Twitter, Facebook, or YouTube.

No, she spent her time with hours of researching her father, whom she saw now owned a large chain of Auto Parts stores based out of New York and her mother, who was a nurse in Michigan. Her father she would deal with later—Crystal was focused on Karen Foster and her sister Jules.

She kept a diary of sorts; more of a map is what the casual onlooker might think. It held many details almost schematically placed concerning Croswell and the surrounding areas. Hunting down her mother’s address was not too difficult. She used different tools on the Internet to get detailed pictures of the farm, the surrounding areas and the few houses and buildings that populated the long road. The one thing she never got when she'd snapshot these pictures of either the house or yard were the dogs. Crystal hated all animals, but most specifically dogs.

When she was ten, two years after what she called, 'The Incident' she was attacked trying to cut through someone's yard by the families pet pit-bull. The experience left her scarred both emotionally and physically. She could remember as if it was yesterday how she had hopped over the fence, started to make her way across the lawn, and heard a running-panting sound behind her. She turned just in time for the large animal to take her by the right thigh, bite through her jeans, and sink its sizable canines into her soft flesh.

She screamed in surprise and pain, and then did the only thing her mind jumped at. Timothy the pedo and the pit-bull suffered the same fate as her thumbs went into the dog’s eyes.

It howled, letting go of her and tried to back up, but by now Crystal had gotten over her fright and was infuriated she had been so fundamentally hurt by this animal. She dug in harder as the animal's howls turned into screams that sounded almost human.

The back patio door flew open and a little boy of about seven came running out shouting, Hey! That's my dog. Stop hurting him. You're hurrrrrtttiiing him!

She dropped the howling dog and turned to the boy who was racing up. She put her foot out, kicking him square in the middle of his small chest.

The boy made an 'oof!' sound and fell to the ground. Crystal methodically kicked his small head until he made no more sounds at all. This was the first time Crystal had killed a child, and she only felt indifference. To her, he was only one more thing that had entered into her black world that needed to be dealt with.

The dog was still howling, circling around aimlessly. Crystal gathered that the boy must be home alone, as no one else displayed themselves to her from the open patio door. She looked around pleasantly and walked over to where two statues were sitting. One was a ridiculous pink flamingo, the other a pretty one of an angel holding up her hands to God or to whomever and she chose this one. It was not too big, but was solid and heavy.

She calmly walked to where the dog was half-sitting, half-crouched; aimed and brought the statue down on the dog’s head. It gave a satisfying crunch to her and the animal howled no more.

Crystal threw the statue aside, grabbed the small child, and threw him over his dog.

Enjoy Hell assholes, she thought, you deserve each other.

After this episode, she would be rarely seen in a place that had dogs, especially large dogs. The little ones she didn't mind too much, except they were usually yippy and extremely annoying. But none-the-less the experience from the pit-bull was forever ingrained in her mind.

Even at eight, she was highly intelligent. Because of where he took her at the time, his horribly mangled eyes and what was left of his downstairs equipment was not discovered for close to four days, when three local teenagers took their girlfriends to 'do it'.

Needless to say, there was no teen sex to be had that day. It was actually one of the girls who saw the car first and ran up to it, thinking it was abandoned and she wanted to use the backseat with her boyfriend Tommy as opposed to that dirty shack with the smelly mattress that God only knew who dragged in there and how long ago.

She approached slowly after seeing a man sleeping in there, his head back. When she peeked in the side window of the car, her piercing scream rang out and the other teenagers came running over. Of the six of them, four threw up right there.

By then, Crystal had crossed over the State line and at first went southeast. Even though she was so young, she knew it was imperative adults not see her...especially the police. She made sure she was always in a crowd if it could be done, blending in by walking confidently, smiling if she was smiled at but rarely talked to anyone. By then, she had stolen much better clothes as well.

It was difficult to find a place to 'make camp', as she called it. Normally, her routine took her to find a fairly large community but not too large, and most especially not too small. Those towns she knew most people knew everyone and they'd be very curious about a little girl wondering around by herself. The optimum was a mid-size town that had either a wooded area within a fair walking distance, or abandoned houses that she could tell wouldn't be investigated. In these, she never used the front door, never broke windows and never used light. In the forest situations, she'd become an expert at self-survival techniques that even the most rugged camper would have admired. She didn't light fires, was always hidden by heavy tangled brush and made impressive 'doors' that were camouflages to these retreats.

For food, she'd either break into a home and raid the fridge, always making sure she first went to the local grocery store and asked for extra plastic bags, so when she loaded her plunder, she simply looked like a kid going home from the store. This became easier and easier as she got older. By her fifteenth birthday, she could easily pass for eighteen and worried less about being stopped and questioned about where her parents were or where she lived.

On the few occasions when she