Everyone in town knew about the farm. But they didn't really know a thing.
They knew it existed, a small farm on the outskirts of town. A two story white house, a bright red barn for cows, a stable, a chicken coop, a pigsty, all and more of what you'd expect to see on a farm. There were only two things missing. First off, the farm had no address, mailbox or even name to it. The only thing it had to it was a single sign, hanging on the gate that blocked the dirt path up to the house. A wooden sign, letters written in red letters, NO TRESPASSING. Otherwise, you'd see nothing to tell you who owned this farm.
Second, you'd see no life. The farm, despite looking pristine, was completely empty.
Who built it and who owned it was unknown, though rumors swelled about the town. A few people in town would approach it, but most weren't stupid enough to actually set foot on it. Everyone in town knew something was wrong there. The grass was green year round, the paint never peeled on the house and the stable never had a beam out of place.
That didn't mean locals didn't occasionally trespass. Some locals were just stupid enough to think it was a good idea. Most of the trespassers were teenagers, college students or outsiders who seemed drawn to the farm like a moth to a flame. Rumors swarmed around that no one who trespassed ever made it back, though no one could confirm it.
And no one was ever seen there. When you crossed the fence surrounding the farm, it was like you ceased to exist.