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.
Over dinner, Imogen told Daniel about the celebrations. "I can't tell if it's some elaborate prank or country tradition, but we should probably take part."
Daniel hummed, not taking his eyes of the manuscript he was editing.
"If we're going to raise a family here, then we have to make sure everyone accepts us. Even if that means doing something strange or silly. Daniel?"
"Huh?" Her scatterbrained husband, she loved him so, raised his owlish eyes, blinking behind dirty glasses. "Oh, yes. Someone came by and left some clothes. Apparently we're to wear them tonight."
Imogen stood and began to collect the dirty dishes. "Someone? Who? Was it Diane? George?"
"Uh..."
Of course, her husband could barely focus on anything but his novel, let alone which of their neighbours came to visit. She placed the dishes in the kitchen and went to look in the brown paper carry bag left inside the entryway. Inside was a plain white shift, for her she presumed, and an oversized shirt and drawstring pants for her husband. She raised an eyebrow at the strange garments, but placed the clothes in their bedroom for later.
When the mayor arrived they were dressed in warm coats, with the white clothing underneath. "Evening, newcomers! Lovely night!" Tollman grinned at them, with a benign politician's smile.
They agreed and clambered into his vehicle, a large four-wheel-drive. He chattered amicably with them on the twenty minute drive, telling them he couldn't wait to show them the celebrations.
"The harvest festival is a night not to be missed!"
Imogen hummed and leaned into Daniel, who was pouting at having been dragged away from his novel. She still couldn't get him to tell her what it was about. She peered out the window as they drove into the forest, the canopy obscuring the view of the star-studded night sky. The way was dark, the headlights of the car could only pierce the shadows so far. When Tollman saw a queue of other cars, he parked behind them and directed the couple ahead.
"Be right behind you!"
Clutching her husband's hand, Imogen picked her way forward, eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness. Daniel was muttering about how strange it all was and why couldn't they have a party in the town hall and would there be catering. Despite his complaints, Imogen enjoyed the sound of his voice. It distracted her from the eerie sounds of the forest at night. Owls and animals calling into the night air, the wind whistling through the treetops. The oppressive darkness. Her heart was beating faster as she pulled on Daniel's hand, urging him forward. Then, through the trees, Imogen saw lights floating ahead. With a relieved smile they sped up, closing the distance.
They burst into the festival a little out of breath, but happy to be there all the same. Most of the town was there, at least all the adults, all in maroon robes. A bonfire burned in the centre and the smoke smelled sweet, like they had thrown herbs on the flames. Someone placed a wreath around each of their necks and pressed a drink into their hands. Imogen and Daniel gulped the liquid down greedily, hoping for some liquid courage. No one liked being the last one to arrive.
There was Mayor Tollman. How had he arrived before them. "Get turned around, newcomer?" he bellowed. They smiled obligingly and he guffawed.
Holding hands, Imogen and Daniel seemed to be caught in a tide that kept pulling them along. Their cups were never empty. Giddy, they laughed and danced, but could never quite understand what everyone was saying to them. The voices sounded like they were coming from underwater. But no one seemed to mind. In fact, Imogen had never seen so many people happy to see her. She lost count of how many times she had told a neighbour how happy she was. And what a lovely community Morton is. She may have repeated it to a few people, and perhaps a scarecrow that someone had put in the forest for some reason.
Imogen wasn't sure how much time had passed. Was it near dawn? She was led to a blanket in front of the burnt down bonfire, just glowing embers now. Daniel was beside her, propping her up. Everyone was so happy. Smiling down at them, holding their hands high. Singing. She couldn't understand the words, but she hummed along all the same.
Head swimming, she turned to the nearest person, identity hidden beneath the hood of their robe. "What exactly do you harvest?"
Blood spattered, soaked up by the golden wreath around her neck. Soon, all the doors in town would be painted red.
...
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