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@heather-drabant
This is so fun! Thanks for putting it together and I’m looking forward to October. Love your story too. The word usage really solidified the Amish feel.

Here is mine! Sorry, google docs isn’t working on my phone. I went with the Western Phycological Thriller. Not sure how well I pulled that off, but it sure was fun.

Spurs jingle on the wooden boardwalk with every step, scraping my nerves.

Chink. Chink. Chink.

Lanterns swing from the awnings of businesses lining the dusty street, casting shadows that loom and shrink back like uncertain predators, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike.

I duck into the nearest open door—a saloon, with only slightly less shadows.

The shadow of a man passes the doorway and the spurs go chinking on by.

I cross the room to the back, the sawdust coating the floor biting at my nose.
I settle down at an empty table and study the few other patrons.

A tired looking saloon girl, sitting upright and rigid like her red costume is made of iron.

Two men at a card table, but neither one shows any signs of playing the cards laid out in front of them.

The barkeep keeps his gaze firmly fixed on the glass he’s buffing. I don’t really want a drink anyway, but it’s strange he doesn’t offer.

In the back corner opposite me, a lone figure with his hat pulled over his eyes plays a mournful fiddle, the bow scraping along the protesting strings, almost as frayed as my nerves.

Jitters drive me back to my feet and I step out onto the rickety sidewalk as a clap of thunder shakes the sky and lightning illuminates the places the lamps won’t reach.

The darkness that follows is dense enough to feel and I linger where the lanterns cast a reassuring glow as rain starts to pelt the dusty landscape. It rattles against the windows and overhangs, puffing dust into the air until the whole street is saturated. Thunder grumbles grudgingly and water starts to run in little rivers down the packed street.
Probably be another gully washer…maybe even a flash flood. They’re common this time of year.
Time to find some cover on high ground.

Whoever built this ride-through town must have been a tender foot. It sprawls in the back of a long valley, coming down out of the lonely mountains on the horizon. Lightning dances across their gloomy peaks now. It won’t be long before all that water comes rushing right down to the front steps.

I start back the way I’d come, toward the livery stable. I’d hoped to get a room tonight, but prospects are slim. I’ll bed down in the hayloft, safe from water, and close to my gelding if I need to swim out come morning.

The water is already ankle deep on my boots as I step off the boardwalk. It sloshes and ripples, melding with the crack of lightning overhead into a deafening chorus that drowns out all sound. But I thought I heard…

I turn to face the street behind me, and wait for the next lightning strike to illuminate it once again. But the street is empty, and no one else is on the walks.

I could have sworn I heard those spurs again…

I slosh across the street and shove the barn door open just enough to slip in, before closing it again.

Water already seeps in underneath, mingling with the straw and dust. Inside the barn is pitch dark, but I’m not anxious to light a lantern.

I feel my way down the aisle to the third stall. It’s at the back, but there’s a smaller door that I could fit an unsaddled horse through. If need be.

My gelding nickers softly as I slip into the stall with him. I gently run a hand down his neck, then adjust my gun belt, slipping the thong off the hammer.

I watch the front door a long minute then settle down in the dusty straw at the geldings feet. His breath snuffles over me, and then he goes back to contentedly munching the hay in his manger.

I strain my ears for any sound, but all I hear is his chewing, the steady breathing of the other horses, and rain drumming on the roof. Along with my heartbeat.

They can’t have followed me this far. I rode halfway across the country, up and down back trails no sane person would ever take. I’d left no trail. Spoke to no one. I’m just being paranoid, that’s all. Besides, the money isn’t here any way. No one can connect me to it. Now way out here. I tell myself that over and over again, but it does nothing to calm my heart.

But a sound from outside stills it.

Chink. Chink. Chink.

I slowly shift into a crouched position, sliding my pistol out of the holster. I force my breathing to slow, placing a steadying hand on the geldings shoulder as I stand and lean against his neck, gun ready.

I don’t know who is out there. But coincidences don’t follow you around in a storm. It’s going to end right here and I’m getting out of town tonight. The rain will cover my trail. I’ll disappear.

The barn door creaks, but it’s too dark outside to see if anyone comes in yet or not.

I ease the hammer back.

Chink. Chink. Chink.