The Harvest

by Sara Clancy

  Cadwyn cringed as he watched her go. “That right there is the air horn of warning signs. We probably should change our plans before we see what she’s thinking.”

  “I’d like to see it,” Mina declared.

  Keeping her spine rod straight, she stomped off after Basheba. Ozzie wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do, so he was grateful when Cadwyn patted him on the back of his shoulder. He offered him a warm smile.

  “I guess we should catch up with them before they get themselves into trouble.”

  He couldn’t argue with that. We have to get them on the same page, Ozzie thought desperately as he followed behind the girls. But no matter how hard he thought about it, he couldn’t come up with a way to get them to that point.

  Basheba cut across the road, rounded a corner, and followed the new street until the forest blocked their way. A quaint white house stood alone to their right. It was pressed slightly into the woods, making room for the graveyard that started before them and rolled up over a nearby hill. Gray stones dotted the frost-bitten grass. Most were chipped and dulled by centuries of storms and had sunken into the earth to stand at strange angles. A few still held their original polish. It was easy to pick them out when the sun peeked from behind the gathering clouds to make them glisten.

  People milled around the gravestones, some following tour guides in brightly colored coats while others made their own way around. A few graves in particular seemed to draw their attention. They clustered around the stones, posing for photos before swarming in like bees. Ozzie was too busy trying to figure out what they were doing to notice that Basheba had stopped walking.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled after colliding into her back.

  Basheba didn’t acknowledge him. A deep flush steadily crept into her cheeks as she watched the flow of tourists. It looked like she was going to scream. The illusion ended when she choked down a staggered breath.

  She’s trying not to cry, Ozzie realized.

  “What are they doing?” he asked aloud.

  “A few of our relatives are buried up there,” Cadwyn said.

  Ozzie looked from the people to Basheba and back.

  “I don’t get it.”

  “We’re a tourist attraction,” Cadwyn answered in a whisper. “The cursed lines of the Bell Witch.”

  “Are they putting chalk on one?”

  The older man held off answering until he had snubbed out his first cigarette and lit a new one.

  “That’s Katrina’s grave,” he said, once again blowing the fumes above their heads. “Recently put up, of course. Convicted witches weren’t buried on hallowed ground.”

  “Are they leaving a mark?”

  “Oh, that’s new, too. Leave a mark and get a wish. I haven’t got a clue who came up with that.”

  Suddenly, Basheba burst into motion. Only Buck had anticipated it and she was entering the graveyard gates before the others thought to follow. They somehow managed to lose her within the thin crowd.

  “There!” Mina said.

  She pointed up the hill. It was easier to notice Buck’s black coat than the blonde.

  “What’s she holding?” Mina asked.

  “A rake?” Ozzie suggested.

  Cadwyn broke into a sprint. “She found the gardener’s shed.”

  A tour had just started up the hill, the meandering guests blocking Ozzie and Mina’s path and slowed them down enough that they only got halfway up before chaos broke out. Shouts of protests and demands for answers were covered by Buck’s menacing snarls.

  Mina abruptly grabbed Ozzie’s wrist and brought him to a stop. Side by side, they watched as Basheba attacked a gravestone with the metal teeth of the rake, chipping off pieces with every swing. Cadwyn swooped in to block off the few people brave enough to risk Buck’s wrath. Eventually, she drove the tip of the rake into the soft earth by the base of the headstone. It took all of her weight bearing down on the opposite end to leverage it out.

  With a few startled cries, the stone toppled, flopping down the hillside with heavy thuds. Basheba wiped the sweat from her forehead, tossed the rake aside, and started back down to the main gate as if nothing had happened.

  She walked over the fallen stone and made it back to Mina and Ozzie before the crowd caught up with her. Buck and Cadwyn still tried to hold them back, but it was an impossible task. Now that they were close enough, Ozzie could pick a few sentences out from the general, belligerent noise.

  “What the hell is your problem?” A woman screamed, pushing aside Cadwyn’s arm to get a few steps closer. “I’m calling the police.”

  “Fine,” Basheba dismissed.

  “Who do you think you are?”

  Ozzie couldn’t pinpoint who had spoken, but Basheba whirled on them like an angered snake, reared up and ready to strike.

  “That bitch doesn’t get to be buried near my family!” Each word cracked like thunder. Far louder than her small form would give credit for.

  The stunned silence didn’t last. Like coming rain, the questions were sporadic at first and then joined into a sudden downpour. Some wanted to know which of the four families she belonged to. Others asked for a photograph, while even more amongst them moved about the phones they were recording with to try and catch her face. Basheba shouldered past Ozzie and Mina.

  “Let’s go.”

  It was Buck more than Cadwyn who kept the crowd from following them from the graveyard. With fang and threat, he blocked the way until the group had reformed by the funeral home. The door wasn’t locked. Basheba flung it open before whistling softly. Buck yelped in acknowledgment and raced toward them, paws kicking up clumps of earth and head lowered with dedicated purpose.

  “Good job!” Basheba bent over and opened her arms wide, welcoming the slobbering, excitable dog into her embrace. Her voice was light but crackled around the edges. “Who’s the best boy in the whole wide world?”

  “Is it me?” Cadwyn asked as he closed the door behind them, fixing the lock just in case anyone thought to follow.

  “You’re lovely and all.” She dropped into baby talk and cupped Buck’s floppy cheeks. “But how can you compete with this face? Look at it. Look at his beautiful face.”

  “Well, you have me there.”

  She wrapped her arms around Buck’s neck. The dog accepted the embrace, standing strong like a sentinel as Basheba progressively looked smaller. Ozzie shuffled his weight and locked his eyes onto the floor. The small sign of vulnerability was obviously not meant to be viewed by anyone, least of all a stranger like him. I wonder if her dad’s grave is up there.

  “That was a crime,” Mina declared, breaking the uneasy silence. “You can’t just destroy property like that.”

  Basheba rolled her eyes. “Who’s going to stop me?”

  Mina crossed her arms over her chest. “You might have to spend the night in jail.”

  “Good,” she responded. In response to their startled looks, she said, “What? I don’t want to stay with my uncle and the hotel doesn’t take dogs. The cell is kind of my best option.”

  It was the first opening Ozzie had found to make himself useful, and he latched onto it. “I’ll make sure the hotel takes you and Buck in. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Exactly how can you do that?” Mina challenged.

  Ozzie shrugged one shoulder. “If all else fails, I’ll buy the place.”

  “I always forget how rich you guys are,” Cadwyn noted. “If we’re going to see the bull, we probably should get moving. One of those guys is definitely going to call the cops.”

  “We can’t just walk down there,” Mina said.

  Basheba smirked and stalked across the room. “Again, I ask, who’s going to stop me?”

  “Whoever locked the door,” Mina replied.

  Both Basheba and Cadwyn broke into laughter.

  “That’s so cute,” Cadwyn said. “You think people lock their doors around here. Did you not notice how easy it was to get in?”

  It bothered Ozzie that, once ag
ain, Basheba knew exactly where she was going. She had no problem finding the back door that opened up to the basement, or the light switch inconveniently placed a few steps downs.

  The stench of chemicals wafted out. It was only faint traces, but it burned his nose and lodged in his throat like sharp stones. He reeled back, smacking into Cadwyn who was hurriedly snuffing out his cigarette in a nearby pot plant.

  “What is that?” Mina asked, one hand gently covering her nose.

  “Formaldehyde,” Cadwyn said. “The sweet rotten apple undertone is most likely glutaraldehyde.”

  “I’m failing chemistry,” Ozzie said.

  Burying his cigarette butt under a handful of potting soil, he elaborated simply. “Embalming fluids. Highly flammable embalming fluids. That we shouldn’t be able to smell so strongly from up here.”

  The last sentence was directed at Basheba. Still standing a few paces down the staircase, she hesitantly turned to look at him, like she didn’t want to turn her back on the stark white tiles lining the walls of the basement. Ozzie clamped a hand over his nose and pushed closer.

  It wasn’t hard to look over her shoulder. The lower floor looked exactly how Ozzie had imagined. Sterile and clean, with metal surfaces that gleamed under the harsh glare of the overhead lights. He tried not to look at the array of scalpels and bone saws arranged on the table. Why do they have a microwave? What are they cooking?

  He could barely catch sight of the far wall, the one pressed up against the graveyard. The vast amount of sunlight promised there was a window there, but all he could see were rows of heavy metal shelving crammed with bottles. A single silver table stood in the middle of the room. It was empty.

  Ozzie barely stifled his yelp when Cadwyn latched onto his arm and roughly yanked him back, throwing him against the opposite wall. Before he could understand what had just happened, Mina was slammed against his chest, forcing the air from his lungs. Cadwyn braced one arm against the doorframe as he reached for the short blonde.

  Buck’s attention was locked onto something unseen down the stairs. Shoulders hunched and teeth bared. Basheba turned. There was just enough time to see the fear in her eyes before the door slammed shut.

  Chapter 12

  The fluorescent lights buzzed like hornets as they flickered. Basheba pushed herself back against the door, feeling the wood rattle as Cadwyn fought to open it. She assumed it was Cadwyn. The other two have no reason to bother. Buck’s claws scratched at the stairs as he staggered back and forth, desperate to attack, but awaiting her command. Rattling metal hinted at movement below. Something large and unseen.

  “Basheba!” Cadwyn screamed.

  Her hands began to shake, her heart picking up pace until she could barely breathe around it.

  “Basheba!”

  The scrape of flesh on tile drew closer. Shadows moved and merged as something lumbered ever closer to the bottom of the stairs.

  “What’s going on?” Cadwyn bellowed before striking the door in anger. “Talk to me!”

  Darkness engulfed the foot of the stairs. A wall of shadows that only slightly dissipated in the staggered light. The thick body of the minotaur blocked the entire width of the stairs. It dwarfed her. Thick bands of muscles covered its chest, swelling with every snorted breath.

  Most of the damage was to its skull. Spikes of bone protruded through matted tufts of fur, severing the flesh and leaving it to hang in strips. One horn still protruded proudly from its temple while the other was twisted back to resemble a goat. An eye dangled alongside its mangled snout, twisting in its steaming breath.

  Basheba pressed harder against the door but there was nowhere to retreat to. The minotaur took a step closer.

  “Get them out,” Basheba stammered.

  Cadwyn instantly replied, “What?”

  Buck’s snarls turned wild and savage, a ferocious sound that she felt down to her bone marrow. Basheba balled her fists until her arms trembled and her knuckles threatened to pop. She tried to draw in a deep breath and found herself choking on the chemical stench.

  “Get them out!” she bellowed.

  Cadwyn paused, slammed against the door again, and shouted back, “Stay away from the chemicals, Basheba!”

  The sentence would have made her laugh if the scent of formaldehyde wasn’t lodged like a dagger in her throat.

  Will it kill me?

  On the other side of the immovable wood, she could catch traces of movement; mumbled words she couldn’t understand and pattering feet.

  They’re gone. I’m alone.

  She had asked for it, and yet, the reality gutted her. The first bitter sob forced her to double over, one hand pressing tight against her stomach as if to keep everything from spilling out. Buck raged as the bull staggered forward, taking its first step onto the staircase.

  Amongst the chaos, the sound of the music box rang out, filling her ears and leaving her cold. Decades of hate rose up to meet the sound, filling her with a visceral rage that left her trembling.

  “Buck.” Her whisper silenced the dog. It waited for her command. Glaring at the deformed face of the bull, she spoke one word. “Kill.”

  Nails slashed over timber as the colossal dog burst into motion. Halfway down, he launched himself at the monstrosity, wide jaws seeking flesh. The bull-man swung out a thick arm. But it underestimated both Buck’s agility and his ferociousness.

  Taking the blow to his torso, Buck twisted around and latched onto the beast’s arm. Blood gushed from between his fangs. Bones cracked and flesh tore into strips. The minotaur thrashed and jerked in a desperate attempt to dislodge the Rottweiler.

  Basheba ran for the small gap between the colossal beast and the wall. It was barely anything, but her tiny form didn’t need much. The minotaur twisted just as she threaded herself through. Pain exploded across her back as a mammoth arm struck her spine and sent her careening through the air. She didn’t have time to suck in a breath before she hit the far wall. Medical tools scattered around her as gravity dumped her on the bench. Sparks raced along her veins, exploding behind her eyes and whiting out her vision. A pained yelp made her head snap up.

  Built from dense muscle, Buck weighed far more than she did. He flew through the air as a dark blur but landed short of the wall, sliding the rest of the distance to the side of the cabinet. No sooner had he hit the floor than he was up again, shaking blood from his muzzle, baring his fangs as he attacked.

  The minotaur bellowed in fury and charged forward, trying to catch Buck with hand and horn. The dog evaded each attack, circled the beast, snapping and snarling for the minotaur’s neck. The sight pushed Basheba into action. She scrambled off of the bench and snatched up a scalpel. A small plastic sheath protected her fingers from the razor tip.

  Now that she was on level with the beast, its size was overwhelming. It was three times her height, broader than her entire length.

  She dropped to the ground, uncapping the scalpel as she rolled under the examination table in the center of the room. It only took a few seconds for an opportunity to present itself. Basheba lashed out from her hiding place, one hand cupping the front of the humanoid shin while she raked the deadly tip across the back of its ankle. The Achilles tendon snapped with a sudden gush of blood and an agonized wail.

  Basheba flung herself back under the table. Buck roared. Blood slicked the tiles. Metal squealed and crumbled as the minotaur stuck the top of the table.

  Tiles turned to shrapnel under the twisted metal. Basheba scurried back, barely getting a foot away before the minotaur grabbed the edge of the table and ripped it back. Fear locked her joints. She couldn’t move as the mutilated, mammoth creature loomed over her.

  Buck surged forward, exploiting the distraction to leap off the exposed underside of the table and latch onto the minotaur’s throat. His paws dangled as the beast staggered back. Basheba didn’t know if it was the added weight, the sudden attack, or the snapped tendon, but the result was the same. The minotaur buckled. The ground shook as it
dropped onto its knees. Buck thrashed his head, opening the wound and turning everything crimson.

  It’ll get his arms around Buck.

  The thought propelled her up. A few steps and she was at the metal rack. Chemical bottles filled the shelves with a narrow window clearly intended for ventilation mounted in the wall above it. Bottles toppled as Basheba scaled the shelving. One hand shoved open the window the minotaur must have closed. Fresh air rushed in, its touch making her remember the steady burn in her lungs.

  She jumped back down and scanned the shelf. Formaldehyde. With the heavy plastic bottle in one hand and the scalpel in the other, she sprinted back to the dueling animals. It had just gathered enough sense in its mangled mind to reach for the Rottweiler as she approached.

  “Buck!” she commanded in a rush. “Release!”

  Instantly, he let go. Without his grip, he dropped, narrowly avoiding the minotaur’s groping hands.

  The side of the scalpel pressed against the palm of her hand as she latched onto the twisted goat horn. Yanking hard, she tried to knock it off balance and buy herself another few seconds. But, with a wet, sucking sound, the horn ripped free of the scalp.

  The monstrosity bellowed and struck blindly. Retreating, Basheba called for her dog and thrust a trembling hand to the window.

  “Up.”

  He obediently bolted for the window, leaping from one shelf to the next until he could work his body through the gap. Once outside, he spun around and resumed barking, calling for her to follow. Gathering the last of her courage, Basheba held the bottle between both hands and drove it down upon the remaining horn with all of her strength.

  The tip easily pierced the bottom of the bottle. A glug of liquid burst out and the air became unbreathable. She gagged and sputtered, her eyes watering and the skin around her nose burning. It looked like water. It burned like acid.

  The bull-man’s scream shook the walls. It was a broken, animalistic, tortured wail that twisted up her gut. The outburst of pain wasn’t enough to quell the fire burning in her veins. She wiggled the bottle to widen the hole, leaping back to avoid the increased flow. There was no escaping the fumes.