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A Short Story : A Story?

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The stream was calm, fresh morning dew on the ground, the smell of sweat flowers in the air, and the smell of the flour on the other side of the river. My friend, Jason, and I, Marisa were walking to my Uncle Lidtke’s mill across the bridge. We would walk there every Saturday to watch the workers and my uncle would make us a great meal with bread that was made from the flour from the mill. Today the workers were weary from a whole weeks work of, well, work. But, on some of there faces, I notice that they seemed to be in some sort of shock. We started to walk around some more when we met Uncle Lidtke poling a wagon full of wheat. He stopped the horses that were poling the wagon and told one of his workers to come and take over. He got off the wagon and I asked him, “Why do some the workmen seem so disturbed Uncle?” He replied in his rough, deep voice, “I have two ideas why they look like that, one, they’ve seen my dance moves,” I chuckled. “Or, some of them were up working in the night shift, and I heard that some say they heard strange scratching noises, and when that little lamp post’s light flickered on and off, on the ground, there were letters that you could barely read, and spelled ‘we’re back’.” At first I thought, since it’s close to Halloween, that Uncle was just trying to scare us with one of his pranks again. But then, “ Boss!!!” Screamed one of the workers. “What,” asked Lidtke, as the worker was running at him “Me and the boys over there,” panted the worker, “

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