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the other kids, some of whom had brought their parents, we were boosted into a hay wagon and everyone found a seat on the double rows of hay bales.
The hay wagon trundled behind the tractor through the dark woods and fields of the huge farm. Occasionally, the baling racks brushed against the trees, wringing eerie creaks from the branches. Those racks, we learned, were also handy catch-holds for the ghouls who leapt, howling, from the shadows to grab for us.
We all laughed at the first “attack,” but as we drew further away from the comforting lights of the produce stand, it was easy to imagine that we were entering a Grimm’s fairy tale world.
Peering into the darkness outside the perimeter of the tractor’s headlights, our wagon-mates vied to see who could spot the next danger. “Up in the tree!” someone would say, and we’d all look up to see
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