And, I’ve been trying to get a picture of it for weeks.
Mostly, I get this:
The blank window in the milk room door. Anticipating or just having missed Jason’s (or his victim’s) visit.
But finally, I got this:
Jason. Or his victim.
See that ghost-like image of a horror movie college-girl-running-from-certain-death posing as a goat? Looks like a ghost. Until mixed with the sound effects.
It is silent in the milk room at night. Except for the rhythmic pssshh, pssshh, pssshh of the milk streaming into the milk pan. I am peaceful. I am appreciating the silence of the night.
(Goat hooves slamming on the outside of the door.)
My heart stops. I gasp, then stop breathing.
Then I turn around to see the victim’s bloody hands slowly sliding down the window of the milk room door. (Not really.)
Once I start breathing, I cuss.
I go back to milking.
I try to prepare myself for next time.
But, no use preparing. It scares the **** out of me every time.
– The Goat Cheese Lady