June 19, 2024

The Darkness Beyond the Farm Back Gate
​by Tim Law

Click here to listen to this story on the Kaidankai Podcast.




My favorite place to visit in the whole wide world has always been the farm owned by my Grandpa Opa. I loved hunting with my cousins for the ripest of apples in the orchard, chasing the sheep with Suzy the sheepdog, all of those times that we got to spend racing on the motorbikes, those delicious apple pies made by Granny Oma. The best thing of all about the farm though was the stone wall with the simple gate made of iron that was located at the bottom of the back paddock. Grandpa Opa always warned us kids to never open that gate, to never go beyond the wall, and we didn’t need to be told twice. Beyond that paddock there was nothing, nothing but an ocean of darkness. But, Grandpa Opa showed us, with the right call, a correctly noted whistle, out from that darkness could come the most wonderful creatures.


I was six when I first heard Grandpa Opa give his shrill whistle while he and I were visiting that back paddock, and over the stone fence came a camel the size of an elephant, its face was that of a kindly old woman, and it laughed like a child who’d had too many sweets. Such a beast gave me and my cousin Will rides on its back for what felt like hours. When it was our bedtime though, Grandpa Opa just whistled again. The beast bowed low toward him and then us and with a great final chuckle it went back through the gate again. All we had after that were our memories, and a story that none of our friends would believe.

“Don’t try to follow them,” Grandpa Opa warned both Will and me that day. “We always must let them come to us, never the other way.”

I nodded to show that I understood, but my cousin Will, being younger than I was by at least a year, well he just asked his question.

“Grandpa Opa, who are they?”

“They are the ones who came before, they are the ones who will come again,” Grandpa Opa told us. “This land belongs to them, and we are the lucky ones allowed to take care of it for them.”


Once, around Christmas time one year, Grandpa Opa gave that shrill whistle of his again and three cats came sliding through the gaps in the gate. One had fur the color of flame, and eyes the same as my father has. The other two were black as soot with blank eyes and a howl which shook us all to the core. The orange cat curled up in my lap, but the other two were more scared of us than we were of them.

“Can I keep it?” I asked Grandpa Opa, I must have been not quite a teen then.

He shook his head, sadly. “I wish that they could stay,” he told me. “But, alas, they cannot, as they do not belong here anymore.”

And then he whistled again to send them home.


When I was thirteen my mom and dad moved away, and I moved on with them. I didn’t visit Grandpa Opa or Granny Oma for about three years. The reason we went back was a sad one, but I was so happy to see the farm again that I couldn’t help but smile. We buried Granny Oma in that back paddock, close enough to the stone wall.

When Grandpa Opa whistled that evening it was a great dark cloud with arms as big as tree trunks and legs twice as thick that jumped over the gate. Following after this came five others, all clouds, all differing sizes and shades of grey. They danced for us, a silent dance which floated and flowed. Amongst them, Granny Oma twirled along to the tune we could not hear. When Grandpa Opa whistled again I could see tears in his eyes. We soon discovered why. When the clouds floated back over that stone fence, Granny Oma went with them.


After that I tried to visit the farm, and especially the back paddock, at least once a year, but a part time job, University, and then boyfriends made it difficult.

“She misses you, you know,” Grandpa Opa would say when I called him up on the phone instead.

“Who misses me, Granny, Suzy?” I asked.

“Of course they do,” he would laugh. “And I do too.”

“I miss them too, just as I miss you,” I would always reply. “But that is not who you are talking about, is it.”

There was a click at the other end of the call to show that Grandpa Opa had nothing more to say. Whoever it was or whatever it was that missed me, could not be named, at least not over the phone it seemed. When I did see Grandpa Opa next, he looked so frail that I did not have the heart to ask him something that seemed likely to cause him pain. I promised myself that I would save my question for another time. I was patient, I could wait.


For my twenty-first birthday I told my mom and dad that I wanted a party at the farm. Six of my best friends and my younger cousin joined me there. We had a big bonfire in that back paddock, flames that rose up higher than houses. I should have told Grandpa Opa that we were coming, of what I had planned to do, but I was young and foolish and I did not want to trouble him. The flames burned bright, the fire roared loudly, and I and my friends were having a wonderful time. That was until my cousin Will decided to play on the fence. In all my life not one of us had tried such a silly stunt. Grandpa Opa told us all to respect the stone wall, that it was not a toy.

“Get down, Will!” I called. “Get off the fence…”

But Will only laughed at me and my concerns.

“Like this?” he called back, and as he did he jumped into the darkness.

Grandpa Opa came running across that paddock as fast as I had ever seen him go. His shrill whistle pierced the silence of shock.

Out of the darkness came the giant camel again, but this time its old lady face was not smiling. Behind it I could see the shade of Granny Oma, standing at the wall, but not willing or able to pass beyond the veil. I saw too that Grandpa Opa could see the love of his life waiting there, but he knew that his focus was needed elsewhere. With tears in his eyes he bowed to the creature. On this occasion it did not bow in return, instead it opened its mouth, opened it up until its lips curled past its chin and its eyes. From that strange opening, as dark as the dark beyond the stone fence, my cousin Will stumbled out.

“Quickly,” said Grandpa Opa. “Get him close to the fire, he needs to warm up.”

As I hurried to Will’s side I grabbed him by his shoulders to steer him closer to the flames. I felt his body, it was colder than ice. He did not shiver though, he just stood there, numb. All of my friends started talking at once, but I could not hear them. All I could hear was Grandpa Opa’s warning from long ago and the absence of laughter as the strange giant camel creature just stood there, watching us.


Grandpa Opa died a few days after that party. My cousin Will passed away from complications a few days after that. When we buried them both in that back paddock I could sense that Granny Oma was there, waiting by the stone fence, not yet able to step over. I could sense too that others were waiting, needing to hear that shrill whistle so they could join us in our mourning, aunties, uncles, brothers, and sisters from long ago. Sadly, the man who knew how to coax those wonders out from the dark was gone. I tried and tried to mimic him, his smile, his joy, his magical whistle. But the sadness stopped me, the loneliness made it impossible. All we had left was our memories, both good and bad. After that day I never visited the farm again. Too afraid was I of the ghosts that now dwelled on both sides of that wall.


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​Tim lives with his family in Southern Australia in a little town called Murray Bridge. He is pretty sure that the Library where he works is haunted, although it is quite new so he is still trying to figure out why. Tim is starting to discover the joy of telling horror and ghost stories, exploring the darkness that he did not know was there. A True Friend was an opportunity to challenge himself to write in the dark and the light simultaneously. Not all ghosts are evil and not all monsters are under the bed...

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