In their arrogance the elders had forgotten one of the governing rules of the “Harvest.” …only a “willing” person must be sacrificed. Although Rebecca had died to protect her lover, she had not “willingly” given her life for the town. By killing her, the elders shattered the pact they had made with “Death” so long ago.
Within days, a horrible blizzard laid siege to the town and blanketed it in smothering snow and ice. By the arrival of spring’s first tender new leaf, not a living soul remained in the small hamlet. They had all perished in the winter. From the oldest widow twisted by time to the youngest infant still in swaddling clothes, they were all dead now.
By summer’s onset the homes and shops were falling down. Weakened by the weight of the snow and ice, the thawed wood rotted from the mold and termites. On the day which would have marked the next “Harvest,” nothing remained of the once thriving New England town long hidden from the outside world.
They were never missed.
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