by Eolas Pellor

Likes: 3
Words: 200

The Harvest Moon was waning, and Billy, the lead hand, had hooked up Buck and Buster, the plow horses, to the hay wagon, so the younger girls and boys could go on a hayride around the fields where they’d been working all summer.

Mr Lawd, the farmer, had laid on a feast for his hired help, since the harvest had been good, and he hoped he could entice the summer help back for the next year. His wife, Mrs Lawd, had fretted about the expense, and told Martha the cook to be frugal with everything, as far as she could manage.

It had taken three days to make all the food, and the kitchen and scullery had been a whirlwind the whole time. The scullery maid’s – Nancy’s – dress had been soaked through and her hands were raw from scrubbing all the pots and pants as Martha and the other hired girls did the cooking. She’d woken up in tears on the third morning, but Martha had made her some salve with lard, yarrow and calendula, and it helped a little.

By the time the hayride was over, Nancy had fallen asleep from the rocking motion, her rare night off wasted.

by Jesse R Traynham - Author

Likes: 3
Words: 200

"Everybody jump! Best ride! Last ride! Your turn."

I helped Steph and the kids settle.

"I drive. Name's Jebediah Otis Fielding or call Scratch."

He wore an oversized straw hat, overalls, and a flannel. He had hay coming out of his sleeves, his collar, and his pants.

"Hold hard, peoples! Ride go now!" He scratched his belly.

Scratch punched it, pointing out things as we went. Duck pond. Fresh round bales. A pumpkin patch.

"Look! The Hall of Scarecrows. No scared. Not real. Thirteen each year." Scratch scratched his neck.

We counted the scarecrows as we went.

"One, two, three," we all yelled.

The kids started to giggle.

"Four, five...six."

We turned a corner.

"Seven, eight, nine, ten."

Scratch turned too fast. We all rolled around.

"Eleven, twelve. Twelve? Twelve!"

"Scratch, you said there were thirteen!" a girl yelled.

"There am!" Scratch slammed the brakes. We went flying. His shoulders dropped. His head hung low. "I guess my turn's over, folks."

Scratch dismounted the tractor, shuffled to an empty post, and climbed up. He stretched out his arms and went limp.

I couldn't stop myself. I rushed to the tractor and hopped on. "Hold hard, peoples! Ride go now!"

by Mary Zuelke Author

Likes: 3
Words: 200

"Sullivan! Are you there?"

"Yay, I'm here."

"What’re you hidin’ for?"

Janie's face peeked above the treehouse floor.

Sullivan rolled onto his side. "I'm just watchin."

He pointed to the crack.

She looked.

"They come out when it's dark."

"Who?"

"The Hayman."

"What are you talking about?"

Sullivan laughed, whispering a song. "Coming... Hmm... Take your heart... Hmm... Stay awake…tonight."

"You're scaring me.”

"Shh…they'll hear you."

"I'm leaving." She slipped away.

Sullivan continued humming.

Squeak…Squeak…

A hay wagon rolled into view—Janie, Don, and Kim sat in back.

“No!” Sullivan grabbed a broom and ran after them.

Before it inched along, but now he could barely keep up.

An icy draft took his breath away.

"Janie!"

He swung the broom at her. "Jump!"

She dropped to the wagon floor, screaming.

“Jump. He’s leaving!”

Sparks of dark and light flickered as the horse faded. Tiny strobe lights shattered him apart. Sulfur wafted through the chill air.

Sullivan pushed the broom at her again.

The jolt triggered her to lunge from the wagon.

Gasping, she grabbed his arm, pleading.

“It’s okay now. Let’s get you home.” Sullivan clung to Janie, staring into the empty street, the sulfur odor faint.

by D. R. Long - Storyteller

Likes: 1
Words: 200

The moment Willa sat down, she knew something was wrong. The wagon was packed to the gills with people, far more than it should have carried, and the hayride workers were still trying to shove people on.

Willa tried to peek through the crowd to see how many horses were carrying the wagon but could only make out one. She stood to try to get a better view around the large man in her way and her seat was immediately taken.

“Excuse me, sir…” she said softly as she squeezed under the man’s arm and pressed herself against the steel bar on the edge of the wagon. The large man pressed harder into her as more people continued to push into the back of the wagon.

She looked forward again at the horse and gasped. It had no head, and was covered in flames. This wasn’t some cheap Halloween trick… It was real. She tried to scream, but didn’t have the breath in her lungs.

Quickly, she tried to slide herself between the rails. One of the workers dressed in a robe with their hood up turned to her. The fiery skull under the hood said, “Welcome to Hell, Willa.”