Word Count: 123
Cumulative: 230
The Tuberson family farmhands had started picking potatoes after dusk to beat the arrival the next day of an unusually hot Indian summer. By four in the morning, Joy was standing in the middle of a field at Arbor Ring Farm trying to figure out what went wrong with the haulm topper and harvester.
Too many rocks near the surface? She wondered. Both pieces of machinery had failed in spectacular fashion. She knew better than to try to fix them in the dark. She’d wait until dawn.
A rooster crowed. The yawning mid-September sun rose golden over the fields, illuminating a wasteland of scraped and scattered glowing yellow bones—all that remained of a decimated family of skeletons violently aroused and dismembered overnight.
Mr. Funny Bones 
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