The Harvest

by Sara Clancy

  “Dark hair,” Peter gasped. “Green dress. Her smile.”

  The description ended there. Becoming nothing more than broken sobs and endless begging to be taken away.

  “That’s her,” Steve said.

  Ted nodded, “That’s who I saw.”

  Cadwyn noticed no one asked him. For the moment, he had been forgotten. It wouldn’t last. Soon, they would calm down enough to need someone to tend to Peter’s wounds. Move now. He had barely taken a single step into the room when he heard it. The arguments drifted away, replaced by the soft, metallic ting of an old music box. The tune was repetitive and simple. A lullaby he knew well. It had taunted his family line for generations. Find it! The cell was small and bare. There was nowhere in the blood-stained room for it to hide.

  “Cad, get out here. We need you.”

  He didn’t instantly recognize the speaker, but he turned toward the voice. Something solid knocked against his foot. A box about the size of his palm slid over the blood-slicked floor. Constructed from polished wood and glistening metal, it gave the impression of being a solid whole. But, as he watched, the variety of slates squirmed slowly around each other. A steady slide and clack. The timer had already begun its countdown. Cadwyn swooped down and snatched it up, palming it as best he could to keep it out of the guards’ sight.

  “I need the medic bay.” I can hide the box there.

  Steve and Ted grabbed Peter’s arms. Together, they practically dragged him down the hallway, following close behind the lead guards. Two remained, impatient for Cadwyn to move. Before he could leave the room, a disembodied voice drifted to him. An aged whisper. Old and crackling and horrifically recognizable. Come home, Winthrop. Come home.

  Chapter 2

  The Crane Family

  Willimina Crane. Reading her own name at the top of the college acceptance letter never got old. Each time brought a new little thrill. Pennsylvania State University wanted her. Would have been better if it was ‘Mina.’ She quickly chastised herself for the thought. What they called her didn’t matter. Not until they were putting her name on her diploma, that is. At least they didn’t try and ‘correct’ it to Wilhelmina, she thought. Have to celebrate those small victories, too.

  She bit the insides of her cheeks to keep her growing smile from showing. The paper she held concealed under the table was proof she had achieved the second step of her Life Plan. Not only did she graduate high school with a 4.0 grade point average, but she also got accepted into the best Criminal Justice program in the country.

  Then it’s on to Harvard Medical School for my doctorate, she recited to herself. Admittedly, things got a little murky from there. She had repeated the question so many times it had almost become a time-killing game. Practice medicine for a few years first, or head straight to the Federal Bureau of Investigation? It was so easy to picture both options. Fingers tightening around her acceptance letter, she indulged in a few fantasies. How long would it take to become a world-renowned surgeon?

  The question hovered in her mind as she glanced around the dining room. Generally, it was a rather large space, with ample room to fit the huge antique dining table her father took an inordinate amount of pride in. Now that almost every blood relative she had was crammed into the room, it suddenly looked rather tiny. The humid air was dense with all the lingering scents of their buffet.

  A half dozen bowls still scattered the table top, allowing people to pick at the leftovers. The poker game taking up the far-right end of the table was entering its fourth hour and a Jenga tower clattered down to a chorus of cheers. Larger conversations had run their course and those still in the mood to chat were left with a steadily decreasing pool of options. Mina briefly listened in on her sister’s argument with one of their cousins. It had been forty minutes and they were still at odds over who would win in a fight between a sasquatch and a leprechaun. She longed to leave the room for at least a little while, get some fresh air, and stretch her legs. Maybe mom will let me go check on the kids, she thought, eyeing the door to the living room.

  The layout of the house kept the small herd of children in clear view. A cartoon played on the T.V., but no one was left awake to watch it. The few younger teens left to watch over the kids were preoccupied with their phones. Ready to graduate from high school, Mina had finally earned her place at the ‘grown-ups’ table. She was officially an adult in the eyes of her family and was expected to stay awake with them to see who The Witch selected. The Witch. The thought alone made her want to pinch the bridge of her nose. Somewhere along the way, her ancestors had decided the ghost of Katrina Hamilton was stalking them. A ghost witch. She mulled the concept over once again. Yep. Still doesn’t make sense.

  Admittedly, the Crane family had experienced some bad luck. Mina couldn’t deny that. But a few accidents and a handful of coincidences didn’t automatically mean the occult was involved. Mina had tried to prove this point a few times by dissecting the deaths most commonly used by the Crane elders as proof. It hadn’t gone over well. No one wanted to be told they had spent their entire lives afraid of strange but completely natural phenomena. That everything they knew to be true was simply a product of mass hysteria and self-fulfilling prophecies.

  So here I am, Mina thought as she scanned the room again. A small pang of guilt weaved around her stomach. It seemed ungrateful and even rude not to fall in line. Belief in The Witch was the only thing her family really asked of her after giving so much. It was just one night of the year, after all. Like waiting up for Santa Claus. She grimaced.

  What kind of jerk makes fun of her loved ones’ fear? Even as she reprimanded herself, Mina couldn’t shake the thought that it was an accurate comparison. Sooner or later, someone would have to actually intervene to keep the delusion going. Her parents had to put the presents under the tree. And someone would have to make the selection. For the first time, she would actually be in a position to see who’s in charge. They might even let her in on the way they helped the situation along. Butterflies flopped around inside her stomach. That’s going to be such an awkward conversation.

  The exaggerated sounds of the cartoon wafted into the dining room, creating a constant backdrop to the low murmur of conversations happening around her. It drew her attention back over to the couch. Last year, she had been one of the teens watching over the little ones. She knew they wouldn’t have gone through all of the junk food they had been supplied with. Making a mental note to search through the wreckage on the way back, she resolved to take a trip to the bathroom. Standing as discreetly as she could didn’t stop everyone in the room from instantly snapping around to face her. The silence was almost a physical thing.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I’m just going to duck to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

  “Take Jeremiah with you.” Her mother’s passing command brought life back into the room.

  Everyone went back to what they were doing, their chatter sounding louder after the momentary silence. No one was paying enough attention to her to notice the slump of her shoulders.

  Seventeen-years-old and I’m still not allowed to walk down a hallway without my older brother’s protection, she thought.

  Mina carefully kept her mind away from the world of awkwardness that awaited them once they were actually inside the bathroom. There wasn’t any point. Privacy didn’t exist during The Selection. For the entire twenty-four hours, no Crane by blood was to be out of sight for any reason. It left Mina grateful The Selection happened during the fall. California could be merciful in the summer and Anaheim wasn’t too bad. But their air-conditioning and been broken for years, and everyone was always too paranoid to crack open a window on that day of all days. The only thing that could make the stifling heat of the dining room worse would be the collective body odor of her entire extended family.

  Mina’s hesitation drew her mother’s attention.

  “It’s alright, dear. Jer doesn’t mind. Do you sweetie?”

  Jeremiah was already by the door, ha
nds shoved into his pockets. “Nah, I wanted to grab my phone charger from my room anyway. We’ll get it on the way back.”

  Whatever protest Mina might have been able to muster died the moment her mother grabbed her forearm and gave it a little squeeze. A fine tremble ran along the podgy digits.

  “You’ll be okay. Just be quick. Jer will keep you safe.”

  Mina summoned a small smile. This is the year, she told herself as determination rushed through her. The whole night, she had been torn between submitting to the demands of her family and taking another shot at inserting some sanity into the situation. But she knew she couldn’t take this much longer. Every year, she helplessly watched her loved ones cower from shadows and legend.

  I’m going to finish this tonight. I’m going to make them see the truth.

  A voice in the back of her head reminded her facts and figures didn’t matter much to those around her. I’ll have to catch them while they’re planting the box.

  “Yo, Mina,” Jeramiah snapped her from her thoughts. He swung one arm out into the hallway. “Do you have to pee or not?”

  “Yes. Thank you for making that public declaration.”

  “Oh, no.” Jeramiah flipped his head back to better show off the roll of his eyes. “Now people know you have normal bodily functions. The horror.”

  “It’s called dignity. I know you’re not exactly familiar with the concept.”

  Instead of a verbal response, he alternated between jabbing his thumbs down the hallway and clapping his hands like trying to coax over a puppy. Don’t swear in front of dad. Don’t swear in front of dad. The mantra helped her to hold her tongue as she crossed the room. Jeremiah had a skill for knowing exactly when she was on the brink and, of course, exploiting it.

  “Who’s a good girl?” He cooed as she came closer, careful to keep his voice low enough so their parents wouldn’t hear. “You’re a good girl. Yes, you are.”

  It was him pinching her cheek that pushed her over the edge.

  “Oh, f−” She caught herself just in time to change it to ‘forest green.’

  In unison, the siblings turned to catch their father’s reproachful gaze. The slip wasn’t close enough to an actual swear word to bring down his wrath. But the warning was clear.

  “So close,” Jeremiah taunted in a whisper.

  “Would you just go?”

  “I’ll get you next time.”

  Concentrating on his display of maniacal laughter left Jeremiah an easy target. One solid shoulder barge knocked him off his feet, leaving him to topple into the wall in a fit of indignation and hissed curse words.

  “What was that?” their father snapped.

  They fled into the hallway.

  “Do you think we’ll ever be too old to be treated like children?” she asked.

  Jeramiah barked a laugh. “I’ll be coasting as soon as I hit twenty. You, however, will always be his sweet little angel.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “Sorry. You’re the baby. It’s the rules.”

  Mina scrunched up her mouth and busied herself folding her acceptance letter.

  “When do you plan on telling them you got in?” Jeremiah asked.

  “I’ve got it perfectly planned out,” she said. “I’m going to yell it out of the taxi window on my way to the airport.”

  “Flawless.”

  While the hallway wasn’t long, it was still enough to turn the noise of the family into a muffled murmur. Jeremiah began to cast quick looks over his shoulder. His smile remained, but the warmth was quickly draining from it.

  “Are you okay?” Mina asked.

  He nodded rapidly. “Yeah. Of course.”

  A few more paces and he abruptly paused. “Did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?”

  “Nothing,” he rushed. “It’s nothing. Let’s just hurry up before mom starts to worry.”

  She studied him as they passed by the hall closet and reached the bathroom door. “You really believe there’s a witch, don’t you?”

  His casual shrug didn’t take the fear from his face. “Don’t you?”

  “No. Clearly not. Haven’t you been listening to me at all?”

  “Oh, come on. How many of us have to end up dead before you get with the program?”

  “Accidents and coincidences.”

  “Yeah, well, there’s a lot dad hasn’t told you,” Jeremiah dismissed.

  Mina snapped around to look at him. “Like what?”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Jer.”

  He shook his shoulders as if he could dislodge her suspicions. “Don’t get all worked up. You’re such a red.”

  Mina found herself trapped somewhere between annoyance and amusement. “Aren’t we too old to be using colors as insults?”

  “Says the one who threw some shades of green at me earlier.”

  A part of Mina wanted to bring the conversation back around. To push her brother a little harder and see just how deep his conviction in The Witch really went. But, seeing as how the banter was taking the tension from his shoulders, she just couldn’t bring herself to follow the instinct. So instead, she poorly hid the word ‘purple’ in a forced cough as she led the way into the bathroom.

  “Go orange yourself,” he grumbled. “And you’re just peeing. I’m not hanging around for you to fix up your hair.”

  “I wasn’t going to.”

  “Oh.” He pressed his lips into a tight line. “Right. Okay.”

  “What?”

  “No, no. It looks good.” He bared his teeth in a weird fake smile.

  If she didn’t start ignoring him now, she would have to prepare for a prank war. Something that was never advisable while using the facilities. So she bit back her pride, held her tongue, and set about her business. The downstairs bathroom was the only one used on the night of The Selection. It was far bigger than the upstairs one, thanks to the architect’s whim of attaching it to the laundry room, and the extra square footage allowed the process to be a little less awkward than it otherwise would be.

  There’s no privacy tonight, she told herself. Or dignity.

  Jeremiah closed the door behind them and rested his forearms on the top of the dryer, playing with his phone as casually as he could. It gave the illusion they couldn’t still clearly see each other. Mina chewed on her bottom lip as she tried and failed to answer nature’s calling. It was hard to be a Crane with a shy bladder.

  “I’ve officially got a red bar,” Jeramiah declared. “My phone is dying while you’re doing nothing. You murderer.”

  “You’re not exactly helping.”

  “Twelve percent!”

  “All right, all right. Hey, order me a pizza, yeah? I’ve been craving some Hawaiian.”

  The proceeding argument as to whether or not pineapple belongs on pizza created enough of a distraction for her to do what they had come to do. Soon enough, they were back in the hallway.

  “So, we agree,” Jeremiah declared. “We get the charger and then order two large pepperoni.”

  “I said Hawaiian.”

  “Which is obviously insane, so I vetoed it.”

  Mina’s ready reply shattered into a startled squeal. There was barely time to register the cool hand that had latched onto her forearm before it yanked her violently to the side. The folding door of the closet rattled open, revealing the gaping chasm that had replaced the rows of neatly folded sheets. Instinct brought her free hand up to brace herself for impact. But there weren’t any shelves remaining to break her fall. The hand didn’t release its iron grip until Mina hit the floor. Behind her, the door snapped shut with a sharp clatter. Her heart thrashed within her chest, beating with a sudden ferocity that left her breathless and dizzy.

  “Jer?” Mina swallowed thickly to keep her mounting fear from her voice.

  In the muted light, she kept a sharp eye on the walls and ceiling, reassuring herself they hadn’t moved any closer. Deep breaths, she reminded herself. Walls don’t mov
e. It’s just in your head. The doors remained closed, slicing the light into blurred bars.

  “Jer, this isn’t funny.”

  “I’m not doing it,” Jeremiah replied.

  The feeble doors shook as he yanked on the handle.

  “Jer!”

  “Mom! Dad!”

  It wasn’t Jeremiah’s bellow that caught her off guard. It was the clear, razor-sharp fear that cut through each word. Scrambling up onto her knees, she threw her weight against the door, careful to drive her shoulder into the joints. The thin door shook but refused to budge. It should open. Logic and basic physics dictated it should. Unless something’s pushing on the other side.

  “Jeremiah, get off the door!”

  “I’m not on it! Dad! Hurry!”

  Snapping around, Mina checked the walls once more. They haven’t moved. Walls don’t move. In defiance of her thoughts, the walls shifted. Every time she looked away or blinked, they lurched closer. Afraid to close her eyes, she slammed both hands against the door, and burrowed her fingers into the grooves between the slats in an attempt to pry them open.

  “Open the door!”

  “Baby?” Her father’s voice echoed toward her as if from a distant place. It was soon lost under the chaos of the others crowding outside the door and her own feral screams.

  “Open the door! I can’t breathe! Open the door!”

  Blood rushed through her ears in a deafening roar. The air grew as thick as tar. What little she could choke down coated her throat and clogged her lungs. Her elbows bashed into the walls as she struggled.

  They’re too close. Too close.

  Static devoured her mind. An almost living buzz, like a swarm of insects were scurrying over the paint and plaster. Cold sweat prickled along her spine. Her hands grew slick as she clawed wildly at the door. The sound of breaking wood was lost under the cries of her family. New slivers of light told her she had broken the slats. Fractured edges sliced into her fingertips as further proof. But the door wouldn’t open, and the walls now pushed hard against her shoulders.