The Harvest: Call of the Sirens Book One

by KB Benson

  The door to the orchestra room opens and a kid glides out with a huge smile on his face as the next one bustles in.

  “No one can resist juggling lamps,” the guy smirks. “That’s the trick, you know?” he leans toward me. “You’ve just got to be more unique than the last guy.” The boy flips his head in the opposite direction and struts past me. “Good luck,” he calls over his shoulder. I don’t think he means it.

  “What was that all about?” Iris asks from behind, making me jump.

  I flip around to face her. “My competition.”

  Iris laughs. “That’s your competition? I’ve seen him juggle his lamps before; it’s not that impressive. Last year he dropped two of them, and the assembly committee had to spend like ten minutes sweeping up shattered glass. He didn’t even think to take the bulbs out.”

  “Hmm, that’s good to know,” I say, happy his arrogance isn’t actually warranted.

  “Besides, if he doesn’t get his head to shrink, he might not be able to fit into the auditorium to compete.”

  I laugh. Surprisingly, Iris’ banter makes my nerves disappear or at least recede to the back of my mind.

  “So, you ready?”

  I nod. “I’m a little nervous; but you said this song rocks, so I guess that means it’s got to.”

  Iris laughs. “Don’t worry, I have very good taste. You’re going to do fantastic.”

  “Jace Jacobsen, you’re next,” calls the stagehand helping with the auditions.

  I look at Iris with mock panic. “Wish me luck.”

  “Are you kidding?” she says as we both enter the room. “You don’t need luck. Your song is perfect.”

  At the front of the room sits a row of five judges, each sporting a clipboard and water bottle. Numerous contestant applications pile on their table; mine goes straight on top.

  I strap my guitar around my back and look up at the judges, taking a breath. Iris sits right behind them; I focus on her.

  “Hey,” I say casually. “My name’s Jace Jacobsen and this is a song I wrote,” I pause. Do I dare say it? “For love.”

  The judges’ expressions border uninterested—this is probably the eighteenth guitar/vocal act they’ve seen. I stop looking at the judges and focus on Iris. This song is for her.

  I start strumming the chords for the song; and as I watch Iris, I remember the first time I sang it to her. She sits on the edge of her seat, her hands in her lap, her smile lighting up the room. I continue through the first verse, seeing her dark hair, her perfect lips. I have an urge to run to her, to hold her body in my arms. I suppress the feeling and continue. I reach the chorus:

  “I see you standing there, your heart so unaware.

  Your beauty is in everything you do: your heart, your eyes, your you.

  So stand there tall, your beauty living in your all.

  Your life, your light, your mere design has captured my heart for all time,

  And one day I know—I’ll make you mine.”

  I can’t tell for sure, but from the distance, I think a tear shimmers in Iris’ eye. Is that good or bad? She did say this song would melt the hearts of all the girls at Santa Cruz High so hopefully good. I sing the next verse and end with the chorus again. I take a step back and look at the judges. The three female judges all have tears in their eyes, too; one actually wipes them from her cheek. The two male judges have smiles on their faces and within a matter of seconds they applaud.

  “Well done,” one of the male judges says, a wide smile spreading across his face as he looks from one tearful woman to the next.

  “Thanks.” Relief spreads through me. The audition is over. The song was a success. All I can think of now is getting to Iris.

  The judges exchange similar glances before the man speaks again. “I think we can say in all surety you will be in the talent show in three weeks. Don’t stop practicing.”

  My jaw drops. They’ve already decided I’m in? I look at Iris again; her mouth hangs open in surprise, too. She races down to me as the judges tell us we can leave. I barely hear them trying to move to the next act as Iris slips her hand into mine, her soft skin pressing firm against mine. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to her. She leads me out of the room, grinning the entire time as a freckle-faced boy passes to take our place with a fiddle. Once the audition room door has closed behind us, Iris faces me.

  “I told you! I told you they would love it.” She points at my chest.

  “Yeah, you did. You were totally right. That was crazy!” I put my hands on Iris’ shoulders. “Iris, you are my muse. Sorry, but you just signed yourself up for a lifetime of helping me write love songs.”

  “With pleasure.” Her eyes sparkle and the world feels like it has frozen, an icicle unmoving in its state but writhing with life inside. We stand less than a foot apart, the smell of raspberries and pine—the smell of Iris—intoxicates me. My hands rest on her shoulders, deciding if I should pull her in and kiss her; but I still remember too well the last time I tried. Warmth rolls off Iris’ body. Her hair, long and flowing, brushes against my hands and I wonder what it would feel like against my cheek. I should just do it, just pull her in and kiss her.

  I debate too long.

  Before I’m ready to part ways, Iris gently moves one of my hands from her shoulders and takes a step away from me.

  “C’mon,” she says, “let’s go.” She cocks her head to one side, a small smile pulling up at the corners. Does she know what almost just happened?

  I’m relieved I don’t have to make that decision right this second, but a part of me is kicking myself for chickening out. Next time, I promise myself. Next time.

  Chapter 15

  JACE

  The next afternoon I pick Iris up at her house; I’m not surprised to find her standing on the sidewalk waiting for me. I climb out of the cab of my Toyota Tacoma to open her door for her.

  “You know,” I say, “one of these days I’m going to make it to that front door of yours like a proper gentleman to escort you out to the car.”

  Iris blushes a little. “You’re already a perfect gentleman.”

  As Iris buckles up, I climb into the driver’s seat and we take off.

  “You look really nice, by the way,” I say casually.

  Iris glances at her outfit—a fitted dress that falls to just above her knees, covered in printed flowers and sandals that wrap in intricate designs around her feet. My first thought would’ve been of my grandmother’s comforter, but Iris pulls it off.

  She fingers the silver scarf around her neck, the hint of a gold locket peeking from underneath it. “Thanks.”

  “A necklace and a scarf? You couldn’t decide?” I tease.

  “I never go anywhere without this.” She taps the locket.

  We drive in silence for a few minutes until Iris breaks it. “What are you thinking?”

  I shake my head to avoid telling Iris I’m in awe over her beauty. “About how awesome this movie is going to be. I don’t know what Chase and Laney have in store for you, but you can bet it’s going to be legit.”

  Iris readjusts in her seat and stares out the windshield. “I hope I can do this,” she whispers. “You know, be scary enough for them; but I don’t want to really scare them.”

  “Iris, if you could really scare them, then you would only be doing your job.”

  She nods, accepting my answer, but not agreeing with it.

  We pull up to the movie set a few minutes later. Chase and Laney are already here setting up props and fiddling with the camera. We park in an empty space next to Chase’s BMW and shut off the engine. Iris climbs out of the cab, meeting me at the back of the truck, and we walk up to the set together.

  In reality, the set is just an abandoned house up in the hills, but it’s perfect for this movie. The shingles on the roof corrode in colors of green and orange, a hole having caved its way into the building, and forest overgrowth climbs its way up the front steps. The forest cover is thick, only slotted amounts of sun
light penetrate through to the house. The house has damage all around the foundation, too, pieces kicked and smashed in with enormous spider webs dangling from the roof and looping around pillars.

  I shudder. What really happened here?

  I walk around to the back of the home where a door hangs off its hinges, red smears spreading across its metal frame. I shake my head, spray paint.

  “And she’s here. The queen of our show!” Chase announces to an invisible audience.

  “Oh, thank goodness.” Laney glances up at the sky and grabs Iris’ hand. “C’mon, we’ve got to get you into character. We’ve only got about four hours today with good lighting, and we should probably make the most of the clouds.”

  I look up at the sky. Clouds cover most of the sky that peeks through the forest cover, giving our earthy set a dark and spooky feel. And although it’s dry, I’m pretty sure I smell rain.

  Laney sits Iris down for about twenty minutes, painting Iris’ face and pulling her hair. Finally, she finishes. “Ah! You look perfect, Iris.”

  “I do?” Iris asks, a smile clear in her voice.

  I lean over to get a peek of Iris.

  Laney hands Iris her script and some clothes. “You can change behind the house.” She points at the unstable shelter. “And study your parts for this next scene, too. You’ve got like ten minutes ’til we’ll be ready to shoot.”

  “Wait!” I call out. “I’ve got to see the masterpiece.”

  “You can’t see her yet!” Laney spreads her arms wide in front of Iris to block my view. “If you see her ahead of time, then you won’t have as genuine of a reaction when we’re filming.”

  “Ah, fine. Good luck, Iris!” I holler.

  I turn around as Chase hands me my script. He explains which lines I’m allowed to change in order for it to sound natural as we go along. I glance over my shoulder, unable to help myself, just as Iris slips around the corner of the house.

  I read through the script. Chad Locklear, aka me, takes Chelsea, otherwise known as Laney, on a romantic hike through the woods. They get lost and stumble upon an abandoned house. They rest inside while they figure out their next move. The first two minutes of the movie will be Laney and me getting lost in the woods. The next five are when we’re in the house and figure out it is haunted—ending in our murders.

  “Chad. Chad, I don’t think this is a good idea.” Laney’s voice rattles with nerves as we round the corner, an old abandoned house emerging from the dying trees.

  “Chelsea, it’s fine. Look, nobody has been up here in forever. We aren’t breaking into anyone’s house. Besides, we don’t know where we’re going. We need somewhere to rest for a while and figure out a plan.” I look up at the sky. “It looks like a storm is coming in, too. Chels, we can’t be outside right now. It isn’t safe.”

  Laney looks at me and nods slightly, slipping her hand into mine. We walk to the front door which already hangs halfway off its hinges. I push the door open as a cloud of dust falls from above. I swat it away and take a step in, testing the creaky floorboards. Laney follows, her nose curled in disgust. Inside, the rot has eaten away at the floor in certain areas exposing the moldy beams of the ceiling above the basement. Carefully, I help Laney step around the holes. A rusted fireplace with ash-covered coals spreads across a small wall in the front room.

  I lead Laney through the room to a weathered couch. A grand piano sits in a corner; its broken strings reaching into the air at odd angles like gnarled fingers, missing keys leaving black holes where they once were. I sit on the couch, a poof of dust floating up into the air. Laney acts nervous and uncomfortable, barely letting her rear touch the cushion.

  “Babe, c’mon,” I say. “Come lie right here.” I pat my shoulder and she hesitantly rests her head on it. I feel really odd cuddling up to someone other than Iris, especially since I know Iris is somewhere in this house. But this is Laney, I tell myself. Iris knows this doesn’t mean anything… I play with Laney’s hair, comforting her character.

  “So, what should we do?” she asks.

  I sigh just as thunder roars in the distance making us both look over to the shattered window. This house really is creepy.

  “We can try to retrace our steps,” I say, back in character, “but that might just get us even more lost. It’s getting pretty dark outside.” I take a breath, looking at Laney. “Now, I know you won’t like this, Chels, but it might be safer if we stay here for the night.”

  “What?” she leaps away from me. “No way, no freaking way. I’m not staying here all night!”

  “Chels, I think it’s our only option. Where else are we going to go?”

  Laney paces across the floor, boards creaking underneath her feet. “We could—. We could—, I don’t know, Chad, but we for sure are not staying here.”

  Thunder shakes the sky again, getting closer to us. Perfect timing, I think.

  Laney and I are in the middle of our lines when something falls upstairs: a jar or something glass. It lands on the hardwood floor with a thud and then rolls a ways. I glance at Chase who’s filming. He peers up the stairs; that isn’t supposed to happen. I turn back to Laney who also looks a little confused. Shrugging it off, I recite my line.

  “Babe, I won’t let anything happen to you. It’s safer to stay here than to be out wandering in the dark with wild animals. It’s safer here not to mention drier.”

  Laney opens her mouth to speak, but her words are replaced by muffled arguing coming from upstairs.

  “You guys?” I ask as the only other person here should be Iris.

  “That’s not part of it,” Laney says quietly.

  Goosebumps raise on my arms.

  Chase lowers his camera. We all freeze, wondering if we should continue or if we should go check upstairs.

  “Is that Iris?” I whisper so the camera can’t hear.

  Laney shakes her head. “I don’t know. She’s supposed to sneak into this room not be upstairs. Who else would be here for her to argue with, though?”

  We wait for a few minutes as the muffled arguing continues. I rotate back to face the fireplace when a stumble of feet stomp across the floor above us like a roll of thunder. The sound of shattering glass ricochets throughout the house, followed by Iris’ scream.

  Without a second thought, I throw myself away from Laney and jump over the back of the couch, running up the stairs two at a time. I take a sharp left when I reach the hallway and rush to the room right above us, the one where I thought I heard the glass shatter. I shove the door, but it doesn’t budge. I shove again, harder this time. Chase rushes to my side, breathless.

  “Dude, is this for real?” I puff still throwing myself against the door.

  “I-I-don’t know what’s going on.” Sweat beads on Chase’s forehead. I ram the door again with my shoulder. Not a budge.

  Iris yells, the sound of pure rage, “How dare you? Get away from me!”

  Another shuffle of feet and gasping comes from behind the wooden door. I throw myself against it until something thuds into the other side. “Iris?” I shout. “Iris, unlock the door.”

  “Please, stop. Please don’t make me.” Iris pleads, her voice faint, right next to the door.

  “Iris.” I try to control my rising panic. “You need to unlock the door. Please unlock the door.”

  “I can’t, I can’t. Please don’t.” I hear her breathing, crying.

  A blood curdling scream ricochets behind the door for a second and suddenly her panting stops, everything is silent.

  “Iris? Iris!” I scream. “Chase, help me.”

  Chase hands the camera to Laney and together, Chase and I slam our shoulders against the door. Nothing. I step back and kick next to the doorknob. The door gives a little but doesn’t break.

  “C’mon!” I growl. “Open!” I kick again and again, Chase doing the same on the other side. At last my foot goes through the wood slats and it swings open.

  I step into the room only to find it in perfect condition. Everyth
ing is in order; there’s no jar on the floor, no broken mirror, no Iris.

  “What? Iris, where are you?”

  I race to the next door; maybe I chose the wrong room. I push this door open easily and scream.

  Iris hangs from the rafters by her wrists, dangling a few feet from the ground. Her body is covered in boils and sores, bloody wounds, and rotting skin. I’m not sure how much is real and how much is only make up.

  “Iris,” I whisper, fear suffocating my heart. This can’t be real. I touch her arm lightly, a sticky silver residue staining my fingertips. The silver liquid drips onto the floor.

  “Iris?” I shake her harder, but her body doesn’t react.

  Chase and Laney reach the doorway, staring inside at the grotesque scene before us. Immediately the blood drains from Laney’s face, and tears gather at the base of her eyes threatening to pour over.

  “Iris,” I say, louder. “Iris, wake up!”

  She doesn’t move.

  “Chase, go grab a knife or something to cut this rope.”

  Chase sets his camera down on a table and sprints from the room. I grab a chair and drag it over to Iris, standing on it so my face is level with hers. Her dark eyes are open and glassy, staring into the distance at nothing; staring straight through me. I stare into her dark eyes, a small piece of silver growing in her iris.

  Chase returns with an ax.

  “This is all I could find,” he says breathlessly.

  “That’ll work.” I wrap one arm around Iris’ waist and use the other to cut the rope with the ax. Her body falls limp in my arms and drapes over my shoulder.

  I lay her gently on the floor and put my fingers on her neck to feel for a pulse.

  Nothing.

  I readjust my fingers and replace them—no pulse.

  “Laney, do you have your cell?” I ask, trying to keep my composure.

  “It’s downstairs,” she whispers. Her eyes fill with tears again.

  “Go get it. Call 9-1-1.”

  She runs downstairs. I brush Iris’ dark hair away from her face. She has a long scar down the side of her cheek—makeup. She has more scars and wounds painted across her body. I touch one on her wrist. It’s the same shape and design as the tattoo on her neck, but this mark is sticky with silver liquid that smears when I touch it. The silver make-up smells like blood. I rip off a piece of my shirt and wrap it tightly around her wrist.