Easter Eggs and Bunny Boilers: A Horror Anthology

by Matt Shaw

  THE END

  Bio

  Graeme Reynolds has been called many things over the years, most of which are unprintable. By day, he breaks computer programs for a living, but when the sun goes down he hunches over a laptop and thinks of new and interesting ways to offend people with delicate sensibilities. He lives somewhere in England with a random cat that seems to have decided to move in with him.

  Graeme is the author of the massively successful High Moor series, that is widely acknowledged as the best werewolf horror series in existence (according to his mum) and owns Horrific Tales Publishing, a well respected UK based small horror press.

  http://www.facebook.com/horrifictales/

  http://www.graemereynolds.com

  http://www.horrifictales.co.uk

  http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B016IF0DH0/

  Easter Eggs

  By Chantal Noordeloos

  The rain drummed down on the dented silver Ford Taurus SHO as it turned off the German highway onto a small country road. The car, like the road, had seen better days, and Polly Green wished –not for the first time that day—that she had stayed in Los Angeles. She glanced at Lukas, her fiancé, who was staring at the road with a deep wrinkle across his brow.

  Everything had gone so fast. She and Lukas had met less than six months ago, at a party of a mutual friend. There had been a spark between them from the moment their eyes met. Like magic.

  He was perfect in her eyes. Sweet, handsome, a little clumsy at expressing himself –English wasn’t his first language—and he adored her. They mostly spoke English with each other, though Polly could understand a fair bit of German, thanks to her grandmother. She knew her Oma would have loved Lukas. Even if she might not have approved of how fast their relationship was developing.

  After dating for four months, Polly found out she was pregnant, despite the precautions they had taken. Teetering on the edge of a panic attack, she hadn’t been sure how to tell him. When she finally worked up the courage, Lukas had surprised her by sinking to one knee, and asking if she would marry him. It couldn’t have been more perfect.

  There had been some doubts in those first days. How well did she know this man she was about to spend the rest of her life with? But now, two months later, she realized it was the right decision. Lukas was a dream come true, and she really wanted this child more than anything in the world.

  Her hand touched her flat stomach. It wouldn’t be long now before she started to show. She already suffered from extreme morning sickness. The horrible overwhelming nausea would hit her at random times; it was crippling. At home, Lukas would make her his own herbal remedy that he claimed was good for the baby and would aid against her nausea. It never helped, but she drank it anyway; he tried so hard to help. As if summoned by her thoughts, a wave sickness flowed through her, but she’d already made Lukas stop at Gorlitz half an hour ago and didn’t want to bother him again. Besides, they were almost at their destination.

  Lukas wanted to introduce his fiancé to his family and tell them all the good news about their baby in person. It would be perfect to spend Easter in Germany, he assured her. They had some wonderful Easter traditions. She had always wanted to go to Germany, and Lukas promised they’d visit her grandmother’s birth town too. She would have shared his enthusiasm if she didn’t feel so damn ill and tired all the time.

  Aside from the nausea, the hormones gave her terrible nightmares, which made sleeping problematic. When she closed her eyes the images of an old woman forcing her gnarled hand –cracked and brown as if it were made out of wood—into her womb and ripping the delicate baby out haunted her. The old woman held the undeveloped child in front of her, all limp and alien looking, and she laughed before she slipped the fetus between her cracked lips, letting it lie on her tongue before chewing.

  The nightmares toyed with her mind, leaving her frazzled and clinging to sanity. The last thing she wanted to do right now was travel to a strange place with strange people. She’d hinted at maybe going at some later date, but Lukas, in his excitement, hadn’t picked up on the signals.

  Polly hadn’t pushed the matter, though in the end, due to her health, they had gone a few days later than planned. She would manage, she told herself; things could be worse.

  Lukas took a right and drove through a filthy looking village. Garbage littered the streets, and uninspired graffiti decorated the walls of the grey houses. There was something bleak about the whole place. A hint of relief washed over her when they didn’t stop in the village, but drove further North-East.

  *

  The rain stopped, as if by magic, when they drove onto the Opfergabe family estate.

  They drove onto a muddy lane, and Polly held her breath at the sight of the land. It was mid spring, frost had only left the air a few weeks ago, but the meadow around the farm already bloomed with the most beautiful flowers. An almost luminous green covered the trees and grass, as the rays of sunlight touched them, turning the remaining raindrops into sparkles.

  It’s like driving straight into a fairy story, Polly thought.

  They drove past an apple orchard, where pink and white blossoms kissed the deep brown wood of the branches.

  “This place is beautiful,” Polly gasped, her face only an inch away from the glass. She felt like a little girl pressing her face against the show window. “You told me it would be, but I never even imagined.”

  “This is why I wanted to come here. Our land is very special. I promise you, it will look even better after Easter.” Lukas winked at her.

  She laughed, “I don’t see what difference two days would make?”

  A smile curled around his lips, but he didn’t explain himself.

  “Did you grow up here?” she asked.

  “Yes, I lived here until my late teens and helped out,” he said in his strong accent, “I’m very much a part of this land.” He pushed his round glasses further up his narrow nose, and shot her a crooked smile. “Many of my seed has been spilled here.”

  This time she laughed despite herself. A mild sense of shame made her cover her mouth with her hand.

  “Did I say something funny?”

  “A little,” she admitted. “You might want to rephrase that last sentence. It just sounds…” she struggled to find the words to explain it, “… it sounds a bit dirty.”

  “Soil is very dirty,” he said, nodding in agreement.

  “Not that kind of dirty,” she giggled. He frowned, and shot her a questioning look. Polly didn’t know how to explain, so she just bit her lip.

  A grand house loomed up in front of them. Instead of a small cottage, or a typical farmhouse, a mansion greeted them.

  “This is your family’s farmhouse?” Polly asked, her eyebrows arched. “Is your family royalty?”

  Lukas smiled and shook his head. “No, but the farm has provided for my family with great wealth over the years. Our land is fertile and business is good. The house was built by my great grandfather. He liked to show off his riches.” He leaned a little towards her, barely taking his eyes of the road as he spoke in a conspiratorial low voice: “I don’t think my mother is comfortable with any of the splendor. She is a little more… humble.”

  He stopped the car near what looked like the back door of the large building.

  “Mutti!” Lukas shouted as he opened the car door. Then he continued to speak in German. “We are here, and I have brought you a great surprise.”

  The back door, a big wooden monstrosity, opened and revealed a shrunken old woman. The sight of her made the blood drain from Polly’s cheeks; she couldn’t help thinking of her dream. Behind the old woman was a younger one, who obviously was Lukas’ mother. Both women had hard faces. Stern grey eyes stared at her. Polly stepped out of the car, her nausea lessening as she breathed in the fresh air. She met the younger woman’s eyes.

  “Hi…” Polly said, trying to keep the tremble from her voice, “I’m Polly.” She held out her hand, but the younger woman stood rigid with crossed arms.
When Polly moved her hand to the older woman, she just spat on the ground and said, in harsh German: “Does she speak German?”

  “Well enough to understand you,” Lukas said, “But holding a conversation is… problematic.”

  Two pairs of grey eyes looked at her with undisguised contempt. She couldn’t help but feel an instant dislike for both women.

  “I can learn,” Polly said in heavily accented German, but inwardly she thought: Not that I would have to, since I’ll be living in the States, far away from you people.

  The old woman eyed her suspiciously, and Lukas’ mother rolled her eyes.

  “You better show her the room we have prepared,” the mother said to Lukas. “We’re very busy making the last preparations for tomorrow’s Easter ritual.” She turned around without so much as hugging her son, and walked back into the house, the older woman on her heels.

  “Is your mother mad at me?” Polly whispered. She thought Lukas’ may have told his mother that she was pregnant before they were married. Perhaps the woman thought that Polly was ‘that kind of girl’.

  “No, you are not to worry. My mother is just a bit, how do you say it?”

  “Curtly?” she offered.

  “Yes, exactly… curtly.” He tried to hide a smile. “She means well. You’ll have to forgive her. We Opfergabers are just a little… different. She’ll warm up to you.” He winked at her.

  “Not all of you. You’re not like that.”

  “I’ve always been a bit different.” He kissed her forehead.

  Lukas led her into the big house, his hand gently on the small of her back, and whispered in her ear: “You will love the Easter Ritual. It’s my favorite thing about being home. It’s really the most magical time of year in this place.”

  Inside the house, Polly caught herself holding her breath. They had entered through the dark kitchen. There were Easter eggs everywhere. Hanging from the rafters, placed in large bowls on the counters, and dangling from thin twigs placed in large vases. There were hundreds of them, each decorated with a different ornate pattern of symbols. She reached out, gently touching the tip of her finger to one of the colorful shells, marveling at the intricate artwork on them.

  “We will bury the twelve eggs before sundown,” Lukas’ mother said in German, holding up a large wooden bowl, “So hurry. I want you there for this. You can bring her too.” She nodded towards Polly, who was mesmerized by the eggs the woman was holding. The eggs were even more ornate than the ones around them, decorated with vibrant colors and rich gold. For a moment, Polly imagined she could hear the eggs palpitate, like hearts, but she knew she was just imagining things. The sight of the things made her uneasy.

  Lukas must have noticed something, because he looked at her with worry in his eyes. “Do you need to lay down?”

  “I wouldn’t mind.”

  He took her hand and led her upstairs, to a small austere room. There was a single bed, which was made up with a grayish white sheet tucked tightly at the corners and an embroidered off-white throw spread on top. A round table and one chair stood to one side of the room, and on the other side was a sink. The window was narrow, and the faded blue curtain hung half closed, letting in only a sliver of light.

  “There were a lot of Easter eggs down there, are you going to hide them all?” Polly asked, as she took her coat off and put it on the chair.

  He laughed. “Yes, we will hide some of them for the children of the village to come find. They always come Easter Monday, and then bring their loot to the breakfast table. But that’s not the main part of the ritual.” Gently he maneuvered her to sit on the bed. The bedspread was coarse and cold to the touch. “Most of the eggs you saw are just decoration. We use them to cheer up the house, and it is believed there is good fortune in decorating your house with eggs. The twelve eggs my mother was holding—one for each month of the year—will be buried all over the field today. According to superstition, the eggs will provide both the land and my family with health and fertility. Now, those twelve eggs are no ordinary eggs.” His warm grey eyes, so different from those of his mother and grandmother, sparkled. “We use the Ukrainian tradition of Pysanka, which is a wax-resist method, to decorate the eggs. My family is a mixture of Ukrainian and German heritage,” Lukas explained, “and the Pysanka is a strong part of our identity, as it is with many Ukraines. My people believe there is a little magic in the ritual, and we will each make a small sacrifice during the egg painting.”

  “Sacrifice?” Polly couldn’t keep the worry from her voice.

  “It’s not a big one,” Lukas laughed. “Everyone’s sacrifice is their own choice and they all do something different. Some will mix a drop of blood into the wax, while others will give up some money, or donate a lock of hair. Just little things. I promise you there is no reason to worry.”

  “You didn’t make one of the eggs…” she said, frowning. “Was it important to you?”

  He touched her cheek with gentle fingers and smiled. “Yes, this tradition is very important to me.” He winked at her. “Don’t worry, I get to make an egg too. There is a thirteenth one, and it’s quite an honor that I get to make it, for it’s the most important of all. We bury it at midnight tonight, which will give me plenty of time to decorate it.”

  “Can I help?” she asked and he beamed at her.

  “Yes, you can, but I will show you how tonight. First I need you to rest a little, so you can be there for the first ritual. We want to bury the eggs before the evening.”

  “I hope I feel up for it.” Her stomach churned, and the thought of running through a field, burying eggs, wasn’t appealing.

  “I’ll make you my famous drink.” He snapped his fingers, and stood.

  About ten minutes later he returned, holding a large stone mug. She took it from him, holding it under her nose.

  “This is not your famous drink,” she said, as the vapor hit the top of her lip. There was something sickly sweet in the scent of it.

  “This is my mutti’s. It’s even better. Her krauter…” he looked at her questioningly.

  “Herbal,” she translated.

  “Her herbal skills far outdo mine.” He smiled, but the look in his eyes was intense, as if he were afraid she would reject the drink his mother made. Carefully she took a sip, moistening her lips more than anything else. The brew tasted less sweet than it smelled, but it really made her stomach turn.

  “It’s delicious,” she lied, “It’s very hot, though. I’ll have to let it cool off.”

  “Just make sure you drink it” He kissed her forehead, “I’ll be downstairs for the preparations, so you rest, okay. I’ll pick you up in an hour, when we’re ready to go into the fields.”

  “Okay.” She lay down on the narrow bed, and shot him a smile. He blew her a kiss and left the room. She glanced around, her eyes resting on the sink. Without hesitation she got up and quickly tipped the hot brew over, and washed it down with water. Her hand rubbed the last few drops of evidence away, before she turned to the narrow window. It gave a beautiful view over the lands, and she could see the farm lands to the back of the house. People were already getting ready for the celebrations, it seemed. At least a dozen men, women and children walked around, carrying boxes and baskets.

  The nausea hit her hard, and she decided to lie down.

  *

  She had drifted off, slipping into one of her dark dreams. As the nightmarish old woman, whose face was never quite clear, cut open the skin of her stomach with one long dirty fingernail, a strong hand grabbed her shoulders and woke Polly. She sat up in her bed, startled. It was difficult to shake the nightmare off, as she stared at the cold face of Lukas’ grandmother. She almost screamed at the sight of her, convinced for the briefest of seconds the old woman had come to take her baby. She needed a moment to snap out of it, and with all the strength she could muster, Polly forced a smile, trying to think of something to say.

  “Hello…” She realized Lukas had never properly introduced them, and Polly didn�
�t know what to call the woman.

  “Here,” the woman said in brusque German, “Drink this.” She pushed another mug of the same concoction in Polly’s hand. “Then you must get up. We’re going to perform the Easter ritual in a few minutes.”

  “Th… thank you,” Polly stammered. The old woman glowered at her. Polly put the cup to her lips and pretended to drink, but as before, she only wet her lips. The woman nodded satisfied, and walked out of the room. Polly waited until she heard the footsteps retreat, and dumped the rest of the liquid down the sink, leaving a bit more than a sip in the cup. She waited a few minutes, giving herself enough time to have drunk the beverage, before going downstairs.

  A strong smell of roast pork hit her nostrils, and Polly cursed how sensitive her pregnancy made her to scents. Normally she enjoyed the aroma of roasting meat, although this did smell as if it was on the cusp of burning. Her stomach turned but she held her own as she made her way down.

  Lukas greeted her at the bottom of the stairs, and she handed him the cup.

  “I couldn’t finish all of it,” she said. He looked in the cup and smiled.

  “We’re about to go into the field,” Lukas nodded towards his mother, who was holding a basket with the eggs. Next to her stood a fair-haired young woman, a few years younger than Polly, with watery blue eyes. Polly guessed she was a cousin or something, since she didn’t resemble the others. Perhaps just a family friend, Polly thought. She didn’t like the way the girl looked at her, the pale blue eyes were filled with loathing. Great, another German woman who hates my guts.

  Polly realized she’d had enough of this place, and couldn’t wait to go home again. She didn’t like anyone she had met so far, and she didn’t want to stay here anymore. She would talk to Lukas after the ritual.

  “Follow me,” Lukas’ mother said, and she led them all outside. There were dozens of people all around, and it looked as if most—if not all—of the neighboring village had come for the ritual. Most people were still in their work uniforms, as if they had just dropped what they were doing before they came. The butcher’s apron was covered in dark red stains, which made Polly’s skin crawl. There were a couple of police officers walking about, which was oddly comforting.