Page 29 of Property of Scythe
“Okay.”
She’s far too eager to please, and I’m fucking ravenous for it, like the big bad wolf who wants to gobble her up.
“If you feel up to it, I’d like to go on the haunted hayride first.”
“Is it scary?”
“Terrifying,” I admit with a chuckle. “You in?”
“Yes!”
The perks of being the president of the Kings? I don’t have to wait in line. I also never enter through the front. I take the path that zigzags around the entrance, leading Lottie through the trees to a building that squats on its own, half covered by moss and weeping willows.
The old structure was once a barn and is mostly storage, but inside, there’s a main room with a stove, a fridge, several tables with chairs, and chalkboards where we post everyone’s assignments each night. The employees and actors stop in to get something to drink or take a break whenever they need to. There’s always at least one patched member of the Kings available in case of trouble.
I pay Tillie to bring in a couple of crockpots, so there’s usually chili or soup set up on the far wall. She’s already set up and left when we arrive. I keep cases of water stocked as well as soda. Sometimes the locals will bring in treats, and I spot brownies and cupcakes decorated with spiders and candy corn. People take care of one another here. It’s one of thethings I want Lottie to see.
Emma is watching Mila for me tonight so I can focus on the Fear Farm’s opening night and my date. It’s fucking weird to think about it. I haven’t taken a woman out purely for showing her a good time, without my cock, since before Mila was born.
I’m pumped with excitement and restless energy. Lottie seems to sense it and squeezes my hand. I return the gesture, hoping she’ll have a good time. There’s a chance I can get pulled away if anything happens. The logistics of running this kind of endeavor means shit gets messy and people are unpredictable.
Phantom approaches us wearing his Art the Clown costume. “Hey, Pres.”
“This is Lottie.” I gesture to my woman. Yeah, she’s mine. “Lottie, this is my Sergeant at Arms, Phantom.”
She winks at him. “Spooky costume.”
He pouts, clearly disappointed in her reaction. “Not creepy or frightening?”
She giggles at his expression. “Okay. Creepy and frightening too.”
He pumps his fist. “Yes!”
I snicker as Phantom picks up a chainsaw and dashes out the door. He loves scaring people as they wait in line. There’s a whole group of actors I employ just to walk through the festival and put on a show, chasing and stalking the visitors. We post warning signs about our content, and since we serve alcohol, it’s more for adults than kids during the evenings. Our actors aren’t permitted to touch anyone, but they do give them a fright.
Families usually stick to daylight hours, enjoying the hayride, maze, games, and taking pictures with the cardboard cutouts close to the entrance. One of the locals has a petting zoo, but the animals aren’t out at night.
I introduce Lottie to all the members I can find and a few of the locals she hasn’t met yet. Everything is running smoothly,so I don’t hesitate to lead her back outdoors and over to the hayride. We run five 20-ft. wagons on a rotation through the forty-five-minute ride, allowing a ten-minute gap between them so they don’t stumble upon one another. The haunted hayride is only operable after sunset, so it has to be dark for the strobe lights, fog machines, and pop-up scares to function correctly. Otherwise, it’s just not very terrifying.
There are actors who walk through the forest and the cornfields as we pass through, taunting the tours and approaching the wagons, adding to the thrill factor. I can’t wait for Lottie to experience it.
I hop onto the wagon and then reach for her, gripping her waist as I haul her up beside me. I’m purposely taking one of the rear seats, which are the scariest and most vulnerable spots. Some people already know that and avoid them. Others are just as eager for a scare and opt to sit in similar seats to us. The hay bales we’re seated on are situated so that everyone has their backs to the outside of the wagon since the bales are arranged in a classic U-shape.
I see Fred sitting on the tractor ahead of us. He’s a local and helps every year. It’s his tractor we’re using, and he insists on being the driver. I don’t mind. He’s friendly, and since he operates it often, he knows how to handle it if it acts up.
The wagon jostles as the tractor lunges forward. I slide my arm around Lottie’s shoulders, kicking my feet out as I lean back against the wooden rail. If I give the impression that I’m relaxed, then everyone else might let down their guard, and it’ll amp up the scares even more.
Is it devious? Maybe.
Lottie glances upward, taking in the cloudy sky. “The moon is hiding.”
“Maybe she’s scared.”
Lottie’s lips twitch. “I think she likes spooky nights.”
The wagon rumbles over uneven ground, pushing through the mud as we bounce up and down on the hay. There’s a spookysoundtrack playing through the speakers we have lined up, posted at specific intervals so there’s a continual echo of chains dragging and clinking, screams, ghostly wails, and sinister laughter.
Lottie jumps, along with half the people on the wagon, at the first jump scare. It’s a pop-up of a deranged doctor wielding a bloody knife. The wagon trips the mechanism as we ride over it, forcing the props to release and snap up on both sides of the wagon. A few of the women scream.
