Welcome to the Creamery

Welcome to the Creamery

Every town has a story it tries not to tell after dark.

Ours begins behind the old creamery.

Long before anyone remembers exactly when, the girls would gather there after midnight. They came with ribbons tucked into their pockets, cakes balanced on chipped plates, flower crowns already slipping from their hair, and perfume dabbed onto their wrists so the night would remember them.

Some said they danced.

Some said they sang.

Some swore they disappeared into the cottonwoods until sunrise.

The townsmen grew suspicious. They watched from porches with lanterns in hand, whispering that no respectable girls should be laughing that late, wandering fields under a full moon, or returning home with wildflowers woven through their braids.

“Witches,” they muttered.

Perhaps.

Or perhaps they were simply girls who refused to make themselves smaller.

To this day, strange things are still reported near the creamery.

A ribbon caught in the fence where there wasn’t one yesterday.

The scent of vanilla drifting across an empty pasture.

Rabbit tracks circling the creek for no obvious reason.

A cake left behind with only a single slice missing.

Whether you believe the stories is entirely up to you.

But if you happen to catch the smell of perfume on the evening breeze, don’t be alarmed.

It only means the Creamery Girls are gathering again.

Welcome to the creamery.

We’ve been expecting you.