The hay ride rumbled to a stop, back at the farmhouse. The route had taken them through the forest in a rather circuitous path. Mel and Stuart hastily scrambled off the wagon before the rest of the riders plowed through them.
The others soon streamed out of the hay ride in an unceremonious tumble. They were chatting and laughing and not paying very much attention to what was or what wasn’t around them as they wandered off to their own cars to drive back home. Once all the passengers had debarked, the farmer flicked his reins and directed the horses back to the barn a ways from the farm house. The two journalists stood where they had stepped off, just outside the pool of light generated by the lights on the back of the farm house. Stuart’s arm rested on Mel’s shoulder, but for some inexplicable reason, she felt cold and chilled. The darkness around them seemed to be an active thing, pressing upon them like a suffocating and frozen shroud.
She shook her head a little. Was it just her imagination trying to anthropomorphize the darkness and the shadows? Stuart headed toward the lighted area just outside of the farmhouse, slightly tugging her along. She followed, unresisting. It was just the coldness, she thought. There’s nothing nipping at my heels, waiting for the moment that I trip up.
The backdoor of the farmhouse opened up, letting out a waft of food. The smells woke up her stomach which began protesting. She had not had dinner yet. The flaxen-haired farmer’s daughter stood over the kitchen counter inside, presiding over the small tins filled with bubbling potpies. Her mother was busy setting out pine-colored mugs and pouring hot cider into them, the steam streaming out like tiny little ghosts flitting aimlessly about. The girl motioned for the journalists to join her inside and to close the door. It was getting cold and she didn’t want any of the heat to escape.
“The astronomy club won’t be here until about thirty minutes from now,” said Elsie Grandbury. “So you’re in luck. You can have your pick of the pies. I made chicken, turkey, and beef. Oh and there’s some vegetarian over in that corner if you’re the type. Mrs. Deering just took up vegetarianism because she said it was healthy and the good thing to do. Frankly, I think she’s just following a fad.”
“Elsie!” exclaimed her mother. “Mrs. Deering is a nice old woman. Don’t make fun of her choices.”
The girl shrugged. “Whatever, Mom. The last time I asked her about vegetarianism, she didn’t have very many good reasons for what she was doing. She just hemmed and hawed and told me that all the experts in the big cities were doing it so it must be right.”
“A lemming, eh?” said Mel. She chuckled at her own joke even as the farmer’s daughter gave her a confused look. Inside the warm house, she could for the moment forget about the outside and the darkness. Perhaps she had been more spooked than she had realized. She also managed to keep a reasonable distance away from Stuart who had transferred his attention to the sweet smelling potpies. It was one thing to want, she told herself. But she didn’t want to need.
Stuart took a sniff of the nearest pies as condensation began to collect on his glasses. He gave a disgusted snort and took them off to wipe the glasses off with the edge of his jacket. “I hate it when it does that,” he remarked. “It’s the temperature difference when I go from outside to inside or vice versa. Someone should invent glasses that don’t condense.”
“They already have glasses that wipe condensation off,” said Mel blandly. “Haven’t you seen them at the geek store? They have little windshield wipers attached to them.”
“Very funny Mel. Are you trying to make me into more of a geek than I am?”
“Don’t get them,” said Elsie, unaware of the joke. “I think they look stupid.”
Mel took one of the pies, Elsie had indicated that it was a turkey one, and with a stab of a fork, brought a steaming bite to her mouth. It almost scalded her tongue, but she could still taste the creamy sauce, the chunks of tender meat, and the bits of vegetables—broccoli, onions, carrots. She made the appropriate noises and praised Elsie on her cooking skills. Stuart had picked a beef potpie and from the smile on his face, he agreed with her. The girl blushed and mumbled about making the pies was no trouble at all. The farmer’s wife, Hannah Grandbury, plunked mugs of steaming cider in front of the guests and cast a fond eye on her daughter before tapping her foot.
“I wonder what’s keeping Paul?”
And then the photographer remembered that the farmer was still outside, presumably putting the horses back into their stalls. He would have to walk outside, in the darkness. Mel managed to suppress a shudder. What was wrong with her? She wasn’t afraid of the dark—not since she was a little girl anyway—and the sudden fear felt rather strange and out of character. It was the ridiculous hormones, she told herself firmly.
The kitchen door banged open revealing the farmer’s figure. “Hoo-ee,” Paul Grandbury exclaimed. “It’s a bit nippy out there. Got any cider, Hannah?”
His wife handed him another mug. “It’s getting colder these days,” she said. “And is it me, or is it colder this year than the last? I haven’t checked up on the weather today.”
“Perhaps, perhaps,” the farmer said as he sipped his cider. He looked over the rim of his cup at the journalists. “So I see you’ve decided to stick around to meet the star gazing club after all.”
Stuart nodded. “We might as well get the whole experience while we’re here.”
As the farmer’s family grabbed potpies of their own and they sat around the table eating quietly and amiably, Mel could not get the image of the shadows she saw in the forest out of her mind.
“Mr. Grandbury, I am curious,” she began. “On the hayride, I saw something in the forest that, uh, looked like an animal.”
“Oh?” The farmer looked slightly uninterested in her observation.
“Perhaps it was a wolf?” she blurted out. “Are there wolves around here?”
The farmer’s daughter just shook her head and chuckled, obviously amused that the out of town photographer was acting spooked. The farmer’s wife smiled and refilled the mugs with more hot cider. Stuart frowned. Perhaps he thought it unwise of her to say anything at all. It made her seem slightly mad to the locals.
“Nope, it can’t be a wolf,” said the farmer confidently. “I don’t keep any livestock around here and I doubt any significant prey live in the little bits of forest around here aside from the occasional squirrel or rabbit. This is farmland country, not wolf country. You’d have to drive a couple hundred miles west of here before you see any of those critters.”
Mel was at a loss. “Oh. Then I guess I was just seeing things.”
“Or it could have been just some high school kid playing a prank,” interjected Elsie. “They like to do that kind of thing around this time of year although they’ve never done it all the way out here. Not enough spectators, I’d gather. In town on Main Street would be the best place to play a prank. There would be plenty of witnesses to get a good laugh.”
“No, it would be quite silly of them to play pranks here,” said Hannah. “There was the hayride, but obviously no one else saw what you did.”
“Yes, I was just seeing things,” Mel murmured, sinking lower into her seat.
Stuart said nothing although he could corroborate her sightings.
