Fall Fest!

“Carrie! You’re 15 minutes late!” exclaimed Patrick, Bridget’s fervently obedient assistant. “What happened? You look like the backside of a couch cushion.”

“Thanks for that, Patrick.”

“Bridget, your 8 a.m. is finally here,” Patrick spoke into the intercom.

“Send her in,” her boss’s prickly voice replied.

As she entered Bridget’s office, Carrie mulled over the path that had brought her there. She had moved to New York with her college boyfriend, Mike, six years earlier to pursue a career in journalism. After a seemingly endless string of rejections, she settled for a web columnist position at Hey Girl magazine. The columns explored 72-hour trips to the likes of Aspen, Cancun, and the Hamptons. Although she loved to travel, Carrie was beyond bored of the frivolity she produced—titillating features including “Top 5 Bikini Wax Spots in Miami” and “Best Christmas Light Displays in Providence.” Mike had had better luck, landing a photo contributor spot for Rugged and Handsome magazine. A few months later, Mike’s mother died in a freak car accident three days before Thanksgiving. He returned to his hometown of Harmony, Vermont, and soon after announced he would fill in his mother’s shoes at the family’s framing business. Carrie wanted to try a long-distance relationship, but Mike didn’t want to hold her back, so they broke up. Three years later, she was stuck working the same job, with a trail of dead-end relationships in her wake.

“Have a seat,” Bridget commanded. “I’ll get right to the point. Carrie, your column has generated a lot of clicks, but frankly, your posts are turning stale. Our readers want something different.”

“I can do different! I have so many topics in mind—peace talks between Sirvonia and Ballador, the Ozempic craze, the extinction of the Eastern Gorilla—”

“Our readers don’t want that kind of different; they want more of you!” Bridget gushed, taking a moment to caress the stag pendant that dangled from her neck.

“More of me?” Carrie asked bewilderedly.

“Get to know you, feel like they have a girlfriend, peek inside your love life,”Bridget mused.

“I’m too busy for a love life,” Carrie protested.

Bridget waved her hand impatiently. “Then create one. I’m sending you on a more personal assignment—think of it as a journey of self-discovery. Put your heart into it, be vulnerable, let our readers discover the real Carrie. You’re going to Harmony, Vermont, to cover their Fall Festival.”

“Did you say Harmony?” Carrie mustered.

“Har-mo-ny, that’s correct. Their quaint village hosts the hottest Fall Fest in New England, it aligns each year with the Autumn Equinox. I’ve arranged a meeting with their mayor. Go home and pack—you’re flying out this afternoon. And who knows, maybe you’ll meet someone special. You’re dismissed.”

“Bridget, I don’t know if I’m right for this assignment—” Carrie protested.

“Oh? May I remind you you’re easily replaceable. This is your final chance to turn this column around. If I don’t have your story on my desk in one week, you’re fired. But if you get it right, I’ll let you write about whatever your little heart desires.”

As Carrie left Bridget’s office, she thought she saw the stag pendant’s eyes glow red.

I’m sorry—I have to pause for a moment. I’m trying to tell this Hallmarky story that devolves into a cult initiation by creepy Harmony drones, but honestly, I’m struggling. My hands are numb and tingling. I can only write well when I’m in the bathtub, but we all know I can’t spend all day in there. Anyway, I’ll suck it up. Let’s skip ahead.

As Carrie drove her rental Corolla down Main Street, she observed the small-town charm Mike had reminisced about: Bambi’s Pie Shop, the Moonlit Doe Diner, Velvet Antler Antiques. “I only pray I don’t run into him,” she whispered.

En route to her bed and breakfast, her phone lost signal, so she stopped at Whitetail Café for directions. The warm fragrance of cinnamon and cocoa greeted her nostrils as she stepped inside.

“Welcome, sweetheart! Would you like to try our Maple Salt Lick Cappuccino?” a giddy, round woman with a frilly apron offered.

“No, thank you. I was hoping for directions to Hooves and Hide B&B.”

“Carrie? Is that you?” came a familiar voice.

She turned, and her eyes met Mike, accompanied by a striking young woman with a wild mane of auburn hair, sitting at a booth with hot chocolate.

“What are you doing here?”

“Mike, um, so nice to see you. I’m writing a piece on Fall Fest,” Carrie replied, meeting the sweet green eyes she had fallen for so many years ago.

“Oh, how exciting!” Mike’s companion exclaimed. “You must enter the Harvest Bake-Off. I’m a judge this year!”

“Oh, uh, I’m afraid my baking prowess doesn’t extend beyond reading the instructions off a brownie box, Miss—”

“Sloan. Sloan, meet Carrie,” said Mike.

“Carrie, oh my! I’ve heard so much about you,” Sloan said with a smile.

Pause, I’m triggered. My boyfriend dumped me a week ago, and this scene is conjuring feelings of hostility. Oof, I’m feeling queasy just thinking about it… or maybe it’s from those wild mushrooms I ate earlier. A pity gift from you-know-who. I’m going to take it out on Mike and make him the villain of this story. We’ll move onto—

That night, Carrie enjoyed the cozy confines of a woodland themed room at Hooves and Hides B&B. As she lay in bed, she pondered the relationship status of Mike and Sloan. “She’s so beautiful,” Carrie acknowledged wearily. Just before she fell asleep, she recalled Sloan’s pendant, a stag nearly identical to the one Bridget wore.

At 3 a.m., she was abruptly awakened by a rhythmic pulse, so intense it caused her bed to shake with each beat. She gazed out the window to see a bonfire burning brightly. A swath of people stood nearby. “Maybe this is a Fall Fest tradition,” she thought. “I should have a look for my research.” Carrie tiptoed down the stairs and went out the back. As she approached the blaze, she realized the attendees were stark naked. She moved closer, taking cover behind a row of apple trees. Now she could plainly hear the party chanting in an unfamiliar, ethereal tongue. A procession bore baskets of grapes, purple asters, and goldenrod, moving towards a shadowy figure. Carrie knelt on the grass and crept closer. Her head spun with the intense aroma of smoke mulled with overly ripened fruit. Suddenly, the clouds parted, and a moonbeam cast upon the gift recipient. Carrie gasped as he came into focus—a creature with the upper body of a man and the hindquarters of a deer. Crowning his head was an extraordinary pair of antlers. “Mike?” she whispered dubiously, before shock overtook her. Carrie fainted.

She was roused in the morning, nestled in her bed, by the smell of freshly baked apple cider donuts. She rushed to the window. No bonfire, no ash, and no Mike. “It must have been a dream,” she sighed with relief.

Carrie walked downstairs to the breakfast nook. The innkeeper, Mrs. Doyle, greeted her enthusiastically. “Good morning, sweetie! Breakfast is over, but I have a few treats left.”

“That’s ok. I’ll grab something in town. This is going to sound silly, but was there a party here last night?” Carrie asked sheepishly.

“A party! Heavens no! I’m asleep by nine!” the matronly woman chuckled. “Here, dearie, I insist. Take these muffins.” She handed Carrie a brown sack.

As Carrie accepted the bag, she noticed Mrs. Doyle’s fingertips were stained the shade of burgundy grapes.

On her stroll towards town, the warm autumn sun invigorated her spirit. She selected a muffin from the sack and smiled.

Cranberry—her favorite.

She bit into the sugar-coated top. As she munched, her teeth met a rock hard mass. Carrie spit the contents into her hand. There, among the berries, was a small human tooth.

“Ahh!” Carrie yelped as she flung the remnants towards the bushes beside her.

“Didn’t they teach you not to litter?” a friendly voice inquired from behind.

“Mike! I—you startled me!”

“Funny how we keep bumping into each other,” he laughed.

“‘Funny’ isn’t the word I would have chosen,” Carrie countered.

“Come on, I’ll walk you into town.”

This creep keeps popping out of nowhere. He reminds me of my ex, always sneaking up behind me. You know, he had some eccentric friends, too.

Carrie met Mayor McMurphy for a tour of the festival grounds, a vineyard on the edge of town.

“It’s like a painting,” Carrie marveled.

“Yes, we’re very lucky. Our ancestors migrated from Ireland during the famine. We honor them during Fall Fest to ensure a bountiful harvest,” explained the mayor. “Those early settlers sacrificed so much… What stock are you of?”

“Stock? You mean my heritage? German, mostly,” Carrie replied hesitantly.

“That’ll do,” he answered.

Next came a trip to the community center to see preparations for the festival parade. Inside, the center bustled with craft activities. A group of women sat cross-legged in a circle, weaving vines into crowns. Men with chisels were busy carving intricate symbols into wooden staffs. And there was Sloan, embroidering an exquisite white linen dress with a forest motif.

“Your community is so talented!” Carrie complimented the mayor. “But where are the children?”

It dawned on her that she hadn’t seen a single child since she’d arrived in Harmony.

“The little ones will be chosen at the festival tomorrow, don’t you worry. Our babies bestow the most precious gift of all,” Mayor Murphy replied.

“Carrie! Come over here!” Sloan called.

Carrie walked towards her workstation, and Sloan held out the dress. “Please, help a girl out. I need a model.”

Sloan pointed towards the bathroom. “Go on, try it on.”

Carrie came back a few minutes later wearing the dress.

“Hmm,” Sloan groaned. “I’ll have to bring it in at the waist.”

Guys, I feel rotten. I’ve been vomiting a brownish liquid for the past hour. I’m terribly dizzy. I could have sworn I saw glowing red eyes in my bedroom. I can’t go on storytelling much longer—let’s jump to the climax.

Sunday evening, Carrie readied herself for the grand finale of the festival, a banquet at the vineyard. The day’s activities had been glorious—apple bobbing, hay rides, fire scrying. She had even entered the bake-off with her secret weapon: Ghirardelli brownies mix whipped up in Mrs. Doyle’s kitchen. Despite losing, she was delirious with the community spirit that swirled around her, especially watching the chubby children pie Mayor Murphy. The best part of all was meeting Sloan’s bake-off co-judge, her partner, Erin.

“I can’t believe you thought Mike and I were together,” Sloan giggled. “Even though you didn’t win, I want you to have a prize.”

Now, back in her room, Carrie donned the white dress Sloan had tailored for her. It looked almost like a wedding dress, with a sweet pattern of frolicking deer adorning the bodice.

“Maybe he’ll see me and fall in love all over again,” she hoped.

The crisp fall air kissed her skin as she approached the long banquet table where Mike was seated at the head. To his right was an empty chair.

“Please, do me the honor of sitting next to me, Harvest Queen.”

Carrie laughed and twirled in the candlelight before sitting down.

The feast began with a toast from the mayor.

“Friends, we are gathered here to bestow thanks upon our ancestors, who grace us each year with a plentiful harvest. We also bless our children, without whom we would not know the true meaning of sacrifice. Drink, my fellow offerers!”

“Here, here!” the crowd cheered in response.

Carrie and Mike clinked their wine glasses. The nectar was sweet on her lips, with a sour afterbite that stung her tongue. As platters of delectable meats and fruit were arranged on the table, Carrie began to feel unusually drunk after only a few sips of her drink.

“Mike,” she said as her vision doubled. “I don’t feel so well.”

Her head lolled towards the table. As it met her plate, she imagined antlers growing from Mike’s head before she passed out.

Carrie came to groggily and tried to make sense of her circumstances. She was unable to move, bound to a tree with grapevines. Before her was a grand altar carved from oak. She felt a liquid pooling at her feet and looked down.

“Blood!” she shrieked.

Her eyes followed the scarlet stream towards its source. Carrie released a guttural scream.

At the base of the altar were tiny body parts—arms, legs, heads—the children’s heads. On the crudely severed face of an auburn-haired boy, she recognized the grin she’d seen earlier that day ad he hurled a pumpkin cream pie at the mayor.

Standing in the center of the gruesome pile was the beast from the night before, hooves slicked with blood. With his muscular human arms, he raised a child’s torso to his mouth and gorged on the flesh, spitting out bones in the frenzied slaughter.

“Mike, it can’t be!” Carrie sobbed with terror. “How will I explain this to my mother?”

Mike callously dropped the torso and padded towards her.

“Carrie, my bride,” he breathed. “You’ve awoken.”

“Mike, I’ve lost my mind. How are we going to get back now? What the hell is this?” Carrie sputtered.

Mike winked a gleaming red eye and pounded his chest, spattering flecks of blood on Carrie’s face.

“This,” he bellowed, “is Fall Fest!”

Dammit, I think I’ve made myself sicker. Gross. Imagining bits of skin stuck beneath Mike’s teeth—gag. Man, oh man, I am really in trouble now. I think I’m hallucinating. Had to be those mushrooms. Goddamn you, Mike.

Fuck, I heard something. Hello? Hello, is someone there? Oh my god. Baby—uh, I mean, no longer baby, haha—Mike, what are you—quit it! Don’t drag me! I promise I’ll stop telling stories about you! Where are you taking me? Sweetheart, it’s me, Carrie. Let me stay. Let me stay!