Under The October Moon

Chapter One

Note: This is my first ever original story posted online. I hope it's not too cliché, or if it is, that it's at least enjoyable. Obviously inspired by the Halloween festive season. <3

The late October air had a crispness to it, carrying the earthy scent of leaves and pine as Sophie pulled her bus, an old 1983 Chevy Bluebird, into a quiet clearing at the edge of the small town. The "Wanderer" had been her home for nearly a year now, its once-faded yellow exterior now a patchwork of bright blues, reds, and greens from the mural Sophie had painted on it during one particularly restless night. She stepped out, stretching her legs after the long drive. Her fingers brushed against the side of the bus as she walked, feeling the rough edges of the repairs she'd done herself. The rusty patches from when she first got it were still visible under her paint, but they felt like part of its character—just like me, she often thought.

Sophie had found the bus in an old junkyard outside of Portland. It had been sitting there, forgotten and overgrown with ivy, its windows broken and seats ripped out. But she'd seen potential. After months of work, turning it into her mobile home and art studio, it became more than a vehicle—it was her sanctuary on wheels. Inside, the space was cramped but cosy, with shelves lined with jars of paints, brushes, and half-finished clay sculptures rattling softly as the bus came to a stop. Her bed was tucked away in the back, adorned with mismatched pillows and blankets she'd collected during her travels. The front dash still had its original cracked vinyl, but Sophie had draped it with fairy lights that twinkled faintly even now.

The drive in had been magical. As Sophie had wound her way down the narrow country road, she'd passed endless fields of gold and orange, pumpkins resting lazily in patches, scattered through the fields of corn and wheat as far as the eye could see. The town itself had appeared like a painting, nestled between the hills, with its quaint storefronts and cobblestone streets dotted with festive autumn decorations. Cornstalks tied to wooden posts lined the streets, and handmade scarecrows stood guard outside the little shops, their straw-stuffed arms waving at passers-by. The whole place felt like something out of an old storybook.

Maybe it was the way the locals smiled and waved as she passed, or the faint sound of children's laughter echoing from the town square that made Sophie feel at ease, like she had just arrived in the right place at the right time. This town felt different from the others she'd drifted through. There was a warmth to it, a sense of community that tugged at her heart.

After stretching, Sophie wandered toward the heart of town, where she spotted a flyer taped to a wooden post near the entrance of a small café. Annual Halloween Corn Maze – Tonight! it read, alongside a sketch of a pumpkin and a little ghost. Beneath it, someone had scrawled: Not for the faint of heart!

Sophie grinned. It wasn't her usual scene—being scared wasn't her idea of a good time—but it was exactly the kind of random experience she liked to collect. Why not? She could use a little thrill, and besides, the local community was hosting it, and that meant she could meet some of the townsfolk. Maybe even get some ideas for her art.

Later that evening, with the sun setting low on the horizon, Sophie found herself walking toward the entrance of the maze. The flickering jack-o-lanterns lining the path cast eerie shadows, and the chatter of people mixed with the occasional distant scream from within the maze sent a shiver down her spine. She laughed at herself. Don't be a baby, she thought.

She showed her ticket to the young guy working the entrance, and he waved her through with a knowing smirk. "Good luck in there," he said, voice low and teasing. "You might need it."

Sophie gave him a playful scowl but pressed on, stepping into the towering rows of corn. It didn't take long for the path to twist and wind, and soon she found herself in the thick of it. The stalks rustled in the breeze, and every so often, something—or someone—jumped out from behind the corn to startle her.