Page 115 of Trick or Tease

As we climbed higher, the old Hogan house came into view. I couldn’t help but remember the nights I spent in that house with Garrett’s body pressed against mine on that air mattress he’d bought just for us. The way he’d looked at me as he made love to me.

I shook off the memory and raised my voice to carry over the tractor engine.

“Now, as we pass by the old Hogan house, I need to tell you about Samuel Hogan, the family patriarch who built this place back in the nineteenth century.” I slowed the tractor slightly, giving everyone a good view of the imposing structure. “Samuel was known throughout the county as a hard man, demanding perfection from his workers and his family alike.”

I could see heads turning toward the house, teenagers nudging each other with nervous excitement. In the moonlight, the old place did look genuinely haunting, all sharp angles and deep shadows. And the spooky decorations I hung in the window helped sell the story.

“Legend has it that Samuel was so obsessed with his legacy, so determined that the Hogan name would endure, that he made a pact on his deathbed. He swore that no Hogan would ever willingly give up this land, and that anyone who tried to sell the family farm would be cursed to wander these fields forever, searching for what they’d lost.”

Obviously, that was my dig at Garrett even if he couldn’t hear it. But I hoped when the whole deal went down, the rumors would get out. They would all remember my story.

A girl in the back let out a theatrical gasp. I saw several people glancing nervously at the dark windows of the house. I weaved together bits of local folklore with my own bitter imagination. The real Samuel Hogan had been a perfectly ordinary farmer who’d died peacefully in his sleep.

But the curse part? That felt real enough. Any Hogan who would sell this place deserved to be haunted by what they’d destroyed.

“Some say you can still see Samuel’s ghost in the windows on dark nights like this,” I continued, steering the tractor past the house.

The shadowy figures moved with the help of the battery-powered fan we had rigged. I continued with the stories I had been telling all week. And then we slowly wrapped around to go down the back road. I waited for Tyler to deliver his headless horseman performance.

As we rounded the bend toward the wooded section, I slowed the tractor to the perfect speed and started counting down in my head. Three, two, one…

Right on cue, Tyler came bursting out of the trees on his horse, the black cloak billowing behind him as he rode parallel to our trailer. The LED jack-o’-lantern he held in one hand cast an eerie orange glow, and the way he’d rigged the cloak made it look like he truly had no head.

It was perfect.

The screams were immediate and delicious. The teenagers shrieked with genuine terror before dissolving into delighted laughter. One of the younger kids grabbed onto his dad’s arm, half-hiding but unable to look away. Even some of the adults jumped, caught off guard by how realistic Tyler’s performance looked in the moonlight.

“Oh my God, did you see that?” one girl gasped, her voice shaking with adrenaline.

Tyler kept pace with us for about thirty seconds, weaving between the trees before disappearing back into the woods as suddenly as he appeared. The timing was absolutely perfect.

I couldn’t help but grin as excited chatter erupted behind me. This was exactly the kind of magic we had been trying to create. It was that perfect blend of scary and fun that would have people talking about their experience for months.

“Was that real?” a younger boy asked his mother, his voice full of wonder.

I drove the tractor back to the staging area with the group all chattering about how amazing the ride had been. I climbed down and one of our other drivers took over as the next group was loaded onto the trailer.

About thirty minutes later, I was making my way toward the corn maze with a canvas sack full of ice-cold bottled water. The kids working as zombies and ghosts in there had been at it for hours, jumping out at families and giving their all to make the experience memorable.

I was halfway across the field when a man in an expensive-looking suit stepped directly into my path. Everything about him screamed city money. The perfectly styled hair and his Italian leather shoes were completely inappropriate for a farm. He looked like he’d rather be anywhere else on earth. Like he was being forced to walk through a pit of shit.

“Excuse me,” he said, his tone sharp and impatient. “I’m looking for Garrett Hogan. Do you know where I can find him?”

I stopped, studying his face, and tried to place him. I felt like I knew him. Something about his aggressive demeanor and the way he said Garrett’s name made my stomach clench with suspicion.

“And you are?” I asked, shifting the water bottles to one arm.

“Ron Geiss,” he replied, like I should recognize the name. “I’m Garrett’s boss at Ivar & Geiss. I’ve been trying to reach him all day.”

Garrett’s boss. The partner from the law firm. My blood ran cold as pieces clicked into place. This was the man behind the sale contract, the one pulling Garrett’s strings from New York.

“Oh, I see,” I said, forcing my voice to stay level. “You’re here about business.”

Ron glanced around dismissively, taking in the families enjoying themselves, the glowing decorations, the laughter echoing from various attractions. His expression was pure disdain, like he was looking at something distasteful he’d stepped in.

“Can you believe this place is supposedly worth millions?” he said with a snort. “I mean, it’s quaint and all, but seven point two million? For this? I’ve always said people will buy anything.”

The casual way he threw around that number like it was just business to him made rage flare in my chest. “Yes,” I said through gritted teeth. “I can believe it. This place is worth every penny. And then some.”