Hollowed Ground

Pick Up at Pumpkin Farm

Callaway didn't usually leave notes. I looked at the curly, elaborate handwriting with swirling flourishes in my hand. It had been pinned to my door with a thin, glimmery silver needle. I would never have expected the undertaker to have such delicate penmanship. Like dragonflies fluttering on a spring day.

"Pick up at Pumpkin Farm"

I sagged with relief. Spring brought good weather and good health, which meant few bodies to bury and little coin in my pocket. I was down to twenty coppers and three pairs of boots to sell to Griswold when I saw him next. Or two. One pair had so much embroidery on them that they were sure to be recognized. I wouldn't be able to sell them until I left Ravensgard.

So today I had a job. Good. I had already spent several days this week meandering through the wilderness looking for new types of mushrooms. I never tired of it but I couldn't pay Callaway for my room in mushrooms. I glanced at my mushroom jars on top of my bedroom chest, next to the copy of Poison, Supper, and Cures: One Hundred Varieties of Mushrooms From This Realm and Others I had no intention of returning to the library. I hadn't found any new types but there were plenty of Paddy Straws and Slippery Jacks. I stuffed the note in my pocket, threw some bread and cheese into a satchel for my midday meal, and headed downstairs to fetch my cart and shovel.

Pumpkin Farm. A fellow called Mad Rick lived there. Alone. He never came into town. Had everything he needed on his farm I suppose. I'd heard the townsfolk saying he used to be a hero of some kind. Killed dangerous beasts and such before he got sick in the head. They said the farm was haunted and the pumpkins were as big as houses but not quite as safe. Could be true enough I suppose, but the townsfolk didn't always know the truth. Unless I was a zombie and didn't know it. But last I checked I ate bread, not brains.

I craned my neck as I made my way through the mortuary, looking for Callaway. Was it "Mad Rick" himself I was picking up or some other poor blight who had had the misfortune of dying at his farm?

Never matter. Callaway was nowhere in sight so I couldn't ask him. I would find out when I reached the farm. Once outside, I tossed my shovel into my cart and pulled the harness over my shoulders and around my waste. The wheels rattled behind me as I took off down the road.

It was a mild day, neither too cold, nor too warm. With winter ending, folk were out gathering things they needed for the tilling and sowing, buying their bread in the market place, sharing gossip. Not that there was much to gossip about. Ravensgard was a quiet town. Dull even. That's why I had stayed here these two years. Dull, dependable Ravensgard.

A clod of dirt struck my face. It shattered and sprinkled over my shoulder like pixie dust. I turned to see a young boy sticking his tongue out at me. "Stupid zombie witch!" He shouting and ran away. I turned back toward the road and moved along without dusting the dirt off.

Dull, dependable Ravensgard, where the most frightening thing folk can encounter is the gravedigger and they invent tales of giant pumpkins to pass the time.

I ducked my head as I passed the library. It was a small building and the dragonborn librarian spent more time managing Ravensgard's legal affairs and hand drawing maps than lending books. Ravensgard didn't have many folks interested in book learning. I wasn't much interested in book learning myself except for mushrooms. Still, I tried to stay out of the his line of sight as he peered out the window through his wire rimmed spectacles. He was sure to have noticed by now that I hadn't returned Poison, Supper, and Cures: One Hundred Varieties of Mushrooms From This Realm and Others for well over six months. He looked back down at the quill in his hand and I moved along.

It was an hour walk to Mad Rick's Pumpkin farm. The market soon gave way to green grassy hills scattered with houses that became more and more sparse as I moved along the road. Soon the hills had trees scattered among the houses and then there were houses scattered among the trees which became larger and closed together the further I walked. Before I knew it, I was deep in the forest and it had been well past twenty minutes since I had seen a house.