Chapter 20 #3
Not a peck. Not a performance. He kisses me like we’re alone in his bedroom, as though he’s been thinking about this all day.
His tongue sweeps into my mouth, tasting like the mint.
His hand tangles in my hair, messing up whatever style I’d achieved.
The other hand pulls me closer until I’m pressed against him completely, feeling every hard line of his body.
When he pulls back, I’m dazed, lips tingling, probably looking thoroughly kissed. Sarah’s mouth is hanging open like she’s witnessing a miracle or a tragedy, possibly both.
“Nice seeing you,” Luke tells her cheerfully, as if he didn’t just stake a claim in front of God and everybody. “Enjoy your night!”
He guides me away, hand firm on my lower back.
“Let’s go,” Luke says, loud enough for Sarah to hear. “Tonight is about having fun. You’re ours for the evening. Forget everything else exists.”
I glance back once. Sarah is still watching, probably already composing the family group-chat message. Good. Let her report back that I’m happy, that I’m not the family failure hiding in a small town. Let her tell my mother how Luke kissed me like I was precious and necessary.
“Thank you,” I whisper to Luke as we walk behind Arrow and Holt.
“Any excuse to kiss you,” he replies. “Plus, your cousin looks like she sucks lemons for fun. Figured I’d give her something actually sour to chew on.”
I burst out laughing as Holt slows down on my other side, taking my free hand and lifting it to his lips for a kiss that’s somehow just as possessive.
We reach the entrance to the hayride, a wooden arch that appears to have been built by someone with a Gothic sensibility and a love of the dramatic. A sign painted in what’s supposed to look like blood reads ABANDON HOPE ALL YE WHO ENTER — MADMAN’S LAST RIDE.
“Subtle,” Arrow observes.
The haunted hay wagon is actually an old wooden cart that looks like it was dragged from the set of a horror movie, left to age for a decade, and then dragged back—weathered boards that have definitely seen better decades, rusted metal fixtures that probably violate several safety codes, and wooden beams of wood as seating. It’s attached to a tractor.
“This is definitely interesting,” I say as the guys help me climb in, Luke’s hands on my waist lifting me easily.
“Where’s your sense of adventure?” Luke asks, though he’s also eyeing the rusted bolts suspiciously.
I try not to flash everyone as my dress rides up, quickly smoothing it down once I’m seated.
The wagon has bench seating along both sides, our legs dangling out through gaps in the wooden slats that serve as minimal protection from falling out.
We are facing the outside of the wagon. Five other people are already aboard—a couple dressed as a zombie bride and groom, complete with fake blood and torn formal wear, two women as what might be vampire flight attendants, and a guy who’s either dressed as a serial killer or just has an unfortunate fashion sense.
Holt sits on my left, his thigh pressed against mine from hip to knee. Luke is on my right, close enough that I can smell the straw mixed with his cologne. Arrow is beside Luke, his mane taking up lots of space.
The tractor roars to life with a belch, and we lurch forward into the woods.
The path is barely visible, just two ruts in the dirt that the wheels follow, and the trees close in immediately like they’ve been waiting.
Someone has strung lights sporadically to create ominous shadows, not enough to actually see what’s making those rustling sounds.
“Welcome, damned souls,” the driver calls back in a raspy voice that’s trying too hard, but we appreciate the effort. “To Henley Farm, where the corn grows tall, the nights grow cold, and the screams… well, the screams never stop.”
“Starting strong with the melodrama,” Arrow mutters, but he’s grinning.
The tractor pushes us deeper into the woods, and whoever designed this really committed to the atmosphere.
Fog machines hidden in the trees create thick mist that swirls around the wagon.
Hidden speakers play ambient sounds of chains rattling, distant screams, and children singing nursery rhymes, which is somehow the worst part.
“Legend says,” the driver continues, really leaning into his role, “that Farmer Henley went mad one October night in 1887. Killed his whole family with a rusty scythe, then himself. But on nights like this, when the veil is thin and the moon is high, he returns. Looking for new souls to harvest. New blood to?—”
Something rustles in the trees to our left. We all turn?—
A figure bursts from the bushes, wielding a chainsaw that’s definitely running but hopefully bladeless. He’s wearing a bloody apron over overalls, face hidden by what appears to be a leather mask. Everyone screams, including me and the guys.
“That was a warrior’s cry,” Holt claims, voice slightly higher than normal.
“Practice shouting,” Arrow corrects, hand over his heart.
“I was warning you all,” Luke adds. “Through screaming.”
I’m laughing too hard to call them on their bullshit. The chainsaw figure chases the wagon briefly, really committing to the bit, before disappearing back into the woods.
We round a bend and enter what’s supposed to be an abandoned farm but is clearly a section they’ve set up specifically for scares. Broken fence posts lean at impossible angles, a scarecrow that’s definitely going to move because that’s how these things work, and, is that a body hanging from a tree?
“Oh, that’s just a mannequin,” the driver says casually. “Probably. We think. No one’s checked recently.”
The scarecrow does indeed move, lurching toward the wagon with jerky movements that would be scary if the actor wasn’t clearly fighting with the costume. One of the vampire flight attendants shrieks. Luke grabs my hand.
“You’re safe,” he murmurs in my ear, breath warm against my skin. “I’ll protect you from the fake and the real monsters.”
“My hero,” I tease and lean into him because his warmth feels good in the cooling night air.
More figures jump out as we continue, a headless horseman whose head under his arm has an LED light in it for some reason, zombie farmers who shuffle, something in a wedding dress that’s actually genuinely creepy with the way it moves.
Then the tractor stops in a clearing.
“What’s happening?” the zombie bride asks nervously.
A figure emerges from the cornfield. Tall, wearing overalls and a straw hat, carrying a scythe in one hand and?—
“Is that a dildo?” someone asks, not even trying to be quiet about it.
It absolutely is. A large purple anatomically ambitious dildo that the figure is now waving around like a battle flag.
The entire wagon goes silent for three full seconds. Then everyone bursts into hysterical laughter.
“Local legend says”—the driver tries to continue seriously, but he’s clearly fighting not to laugh—“that Farmer Henley wasn’t just mad. He was also a pirate before he became a farmer. Lost his eye in a battle at sea, which drove him to madness and… unusual appetites.”
“A pirate farmer?” Holt asks, glaring at Luke and Arrow. “That’s the story we’re going with?”
“The high seas of Kansas!” Luke shouts, tears streaming down his face from laughing.
“Captain Henley, they called me,” Farmer Henley wails, waving both scythe and sex toy with equal enthusiasm. “Scourge of the seven seas! Master of… navigation!”
“Navigation!” Arrow wheezes, and I’m laughing wildly. “With his purple compass!”
“Legend says he buried his treasure right here,” the driver continues, completely committed now. “But what kind of treasure, no one knows.”
“I think we can guess,” the zombie groom manages between gasps as the wagon starts moving again.
“Revenge for me eye!” Farmer Henley screams. “And me… other things!”
“This is the best and worst thing I’ve ever experienced,” I wheeze, sides aching from laughter.
“You assholes set this up, didn’t you?” Holt warns.
The rest of the ride is almost anticlimactic after that. More jump scares, more fog, a pretty convincing werewolf who might have actually been scary if we weren’t all still giggling about Captain Farmer Henley. Finally, we’re back where we started, everyone climbing out on shaky legs.
Arrow lifts me down from the wagon, hands lingering on my waist longer than necessary. Heat pours from his touch.
“Enjoy that?” he asks, voice low enough that only I can hear.
“That was amazing. Ridiculous, but amazing.”
“Our whole night has been ridiculous.” His eyes drop to my lips. “Doesn’t mean it’s not perfect.”
“MAZE TIME!” Holt announces, already striding toward a field where enormous hedges have been grown and groomed into walls taller than any of us. “And before anyone argues, Cindy starts with me. It’s only fair.”
“How is that fair?” Arrow protests, jogging to keep up behind us. “You had her on the hayride. Luke got to kiss her in front of her cousin. My turn.”
“This isn’t a custody arrangement!” Luke’s voice is exasperated, but there’s laughter bubbling under it.
“It is now.” Holt already has my hand in his, possessive and decisive, tugging me with him through the crowd. His grip is warm and solid, his fingers curling over mine like he has every right to them. “Luke, Arrow, go get snacks or something. Win her a prize. We’ll meet you after.”
“Fuck, this is your payback for the pirate story isn’t it?” Luke shouts after us, throwing his arms up.
Holt doesn’t even glance over his shoulder but chuckles as he drags me toward the towering hedge maze glowing ahead.
The entrance of ivy-covered lattice looms like a mouth ready to swallow us whole, arching overhead, threaded with flickering fairy lights and black paper bats that flutter in the breeze.
A fog machine pumps lazy curls of mist around our ankles as we step beneath the archway, and just like that, the sounds of the festival begin to fade, muffled by the thick green walls that rise at least ten feet high on either side.