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Branches.

Black, twisted limbs spread above it like the crown of a dead tree, disappearing into the smoke overhead.

Then it steps forward.

Jesus Christ.

Its body is wrong. Too thin in some places. Swollen in others. Roots and corn husks twist around something pale beneath them, and its arms hang nearly to the ground, ending in tangled lengths of roots that drag through the dirt like fingers. Where its face should be, there is only a shape.

A suggestion of one.

Too long. Too still.

Then the fire reaches for it.

And recoils.

Flames bend away from its body as it moves through them untouched.

Straight toward Sage.

She still hasn’t seen it.

Every drop of blood in my body turns to ice.

“SAGE!”

The thing reaches for her.

She turns, sees my face then slowly looks behind her.

The thing lowers its head and the entire farm goes silent.

And for the first time in two hundred and thirty-five years… the Harvest steps out of the Earth.

Not fully. Never fully but just enough to rear its ugly head.

Sage backs away.

Its body is made of everything we've fed it.

Roots. Corn husks. Bone. Rotting fruit. Hands. Too many fucking hands. Human mouths open along its chest. Whispering ‘Bride’.

Sage shakes her head. “No.”

The mouths smile. Then one voice rises above the others.

Mercy's.

“Run.”

Sage runs.

The Harvest follows and every root in Ward Farm comes alive.

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