The night on the farm was warmer than the last. Jed woke to the darkness creeping through holes in the fraying curtain. He drifted in and out of consciousness locked to the couch. The sunlight shifted shadows over the living room. The old man in the next room kept wheezing in and out as the nearby grandfather clock kept time ticking around the circle. He drifted into ringing ears among an anthology of bad dreams.

A strike at noon caused an unfortunate twist, turn, thrash, and tumble. Jed hit the floor rolled in blankets like a fool. With his bloodshot eyes wide open he jumped to his feet ready for action of the next gruesome battle that was always coming, but the coast here looked clear.

He paced around the kitchen handling his line of rope coiled into a very messy figure eight. He never did manage to keep a perfect circle lasso even in his prime. He had already searched around for his gun yesterday, but it was well hidden away.

Bessie seemed fine, but they had a job to do. The mission to deliver the juice felt like it was slipping away again after being nearly poisoned by the witches. Their magic bit into his mind paranoid causing things to be all out of whack. At least was sorta back on his feet. They would earn room and board a few more days before leaving.

Mule previously told him that their delivery had been stored in the closet. Jed rooted around in the kitchen until he found a bobby pin. He picked the lock behind door number one and found a dark staircase that smelled of cellar rot. There was also a shelf full of pickle jars and flaked granite dyed green limestone wetted.

With no light on hand he moved along to the next door. Finally he found the jungle juice container looking untouched. He wiggled it and found it full of liquid after exerting himself.. He didn’t see his firearm stored here so he moved on in search of the house for it.

After digging out the couch and kitchen drawers he dragged himself up the stairs by putting most of his weight on the railing. To avoid making noise at the top floor he tiptoed. He was hoping for better luck however so far found nothing but dust, mold, disrepair, peeled wallpaper, and mothball smell. There were three rooms, but two of them were boarded up leaving one with no door. Inside there it was a few old bed frames disassembled. The other antique furniture piled into corners of rooms in disarray.

Jed found nothing useful upstairs and returned below. He eventually stumbled outside to the outhouse. There were no signs of anyone else close by when he emerged out of the door marked by a sliver of a moon. The nearby water pump squeaked to life as his sore muscles felt like they were coming apart at the seams. He worked up a good stream. He stuck his head underneath the cold water roaring onto the concrete platform below.

“Ahhh man I best find myself useful around these parts, find man's best friend wherever he is at,” said Jed, stretching his very scared and ripped arms.

He continued searching around until he spotted the packed wagon parked back beside the house. A close entry to the basement was beside. As he walked closer he saw that the wagon was stacked full of harvested pumpkins and squash ready to be stored. The cellar was an obvious destination to put them, but didn’t want to jump the gun until he had confirmation. In the meantime might as well air the place out. He lifted aside a wedged two by four and opened the double basement doors underneath. The suns poured in partially lighting a floor of cracked cement. Jed started down the creaking rotten wooden steps.

“Wham!”

He cradled the top of his head that had hit a beam on the way down.

“Ouch.” he groaned, taking negligible damage that still really hurt.

The basement area was sectioned off by uneven walls and unleavened floors. There were tools hung on one side pallets of construction materials. The foundation was old stones stacked on top of each other with the occasional brick inserted with a hearty dash of cement slathered around. A crawl hole showed itself where a big rock had fallen out.

Jed’s eyes slowly adjusted to the basement as he pushed further inside. He came to the stairs that led to the inside of the house lined with oak barrels stacked nearby. A heavy metal door stood ominously against the back wall. It had a heavy padlock holding the bar to it.

“Well guess I'm not getting in there,” he murmured, lifting the lock and inspecting the number combination without a keyhole.

The bobby pin he had been holding in his freehand was back behind his earlobe. The floorboard above him began to creak as somebody walked across the room overhead. The basement door upstairs flew open and more light entered the picture. A little mouse ran for a hole in the wall as Jed started creeping back to the exit. His heart nervously raced as his neck hairs stood on end. Suddenly his stomach loudly growled with a mind of its own.

“Clang!”

There was some kind of mysterious object thrown down to the bottom of the stairs. The wood creaked as somebody started down holding a lantern. Jed jumped for cover under the stairs as fast and quietly as he could do at the same time. He made it just in time behind the cover of barrels kept hidden.

The yellowing tall socks lumbered down the steps slowly like a zombie. A gangrenous foot hit the next step before the tough old bastard stopped to take a brutal wheeze. The old man hacked something up before he continued his descent in a bathrobe. Jed froze in place somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be. The farm owner took an extended break on the last step gripping the railing with a crystal scaled mutated hand shaking.

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The lantern was set right on the barrel that Jed laid face down behind it. The old man groaned as he bent nearby, pausing the wheeze again while keeling over like a beached whale. He started clicking something against the floor, as the lantern was gripped again. The shadows fell back over Jed as he peaked out and saw his host walking forward with the lantern in one hand and a cane gripped in the other. He reached the heavy metal door and hooked the lantern to a meat hook hung from the ceiling. The swearing started as the combination lock was being worked on by hands full of arthritis.

The previously locked room swung open revealing what appeared to be a workshop. An old fashioned band saw set right in the opening while behind it what looked to be the big block of an ancient vehicle with the motor suspended on a crane. The old man pushed further in the light and lit up more details of his operation. The car had a spare tire bolted to the side right in front of the door. The engine looked to be a V-8 flathead. It had black paint, deluxe trim, and custom crystal headlights. The entire machine appeared to be in perfect condition except a bunch of bullet holes in the rear end.

Jed raised his eyebrows and dropped his mouth in stunlocked surprise. The old man limped past an armory along the back wall with gun safes flanking both sides. There were shotguns, rifles, wood-grain sub-machine guns with drum mags and light machine guns with 20 rounds loaded on the back wall.

The man disappeared deeper inside his workshop. It was now discovered as soon as he turned around. Jed climbed into a crouch and rolled over a barrel before he started sneaking out. His heart felt like it was going to explode while he slowly climbed outside.

“Wham!”

He held his noggin hit again from the low entry. He almost broke stealth but held his mouth while letting the double cellar doors close as gently as he could. His lack of manners and curiosity had almost spectacularly backfired when he needed a warm bed. The old man was more spry than appearances.

Jed started down the path flanked by apple trees with many on the ground full of wormholes. Perhaps this interesting new information he had learned about his hosts would be worth it in case anything bad were to happen. One thing was for sure that he was by far the unarmed one, and in no position to make demands and should never trust anyone but himself 100%. His hosts might have been generous, but he didn’t want to be trapped working here on the farm for the rest of the season with no other choices.

Jed wandered for what felt like an hour going down different paths. The first he took went past an overgrown pasture without cows to graze that eventually turned into a logging road through the woods. Not wanting to leaf peep at the rapidly changing foliage he turned around.

He walked back and took another trail past a small cemetery plot, and thought he saw figures moving at the far edge of the field until he blinked, and they were gone. He kept along the path past a pen of hogs, and it eventually turned to a dead end at a dried river bed. Finally on the way back he noticed a side road with tracks running through a muddy section. He followed a dirt road until he saw Mule working the plow on the field below.

“Apologies for being so useless these past few days umm miss,” said Jed, going to tip his cowboy hat he realized it was gone.

His face turned red realizing it must have fallen in the basement when he hit his head on the way out.

“You can just call me Bessie mister, and it’s quite alright Mule’s told me all about your adventures while we've been working,” she said, tipping her own hat.

“Hey man,” said Mule, between bites of chewing cud after he had eaten grass too fast.

“Well seeing as all you've done for us just tell me what kinda work you need, and I’ll do my best,” said Jed.

“Hmm well like Mule you do know how to work a plow man?” she asked, resting against the fence.

“Yes ma’am I might be primarily a man of leisure these days. I grew up on a similar operation,” Jed said, inspecting the tool attached to Mule.

“Okay good enough, and anyhow Mule I will tell you the specifics of how I do things but I doubt you will mess up even being stubborn and doing it whatever way you like best. Anyway I’m going to prepare the second root cellar closer to home and then we will unload the harvest finishing today,” she said.

Jed’s back cracked into motion. His bandaged hands started to ache working on the first row of potatoes. He shook off the vegetables, slowly filled the five gallon bucket, and dumped them in the wagon. By the third row it was easier having settled into a rhythm despite the handlebars having a bit of blood spilled on them. He took a brief break to cut off the sleeves, and used them as cushioning. They worked for many hours until this field was cleared.

“Ha, it feels good to do a simple good day's work buddy instead of violence of a chancge,” said Jed, breaking the silence, unhooking the plow, and patting Mule on the back.

“We ain’t done yet Jed, Now I gotta pull this harvest home,” said Mule, shaking off mud.

The wagon struggled through the mud. Mule pulled from the front, as Jed pushed from behind. He walked beside as they traversed the narrow road. Bessie waved them down by several mounds of soil covered in grass hidden behind a large metal tank with a hose. The door to the middle root cellar was open revealing benches filled with empty plastic bins.

“Aright Mule i’d say you're done for today if you want to find something else to do,” said Bessie.

Mule turned around like a dog before setting down on his stomach.

“I guess I’ll keep watch,”.

Bessie unlocked the wagon gate, and clapped her hands on seeing it full.

“Alright let's go,”.

The containers were pulled out onto the ground while the potatoes dumped inside. When they were filled they were hauled back inside the mound. A new set of four was brought out. They slowly worked back into the trailer until Bessie had to climb onto the bed. Jed hauled them inside as she filled the containers. The suns were setting as they moved to the second root cellar. They finished the last corner of the vegetables just as it got too dark to see inside.

Back at the house the chickens were shut in. They walked onto the porch. Mule raised his nostrils on smelling something cooking. Inside the kitchen table loaded with a simple supper.

“Hah yes good of papa to find enough energy to cook for us,” said Bessie smiling with pride.

Jed found his lost cowboy hat resting on the top of the chair at one end of the table. He briefly hung his head in shame. Mule nearly knocked him over and plowed past to get to the grub Bessie was setting under the table.