The Blood You Owe

by Ullery, D. S.

  The plants released him. What was left of Peter’s upper body landed with a dull thump. The remains lay there for only a moment before the soil absorbed them, the dead man reunited with his lover at last.

  The stranger emerged from the shadows of the shack, watching all this silently, feeling the same satisfaction he always had. It was important for them to suffer, to experience pain and fear as they were consumed by the spirits of the dead inhabiting the crops.

  Many of his people had been murdered out here over the years. Whether their deaths had been the result of deliberate violence at the hands of the nearby town or they had been worked to death by landowners who regarded them as less than human, it was murder all the same.

  He had been instructed in the old ways by his papa, who had received the knowledge from his father before him. This place was the domain of the spirit Kalfu, who had been drawn to the dark energy saturating the place after decades of despair. Through his influence, the blood of the dead carried their anger with them as they returned to the earth. Their spirits remained in all that grew from the tainted soil, their influence casting a pall over the surrounding lands.

  It brought out the worst in people that force. Travelers passing through found themselves unable to restrain their darker impulses. Hidden anger, secret perversions, simmering, unspoken hatreds; All would rise to the surface in its purest, unrestrained form beneath the dark influence of the fields.

  He stepped into the sugarcane, disregarding the remnants of the dead man. He could barely distinguish the tops of the buildings on the northern edge of the town in the distance. Somewhere further back, he knew, stood a refinery where the gathered sugarcane would be taken.

  A cold smile played on his lips as he thought about the townspeople going about their business, blissfully ignorant of their complicity in their own destruction. They tolerated him as the keeper of the field, the foreman of the crew who came out on weekends to harvest the crop which provided a steady stream of income to their town.

  The malevolence was part of the very substance of the plants themselves. Even as the stalks where chopped down and processed into shipments of sugar, the evil remained. That was why Kalfu would only allow the dead to feed at night, when no one else could bear witness as they drank the bitterness of the human heart. If the townspeople were unaware, they could maintain their creature comforts and feel as if they were in control, with not a care in the world.

  He knew otherwise. He had paid close attention to the news through newspapers and television. Even online, when he had the opportunity. In every city, in every state where they shipped the largest quantities of their sugar, violent crime had steadily risen over the years. Acts of deadly violence were occurring at an unprecedented rate.

  The society which had diminished and murdered his people was being torn apart. They were being corrupted by a sweetness masking a malignancy as black as pitch. That was the dark joke compelling him every waking moment.

  He drank in his surroundings, enjoying a reviving breeze. Everything was quiet. Having fed, the plants had withdrawn to their proper place in the field. He could sense the contentment of his people and was glad.

  Tomorrow, he would summon his crew and get to work cutting the down the latest batch. For now, it was time for sleep. Locking the door to the shack behind him, he began the long walk home.

  All around him the sugarcane moved.

  A dark whisper in the night.

  “Song of the Earth So Dark, So Deep”

  by D. S. Ullery

  THE DISMISSAL BELL WAS still echoing across the school yard as Chad Wilson sprinted to freedom through the doors of Lake Green High School. The feel of a pleasant breeze, mated with the warmth of the afternoon, brought a smile to the face of the fifteen-year-old. After spending close to seven hours cooped up in classrooms where artificially cooled air pumped from steel vents, he was glad to be outside.

  Even better, it was Friday afternoon, which meant a week of freedom courtesy of Spring break. He and his best friend Jimmy Clarke planned to start the festivities with a double feature of horror films directed by their mutual hero, the late Wes Craven.

  Chad trotted along the school property, waving to a couple of kids he knew from seventh period Science as he passed the racks of bicycles lined up near the main entrance. He noted the area was already a ghost town, having been vacated by all but a few stragglers in the rush to start the holiday.

  After the bicycle racks came the circular drive where the buses stopped in twice a day to drop off and pick up students from across town. It was also where parents who chose to drive their children to and from school could meet them.

  Usually this lot was full. As he stepped over the curb and onto the asphalt, Chad saw it was empty, the cars having cleared out just as quickly as the bicycles. It seemed even the adults wanted to beat a hasty retreat today.

  Unimpeded by a backed-up line of traffic, Chad could clear the drive effortlessly. On the opposite side, the pavement gave way to the deep green of a large meadow. As he stepped onto the grass, Chad he could see the lengths of yellow caution tape marking off a pair of neighboring lots under construction in his community of Crystal Spring.

  Chad’s family had lived there since he had been a small child. Barbara Clarke, Jimmy’s mother, had been the first neighbor his parents had met made after moving into the gated development. The street the families shared terminated in a cul-de-sac, which bordered the field Chad was currently crossing.

  On the north side of the field flourished a thick, wooded area. The locals frequently referred to this as the Green, due to the unusually deep, emerald hue gracing the natural canopy created by the tree tops.

  Students who lived in Crystal Springs had been using the meadow as a shortcut for years and Chad was no exception. Today he was particularly grateful for the quick access to his neighborhood. He was getting hungry and wanted to eat, shower and change into more comfortable clothes before calling Jimmy

  Chad smiled as his street came into clearer view. He considered jogging the rest of the way, but decided it was a little too warm out. No matter. He'd be home soon enough.

  He was halfway across the field when something pale moved peripherally to his right. Looking, Chad was startled to discover a small figure in a blue tee shirt and cut off denim shorts, standing among the gathering weeds near the edge of the Green. It was a small boy. A cursory glance suggested there was no accompanying adult.

  Startled, Chad took a step in the direction of the child. He wondered if the boy had been with someone in the park on the other side of the Green. There was a public playground inside the park, not far from where the woods began. It was possible he had wandered away in a moment of inattentiveness and his absence hadn’t yet been noticed.

  The problem with that theory was the Green itself. It spanned twelve acres and was dense. Chad hadn’t seen the boy when he had approached from the school, so he had to assume he’d emerged from within the woods. He doubted such a small child could successfully wander unattended through the Green without ending up lost inside.

  Unease began to creep in underneath his thoughts. Something about this felt off. He took another step in the direction of the boy, then another. Soon, he was slowly walking toward the trees, trying not to move too fast for fear of startling the child.

  As he drew closer, Chad was surprised to realize he recognized the boy.

  Holy crap, that’s Billy Baker, he thought. He was one of the students in his younger brother Scott's class at Lois Frankel Elementary. Chad had met the Bakers and knew there was no way they would want him out here by himself.

  Alarmed, he picked up his pace, no longer concerned with whether the boy scampered off. He just wanted to get to him and take him back home. The Baker's lived one block over from the Wilsons, so that wouldn't be a problem.

  The warm breeze which had been weaving through the tall grass of the meadow began to intensify. A streak of cold had wormed its way into the wind, sending goose pimples across
Chad's forearms. He shivered involuntarily, glancing up into the sky as the sunlight dimmed. A bank of gray clouds he didn't recall seeing earlier were sliding across the sun, casting a shroud over the afternoon.

  There was something else, another sound, underneath the low moan of the breeze. Chad stopped walking, concentrating on identifying the noise. The sound was alternating from high to low, then high again, followed by a series of escalating octaves.

  A melody. Someone nearby was playing a tune. There was a wheezing, vibratory quality to the notes which reminded Chad of a harmonica. It struck him as cheerful and bright. The question was, who was playing it? As far as he could tell, the only two people out here were himself and Billy.

  The boy could hear it too, that much was obvious. From where he was standing, Chad could see Billy had grown perfectly still. His mouth had become a thin, emotionless line. He had turned ever to slightly to his left and was leaning toward the trees, as if listening for something.

  Chad could hear the melody with more clarity now. Even though the wind was gusting with such force as to kick up small cyclones of dirt, whipping them around in a stinging maelstrom as it screeched its fury, the tune overpowered it.

  The experience wasn’t merely aural. He felt as if the song were working its way inside his head, growing louder by the second. It pulled at him, filling him with a sense of loss and regret. He was suddenly overcome by a deep desire to assuage that regret. Somehow, he knew the music would make that possible. He didn't know how he knew this, but he was certain of it. He began to move again.

  The longer the melody played, the less fanciful it sounded. What had at first seemed almost joyful had taken on a dark, funereal quality, as if issuing some ominous declaration. Suddenly Chad felt a bolt of outright terror surge through him. He was certain something awful was about to happen and desperately wanted to be out of the area before it did.

  He broke into a full run, keeping his eyes on Billy. The boy hadn't moved an inch since the wind began to pick up. Chad was reminded of an incredibly detailed statue he had once seen standing in the center of a public fountain. The sculpture had been on the grounds of an art museum he and Jimmy had visited, during a field trip when they were in middle school. The similarity between that lifeless, stone figure and the expressionless child before him brought a shudder to his frame.

  Just stay where you are kid, Chad pleaded silently as he cleared the distance between them. I'm gonna get us both the hell out of here.

  Then he was there, hovering over the child, reaching out for him. His fingers were a scant centimeter from latching on to the boy's shoulder when a rustling sound- deeper and more violent than that caused by the wind- disturbed the foliage only a few feet away from where they were standing.

  Something emerged from the Green. Chad jumped back reflexively, momentarily terrified by the appearance of the apparition. His fear dwindled into relief almost immediately when he saw it it only a man. Embarrassment left him fleetingly humbled, knowing deep down he was spooked enough to have expected something more sinister.

  Chad had never seen this person before. The stranger appeared to be a transient, from the look of it not having slept indoors for some time. His hair was a tangled, ebony mop spilling down past his shoulders. An unkempt beard spilled down to his chest. He was filthy, garbed in a long sleeved brown sweater stained with soil and sweat, as if he had been rolling in the dirt while wearing it. Rumpled Navy blue work slacks with a tear in one knee and a pair of decaying sneakers completed his disheveled appearance.

  Chad looked the man in the eyes and felt that deep terror return.

  Ice blue circles- pale, without remorse- stared back at both boys with unconcealed contempt. The untamed beard split in a grin, one devoid of even the slightest semblance of humor. It was the smile of a madman.

  A flash of silver gleamed and the stranger lifted his hands to his mouth. In them, he was holding a shiny harmonica. The man began to play, producing the same, haunting melody Chad had heard earlier.

  Now it assumed a more invasive quality, as if the very sound were penetrating his body. Chad felt disoriented, queasiness churning his stomach. He stumbled, lurching forward and retching, unceremoniously emptying this contents of his stomach onto the grass.

  The sense of disorientation overwhelmed him. Chad fell to his knees, then collapsed to one side. Sharp pain began to radiate out from his abdomen, bringing tears to his eyes. He drew his knees in, curling up into ball. Effectively immobilized, all he could do was lay there, his face pressed against the ground, staring at the awful scene unfolding before him through a haze of agony.

  Billy Baker had turned and was facing the stranger. As the man continued to blow out the devilish tones, the blank expression on Billy's face crept behind the boy’s eyes. Physically, he was still standing there, staring silently at the newcomer. But there was no longer any sense of the boy himself. He had become a mannequin, albeit one of flesh and blood.

  Chad watched, horrified, as Billy took a step toward their tormentor, then another, drawing ever closer. The man continued to huff out the melody, those cruel eyes never straying from the child. Chad tried to call Billy's name, but all he could manage was a choked gasp.

  Billy was within reach of the stranger, who could easily have snatched his small frame into his arms and stolen into the woods. Instead, he stopped blowing into the harmonica, lowering one hand while keeping the other held up. He pointed his index finger toward the sky, twirling it in a circular motion.

  Billy shuffled in a half circle. The motion was dull and automatic, the action of a puppet being guided on strings rather than a conscious choice. As he turned, Chad got a good look at his face. He began to tremble when he saw what stared back.

  The boy’s eyes had changed. Lacking either pupil or iris, they were gray ovals set in a face from which all the color of life had bled. Those dead orbs stared back from sockets recessed above cheeks hollow and blue, as if Billy had somehow wandered to this place from the grave.

  The smile was the worst of it. The grin gracing the child’s face was devoid of innocence. What had once been sweet and warm had become a leering, sinister thing, the sneer of something with an unholy- and insatiable- appetite.

  Behind Billy, the stranger closed his eyes. Tilting his head back, he began to sing. His voice was surprisingly soft, like the gentle ringing of wind chimes in a soft breeze, but his words carried with them a deep chill;

  “Song of the Earth so dark, so deep.

  Walk now children in wandering sleep.

  Pay to the earth the blood you owe

  Go dark, go deep, forever below.”

  Chad recognized the song as matching the pitch and tone of the haunting melody the man had been playing. The stranger lifted the harmonica to his mouth again and resumed blowing. The tune rang out across the meadow again.

  The singing continued unabated. From his vantage point on the ground, Chad could see the man was still blowing out the music on his instrument. Neither was Billy Baker’s mouth moving. He had no idea where the words were coming from, but the voice was distinct and clear.

  Chad felt a shudder run through him. At first, he thought he’d developed a bad case of the shakes. As the sensation continued, he realized it wasn’t coming from him, but the ground beneath him. Something was causing the earth to move.

  The ground shifted again. A fully realized panic attack surged through Chad and he forced himself to fight through the pain in his stomach, uncurling his body and struggling onto his hands and knees. He was still in that position as he began to scurry away from whatever was happening. Thoughts of Billy Baker’s dead eyes or the horrible man with the harmonica had been temporarily blotted out by a desperate need to get to safety.

  The dark tune continued to surround him and the wind kicked up another notch. The increased resistance slowed Chad and he gritted his teeth, closing his eyes against the gale as he pressed on with all his strength. Somewhere behind him, through the music and the howl of the wind,
he heard a terrible, deep cracking. A heavy spray of thick soil splattered against his back. Underneath it all rolled a low, inhuman growl.

  What the hell was that?! Chad wondered, his eyes popping open in shock as a new wave of horror swept over him.

  A shadow passed across the ground. It moved along the meadow, mere yards ahead of where he was crawling, creeping like some dark, unwelcome specter rising behind him. Chad, saw it move from his left to his right, clearly defined against the sea of green. His face was painted with disbelief.

  No, he thought. That’s impossible! That can’t be real!

  It had to be his imagination. He was scared and the wind was sending ripples across the field in waves, distorting the shadow. That’s what it was. Maybe it was being cast by one of the trees buffeted by the gale, causing it to appear misshapen.

  Of course, he thought, frantically resuming his crawl. That’s what it was. The shadow of a tree. And those were branches sprouting from it, not giant fingers. They couldn’t possibly have been giant fingers, because that would mean it was a giant -

  Something powerful gripped his legs, preventing him from moving any further. A tremendous pressure held fast to his lower body, pulling him back toward the Green. Chad shrieked in protest, scrabbling at the earth, clumps of grass and soil tearing loose as he was dragged helplessly along toward the trees.

  Knowing with a horrible clarity he was unable to prevent what was happening, he squeezed his eyes shut and prepared for the worst.

  Whatever it was had released him.

  The wind abated and the music fell quiet. Everything was silent as Chad lay panting. He swallowed, resting his head on his arm as he struggled to regain his composure. After a few seconds, had passed, he opened his eyes, lifting his head.

  He was startled to discover he was inside the Green, well beyond the tree line.

  Chad sat up and looked around. There was no sign of the strange man or Billy Baker. As far as he could tell, he was alone. He noticed the curve of a large, winding root from a nearby tree splitting the dirt only a few inches from where he was sitting. Chad reached out, using it for support as he hoisted himself to his feet.