Cider and Shock

The horse-drawn carriage ambled toward the cider mill. 
 I blinked a bit, and it was gone.
 Perhaps it was a time warp thing, but visiting my home town brought on memories like this I'd, quite frankly, never had.  Maybe they were in the archives and sent to Friend Face by my classmates.  I felt a longing to remain there in the past. 
   So, I blinked again, and there it was.
   But this time, I recognized it was a hearse from days gone by.
   There were other people on horses clopping along behind it; some were in carriages and some in the saddle.  They stopped briefly at the cider mill and passed around a pitcher.
   That was certainly appropriate for this time of year, what with Hallow-e'en around the corner.
   Then, the caravan resumed once again toward the cemetery.
   The people had apparently already been to the church, and it was time to lower the body.
   But the horses who drew the hearse became alarmed as they passed near the railroad tracks and reared up on hind legs as the train passed by.
   The coffin was released, and the one in it was also, as her body shot up, with her split legs up in the air, and fell to the ground below.

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