Roads To Hell: A Horror Anthology

Part 12 - The Harvest

Some nine months or so after Imogen and her husband Daniel moved to the small town of Morton, an isolated community in the Southern Highlands. Situated at the end of a valley, sheer cliffs beyond the local forest bordered the area on three sides. There was one way in and one way out.

In the winter, Imogen and Daniel had seen a great many strange things. Fog seemed to permanently rise from the valley floor, covering the town in a thick, grey mist. The town street lights were always on during that time, reflecting monstrous shadows of the buildings and people. But when they came closer they saw the spiky charnel house was merely the church, and the squat hovel was the town's post office.

"It's all right," George Tollman, the mayor, told them. "You newcomers will get used to the ways of Morton."

He was right, by the end of winter they paid no heed to the strange shapes and disconcerting sounds in the fog. They simply got about their day like the rest of the locals. Imogen went to the local clinic, where she was working as a nurse. Daniel worked on his novel and took care of the house. Very soon, all doubts about their tree change - moving to the country - were gone. By the following summer's end, they were beginning to feel like locals themselves.

On the first day of autumn, Imogen opened their front door to find that all her neighbours had put wreaths on their door. Shutting the door behind her, the nurse shrugged her handbag further up her shoulder and snuck across to the house next door. She touched the wreath with a finger, taking in the details. It was made of woven straw and held together with red and white thread.

Before she could get caught snooping - she didn't want to insult the people who had so kindly welcomed them into their tight-knit community - Imogen hurried on her way to the clinic, just a fifteen minute stroll away.

As she walked, she saw every house and business had a wreath on their front door. Some had even placed old-fashioned scythes next to the door. Why had no-one told them about this tradition? Where did one even buy a straw wreath? Morton was hours away from the nearest department store!

"Morning, Imogen. How's it going?"

"Good morning, Laurel!" The head nurse was normally all business, but Imogen decided to take a chance before she got stuck into work. "I couldn't help but notice all the wreaths. On the doors..."

Imogen trailed off, cowed by Laurel's unblinking, blue-eyed stare. Then, the woman smiled, pearly teeth glinting. "Oh, of course. You wouldn't know, would you? It's harvest time."

"Harvest time?"

"My favourite time of year! Now, your first patient is Muriel Jones, you remember her? Needs a blood pressure test."

Imogen sighed and let Laurel steer her away from the topic. She decided to ask the other nurses during the lunch break, but they were just as vague.

"It's harvest time," they all said.

"But what does that mean?" she pressed. "And why did no-one tell me? Those wreaths are lovely. Just charming. I would have loved to put one on my door."

"Oh, deary," Helen said, patting her hand. "You'll receive your wreath tonight, newcomer. At the festival."

Imogen was relieved at the news, if a little perturbed to still be called 'newcomer' after almost a year in Morton. She had hoped to be accepted by now, but perhaps that was what all the secrecy was about. Certainly, there were times that she felt left out of some conversations or that she had missed the punch line of some joke. Perhaps tonight was the night they would finally be officially one of the people of Morton.

She left the clinic with instructions for where the harvest celebrations were to take place. Midnight, at the end of the road through the forest. It was a popular picnic spot during the spring and summer but difficult to find at night, so Mayor Tollman himself had volunteered to drive them.