The Midnight Herd

Maybe if I write down my story, the nightmares will stop. Here goes: I was coming home late from burning charcoal in the woods. The moon was high, plenty bright enough to see by. Heard a strange noise from the eastern clearing, so I went to check it out. The clearing was filled with donkeys, a whole herd of them. Not grazing or walking around. Just standing still, like they were listening to someone. The one closest to me had a bridle on, the leather all rotting away like it was a hundred years old. I must have made a noise, snapped a twig, like. They turned and looked at me, all at the same time. In the moonlight, I could see the whites of their eyes, shining, rolling, rabid. They opened their mouths and screamed, a sound like no earthly donkey I ever heard. I ran. Couldn't have run faster if all the devils of hell were chasing. The sound of their hoofbeats followed me through the forest, all the way home. I can't ever tell my mates about what happened, or they'll laugh me out of town. Imagine, a bunch of donkeys being the scariest thing I ever saw.