Trick or Tease Chapter 1

GRAB YOUR COPY IN AMAZON KU Chapter OneSabrina

The scarecrow slumped forward, taunting us with its complete and total lack of presence. This thing wouldn’t be able to scare a sparrow, let alone any of the guests who would attend our haunted event this year. And that just couldn’t stand.

Lucy and I had been working on setting him up near the entrance to the corn maze on Hogan Hill Farm, but all our efforts over the last several hours had led to this. A deflated, dull, unimpressive scarecrow in a flannel shirt and jeans stuffed with hay. If he had a name it would be a boring one.

Like Gary.

At least he smelled kind of good, like fresh hay and fall. Lucy and I probably smelled foul after all the heavy lifting we’d been doing all day prepping the farm.

“Hold the spine,” Lucy said, making one last-ditch effort to prop the scarecrow up.

“That’s gross,” I muttered.

“Would you prefer me to call it the stick up his ass?” she asked in a deadpan voice.

“Alright, spine it is.”

I gripped the wooden pole while Lucy tried to wrestle the scarecrow’s torso into position. The thing weighed more than I’d expected. We might have gone a little overboard with the straw. We packed it in tight and made it as dense as a hay bale with limbs.

“Okay, on three,” Lucy said, hoisting the scarecrow’s shoulders. “One, two—”

The ancient jeans we’d stuffed with straw chose that exact moment to give up the ghost. The waistband split clean in half, and suddenly we had a half-naked scarecrow raining straw all over the ground.

“Oh no!” Lucy burst out laughing as the scarecrow’s bottom half emptied itself at our feet. “He’s having a wardrobe malfunction!”

I tried to catch the falling straw but only managed to get some down my shirt. “Great, now I’m itchier than a dog with fleas.”

Lucy doubled over, tears streaming down her face. “Look at his little stick legs! Looks like our scarecrow forgot leg day!”

The poor thing hung there, all torso and no bottom, with two pathetic wooden stakes poking out where his legs should be. A gust of wind caught more loose straw and sent it swirling around us like confetti.

“We need better pants,” I said, spitting out a piece of straw. “These jeans are older than Moses.”

“Or suspenders,” Lucy wheezed.

“Let’s put them on backward,” I suggested. “The ass is intact.”

“Hold on. I brought more jeans. Hold him up.”

“Why is it a he?” I asked while she walked back to the little Gator we had driven out to the cornfield.

She returned a few seconds later with another pair of jeans with the knees torn out. All year we tossed clothing into a pile for the scarecrows we would build for the corn maze every October.

“Hold him steady,” she said.

I held the spine, while Lucy jerked the jeans over the sticks that served as legs. Together, we stuffed straw down the pant legs.

“Okay,” she said. “Much better.”

“We’ll call him, Hollow Hank,” I said.

“Why do we name them?”

“One, because it’s fun and fun never needs an explanation, and two, it’s easier to refer to the various sections in the maze by the scarecrow watching over that section,” I said. “If I say Hollow Hank’s section, the staff knows exactly where I’m directing them.”

She cocked her eyebrow. “They all have names?”

“Of course.”

She shook her head, knotted the last rope around the flannel-stuffed arm, and stepped back with a satisfied hum, hands on her hips. “There,” she said. “Our boy’s officially on duty.”

Hollow Hank had a classic look. His red flannel shirt was faded and there was a hole in the armpit. We had put gardening gloves on for hands. The gloves were attached to little twigs that had been attached to the branches that held Ol’ Hank’s arms. A pair of scuffed rubber boots were now zip tied to the leg sticks.

But it was the face I wasn’t cool with.

It was a burlap sack of a head, bulging at odd angles. It was one of the same “faces” we used every year. Someone had stitched a crooked smile in black thread and attached two buttons for the eyes. Classic. Harmless. Kind of charming.

And not the least bit intimidating.

Hank couldn’t scare a crow, much less the guests who would be visiting the maze once we opened up to the public. No one was going to look at our Hank and be like, “Oh no. It’s going to get me.”

Which was why I had planned for a little more. I opened the bag of decorations and pulled out the scary clown mask.

Lucy made an uneasy sound and stepped back. Precisely the kind of reaction I wanted.

I slid it over the burlap bag and grinned. “Now that’s the way you announce a haunted corn maze.”

Lucy raised a brow. “We want it family friendly, remember? Not everyone wants to be emotionally terrorized. People hate clowns. Did you know it’s an actual phobia?”

I rolled my eyes. “Isn’t that the point? Halloween is supposed to be scary.”

Lucy groaned. “Sabrina, no. Halloween is supposed to be fun-scary, not nightmare-scary. Let’s make him cute.”

I snorted. “It’s time we step up our game. It’ll really get people into the holiday spirit.”

“Where did you even get that thing?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.

“This baby was marked down to four bucks last year. I couldn’t not buy it.”

The cheap Halloween-store mask had white skin, exaggerated cheekbones, and bright red lips stretched in a snarl that looked halfway between murderous and confused. The eyes were dark and there was fake blood dripping down the cheeks.

We stood back again, hands on hips, evaluating our terrifying masterpiece. The breeze made the scarecrow’s head nod slightly, making it look like the clown was nodding.

I grinned. “See? Even Hank is vibing with the new look.”

Lucy made a face. “Sabrina, I don’t know about this.”

“What?”

“This thing is going to traumatize someone.”

“That’s the point. He’s our corn maze sentinel. He must demand respect. Or at least pants-wetting fear.”

“Or induce heart failure,” came a new voice behind us.

We turned to see Billy walking up. There was a damp V on his chest and under his pits. Clearly he’d been working hard on the farm as well. There was no shame in his sweaty appearance. Lucy and I were just as disastrous, I was sure.

His dark hair stuck up in about twelve different directions, and there was a streak of something that looked suspiciously like motor oil across his left cheek. His blue eyes scanned the scene with his lips curving in delighted surprise.

“That’s a new look.” Billy carried a massive red thermos under one arm and a sleeve of plastic cups in his hand. “I come bearing lemonade.”

“Thank God,” Lucy said.

We moved to sit on bales of hay in the corner that was partially shaded by the dried cornstalks. Lucy sat beside Billy, their thighs touching. He opened the thermos and handed us cups. I could hear the ice clinking and was suddenly aware of how thirsty I was.

He poured us each a glass and put the lid back on the thermos . I took a long gulp, the tart coldness quenching my thirst.

Billy stared up at the scarecrow. “What’s with the clown mask?”

“Perfectly wretched, isn’t it?” I asked, shooting him a grin.

“It’s… unsettling,” he said.

“That’s the idea.” I took another sip of lemonade. “This is supposed to be spooky.”

“This is a family event,” Billy said.

I wiped my mouth and raised an eyebrow. “So?”

“So? So this guy is scary as shit. Nightmare-inducing. We want spooky fun, but not ‘We need to talk to a therapist’ spooky.”

Lucy raised her cup. “Told her the same thing, my love.”

I huffed and crossed my arms. “Kids are tougher than people think. I saw a six-year-old playing Call of Duty in the grocery store parking lot last week.”

“That doesn’t mean we should design a corn maze that requires waivers.”

I pouted. “All the cool haunted houses and mazes have waivers.”

“I’m vetoing the clown.” Billy acted like he was the final word.

Maybe he was, considering it was his family’s farm, but I wasn’t willing to go down without a fight. Hollow Hank deserved a chance to creep people out.

“Wow. I didn’t realize you were the Spook Czar.”

“I am now. It’s part of the gig.”

Billy had officially taken over the operations at Hogan’s Hill Farm. It was his family legacy. I only wanted to help him out. Drum up a little more business for the fledgling pumpkin farm. The corn maze had been my idea.

It was set up in an old field that the Hogan family had used to grow watermelon forever go. It had been a weed patch for too long. They thought about expanding the pumpkin operation but there was such a thing as too many pumpkins and no one was interested in doing the watermelon thing again. Too much water and fertilizer and it just didn’t work in this area of the country.

But feed corn did. It was an easy crop to grow. We didn’t have to worry much about it and could focus on the rest of the farm. We could use it for the maze and then it could be sold to local ranchers.

It was a damn good idea if I did say so myself.

“Fine,” I said. “He can be a sad scarecrow again. For the record, I think the scarier the better.”

“If you want to be scared shitless, you can take yourself into town and do that asylum house thing,” Lucy said. “But don’t ask me to go with you. No thank you.”

Billy looked over at Lucy and flashed a smile. “I’d go with you. Hold your hand.”

She laughed. “Holding my hand isn’t going to cut it.”

“You could hop on my back and be my little koala. Then I can keep you safe.”

I rolled my eyes. How did I end up stuck with these two lovebirds?

“Don’t make me turn the hose on you guys,” I said.

The two had been together forever. They were basically married but it wasn’t official. Billy had yet to pop the question but Lucy didn’t seem to be too worried about it. They both knew they were going to be together and the ring and marriage certificate were just extra.

Yes, I was a little jealous, but I loved them together. My two best friends completed each other perfectly.

Lucy downed the rest of her lemonade and went back to the scarecrow. She pulled out the sign that she had made. It was painted in big red letters: ENTER IF YOU DARE.

“That’s way more threatening than the clown mask,” I said.

“It’s more implied danger, versus the psycho clown face,” she said. “Now let’s call it a wrap on poor Hank here. October’s coming fast. We still need to finish a million different things.”

“Don’t remind me,” Billy muttered. “I swear, I thought being in charge would mean less manual labor.”

I gave him a sideways glance. “Don’t you dare think you’re going to boss me around.”

He shrugged. “I am your boss.”

“On paper. I know you, Billy Hogan. I’ve seen you cry when a little corn snake bit you.”

“I was three,” he retorted.

“Five,” Lucy corrected. “And you still get jumpy around snakes.”

“You know, you two might look all sweet and innocent behind those pretty faces, but you’re mean. Mean girls.” He chuckled. “We should put masks of your faces on the scarecrows.”

“Oh, just for that, I’m putting a snake in your bed,” Lucy said, grinning.

Billy’s eyes widened. “Hey, let’s not talk crazy.”

We all laughed. Ever since we were little, Lucy and I loved picking on Billy. But only because he picked on us. As did his big brother, Garrett. Billy was a year older than me and Lucy. And Garrett was three years older than Billy. Back when we were five, he may as well have been an adult.

And Garrett did like to think he was decades older and all the wiser because of his advanced age. And ego. At least he’d chosen the right profession as a big shot attorney in the city.

“So, are your folks excited for the retirement party?” I asked.

Billy’s smile turned a little crooked. “They’re excited to officially unload the responsibility on me, yeah. Dad keeps calling it ‘passing the pitchfork.’”

Lucy giggled. “They’re ready to dump the pumpkins.”

“The party should have a good turnout,” I said. “Everyone loves your folks. And it’s about time the whole town hears that you’re the one behind the operation now. We should make you a crown or something.”

“Only if I get a plush throne to sit on,” he joked. “These hay bales make my nethers itch.”

“You’ve got the John Deere,” Lucy said. “You should ride up to the party on it.”

“Knowing my luck, that would be the time the old thing decides to die. Well, die again. I just got it running.”

And that explained the oil on his face.

“Did you talk to Garrett yet?” I asked.

Billy’s expression darkened. “Garrett says he’s not coming.”

I frowned. “Did he say why?”

“He said he’s busy closing some big real estate deal. Big city stuff. Said he ‘wished he could make it.’”

He didn’t look at us when he said it, and that told me everything. He was disappointed in his older brother, which was rare since he idolized the guy.

“I’ve been on a farm long enough to know the smell of bullshit,” Billy said.

Lucy slung an arm around his shoulders and pulled him in for a side hug. “Sorry, Billy.”

“He could still surprise you,” I said hopefully.

“Oh, I think he’ll be the one getting a surprise.” Billy finally looked up, a sly smile curling his lips.

He looked twenty years younger, like the kid who had quickly become a lifelong friend. Lucy was my best friend. Billy my second. And Garrett used to be my third, but since he moved to the city and got too good for all of us, I wouldn’t even call him a friend anymore.

“Oh, babe,” Lucy groaned. “What are you thinking of doing? And can I help?”

He smiled at her. “This is why I love you. And I think I have a plan. We can bring him back whether he likes it or not.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Define plan. Does it involve duct tape and rope? Because I’m down with that, but I just need to know what to wear.”

“I do need your help, ladies. But I don’t think we’ll need duct tape.”

“And what about the rope?” I crossed my fingers.

He laughed. “No. But bring your clown mask.”

Lucy cackled. “Oh, that doesn’t sound good.”

Billy took a final gulp of lemonade. “Let’s just say Garrett has forgotten what this place means. I think it’s time he remembered.”