Chapter 6

My name is Mick O’Dell the Sixth. Everyone calls me “Six”. I was born and raised on this farm with my three younger brothers, but when they went away to college, I chose to stay here. After college, each of them married and remained out East. I never saw them again, although they did write to my family for several years.

For some reason, which I’m told had to do with the city council of the town north of us trying to take over our land, my grandfather began digging a hole in the middle of the farm one day. It was about 25 yards square and 10 feet deep. It seemed deeper because the soil that had been removed had been piled up around the hole, so the walls went another ten feet or so above ground level.

On my 21^st birthday, my mother asked me to go with her and we rode out to the hole. She explained that the hole would need to be larger and that it needed to be done by me.

“Mother, this hole has been here for decades, nothing has been done with it, it doesn’t have a purpose. Why is it so important?”

“Son, I can’t tell you the why. All I can do is ask you to trust me. It is a very important task and it needs to be done.”

My mother used the phrase “Trust me” to my father on a few occasions and when she did, he always followed through. It always seemed like a matter of urgency, so I took heed of her request and followed through, like my father before me.

One day, when I was 23 years old, my father and mother got in our truck and drove off to the south of the property. We found the truck a few days after, but never found my parents. I was now in charge of the family business and was so thankful that my mother had taught me the math of accounting for our business, and that my father had taught me all about the business.

Due to their disappearance, the legal issues surrounding the property took almost a year to straighten out. The town took advantage of the situation to try to claim the farm so it could expand its city limits to take us over. I hired lawyers to fight it and we won, but not before things got nasty. Thankfully, several years before, my mother had the good sense to have our land grant surveyed and registered. Once those results had been shown to the judge it was an open and shut case.

A few weeks after the lawsuit was settled, I was sitting at home trying to read one of the new books I had heard about, “Brave New World” by Aldous Huxley. It was painting a horrible future for humans, and the approaching weather on this dark and stormy night matched my feelings toward the world reflected in the book.

The clap of thunder seemed to arrive just before the huge flash of lightning, it was so close. The severeness and suddenness of the conflagration literally threw me onto the floor. I ran around the house doing a survey of potential damage. I was sure that the house had been struck and that when I checked the house, I would find broken windows, or even a portion on fire. I quickly walked through the house and finding no damage, decided to see if there was any damage to the exterior of the house.

I put on my rain gear and walked out the back door to begin a circuit of the house. When I had almost returned to the back of the house, I was shocked to find a smoking hole about five feet from the back door. It was about a foot deep and about four feet across. I thanked my lucky stars that it had missed the house. After completing my circuit of the house, I went back inside and was determined to return to my book.

I stopped by the kitchen and poured myself a small glass of wine and headed back to my book. Walking into the front room, I was shocked to find my front door open, and when I went to my den there was a naked woman curled up in my chair.

“What is this?”

She didn’t answer. Her eyes were closed, and she didn’t move when I raised my voice.

“Hey!”

No response.

“HEY!!”

Nothing. I shook her and she moved but made no sounds. It was then that I noticed the wet footprints on the rug leading from the front door to my chair. The steps were not in a straight line indicating that she had staggered into the house and to the chair. After examining the room to determine if anything had been taken, I reproached myself for thinking that the nude woman in the house could have hidden anything on her person.

After that blast of intelligent thought, I finally focused my full attention on the nude woman. She was wet and shivering. Her hair was soaked and was dripping all over my favorite chair. I went to get towels from the bathroom and returned to her to dry her before covering her in a warm quilt.

She was a small woman; smaller than my mother. I would guess not even 5’ tall. The fact that she was tiny was reinforced when I picked her up with ease and carried her to one of the guest rooms on the second floor. I pulled the covers of the bed back with one hand while holding her with the other. I gently lay her in the bed and covered her before walking back downstairs.

Taking a towel out of the kitchen, I proceeded to dry off my chair and the floor around where she had obviously entered my home. I picked up my book, checking it for both place and moisture, and went back to reading. Or I should say I tried to. How is a single man supposed to focus on anything when there is a naked woman sleeping in his house?

A real, blonde, naked woman. She was well muscled if what I felt on her back and sides was any indicator. When I picked her up, she had rolled her head against my chest and had her eyes been open, she would have been looking straight into mine. Her face was extremely beautiful. I found myself wondering if her eyes were going to be blue or green.

I shook my head to lose those thoughts and refocus on my book. It worked and I was soon re-engaged in the story.

“Hi.”

I nearly leapt to the ceiling at the touch on my shoulder that coincided with the sudden sound of her voice so near to my ear.