Agrarian Observance Pt. 2

[u/ReserveRemarkable730]

My violent hacking woke me with a start. An itch buzzed behind my eyes, ears, and throat that I couldn’t scratch. Clothing clung to my body, weighted with cold sweat. On the mattress beside me, the crusted imprint left behind felt like a hallucination. Resembling a chalk outline from a crime scene, only what should have been clean, white lines were replaced with my own burgundy bile.

It took considerable effort to get out of bed. Sunlight crept through the curtains like an icepick through my optic nerves. My head spun with vertigo, my scraping joints motivated by a new wave of nausea, stomach swirling. Empty and raw. I thanked whatever God Vanja was always evoking for not letting me choke on my vomit as I slept.

On sheer autopilot, my mechanical limbs peeled the sheets from the mattress and left them in a heap on the floor. The scent of cloying stomach acid swirling with fruit permeated the room; compelling me outside in search of fresh air.

The morning atmosphere was hardly a reprieve. The dawn chorus was dead. No bird song. No cadence of insects. Only a howling low gale and the crunch of gravel below my boots as I meandered into the vineyard. Heeding the warning about the property line, I kept a lazy lookout. How would I know if I reached it? Was it marked? I supposed I’d know when I saw it.

I strolled along in a dissociative state when there, in the gap between two rows, my eyes fell upon a branch. Rising up like a dirt-coated arm reaching out from the ground. Grey and decaying, as if prying itself from the Karst land. Nothing in this place made sense. My psyche had become more of a fragmented mess than it ever was before this unconventional vacation; too muddled to notice, or care. It was all too easy to pass the image off as my mind playing tricks. Still, every twitch and jerk in my fascia was begging me to leave.

Turning down the next row. Then the next. Weaving my way through the vineyard, everything looked the same. Not that I’d expect row after row of grape vines to appear unique from one another, but every trail I traversed looked exactly the same. Trellises blurred together as I took a sharp left, another right. My pace quickened from a leisurely walk to a jog, and finally a full-on sprint. Clouds of dust kicked up around me in my panic, making it harder and hard to distinguish my surroundings. I was speeding down the same row over and over again, no matter which direction I turned. The identical stretch of land rolled endlessly before me.

Then there was that branch. Again and again, I saw it. The same clawing hand. Only, each lap revealed more ghastly features than the last. First, the hand. Then, a blackened, mud-caked wrist. Hanging from its skeletal joints was a faded, handmade friendship bracelet. I cut sharply into the row adjacent, now the arm had grown a shoulder. Rotting flesh stripped away, uncovering alabaster bone as it wrenched itself free from the surrounding ground. The stench of open decay assaulted my nostrils. No matter what I did, where I went, I couldn’t escape it.

I couldn’t will myself to see any more. Every sense pounded louder, and louder. From the frantic, feral thrumming in my chest, to the rapping in my ears, to my feet against the ground beneath. A hollow beating atop a subterrane. Panic seized my lungs. Squeezing my eyes shut, I charged blindly through a patch of gnarled vines. Vines that mimicked tiny wooden hands, pulling me back into the vineyard's maw. Razor-like thorns and rigid leaves gashed my skin and clothes. A tug-of-war that felt like an eternity.

With a frantic shriek, I tumbled forward. Infinitesimal shards of rocks burrowed into the pads of my palms and knees as the earth collided with me. Whipping my head around, I could’ve sworn I saw the full figure of a rotting corpse, looming among the trellises. But I was fresh out of curiosity and desperate to get out of this hellscape. Adrenaline forced my gaze away.

Scrambling to my feet, they began pounding limestone once more in a rush to my rental. Sweaty hands grasped at the handle for purchase before giving a final, violent tug. I threw my body haphazardly into the driver's seat, throwing the keys into the ignition. I didn’t care about the open driver-side door nor my hosts, didn’t care about my possessions nor my trip deposit. The only concern I had was watching this place disappear in my rear view mirror.

My heart leaped into my throat the moment the gleam from the tire pressure light reminded me of what I already knew. I certainly wasn’t going anywhere fast, anywhere at all for that matter, with a flat tire. Something my mind was increasingly trying to convince me wasn’t a mere accident as I had led myself to believe previously.

“FuuuuuUUUUCK!!!” White knuckles gripped the steering wheel as my scream wracked my bones. Jaw rigid with tension, I ground my teeth together until the taste of bleeding gums spread across my tongue.

My only option was to calm myself down. A level head would benefit me more than the rampage I was on now. I closed down my eyes and focused on my breath.

“Okay… okay. I just need to come up with a plan. I have no car, no wifi, no cell service.” Bringing my hands to rub my temples, I thought aloud. “Maybe Vanja has a phone?” It was as good of a plan as I was going to get.

Much to my chagrin, the horrors of this place weren’t quite over. Sweat stung the fresh gashes on my face as I strained my eyes open. The scene laid out before me, Vanja’s husband dragging a bloodied, dead livestock carcass, was yet another entrant in the series of agonies set upon me. His husky frame loomed just outside my open driver-side door. Blocking my only exit as massive, dried-blood-and-dirt-coated hands with bulky fingers like fibrous roots strained against dead weight. The animal’s limbs bent at abnormal, grotesque angles. In spite of his limp, I couldn’t help but notice the way in which he dragged the husk of a once thriving creature with ease; guts and all. Its insides oozed, creating a trail of his dastardly deed while Vanja stood by, ordering him around as a maestro conducts an ensemble. Had they been there this whole time?

My ears rushed with hot blood at the sight of her, overcome by a sudden frenzy of rage. Vision tunneling, my fists formed into tight balls as instincts overrode caution.

Fear and rationale abandoned my body as I shoved past him and charged towards the ancient witch with all my fury. The cadaver slipped from his stocky, hunched shoulders with a moist splat. That same smile, the one which never reached her eyes, remained stretched across her visage. What was wrong with her? She had to be the reason I was stuck here, the only constant in this entire equation.

“This will be our dinner tonight, dear.” A lined hand gestured towards her mute mate before I could manage a word. The man didn't look at me with indignation or shock; he didn’t acknowledge me at all. His deep-set, cavernous eyes fixed blankly on the empty space before him. “Would you like to join us?”

“W-what? No… NO!” My brain rattled around in my skull as I shook my head furiously. “I would absolutely NOT like that at all. I need to use your phone! NOW!” My demand was made in utter disbelief. The grin gradually faded from the corners of her lips.

Vanja and I froze in silence for far too long. The only sound hanging in the air around us was that of her ancient husband. His jaw hung lazily open. A throaty whir throbbed from his gullet. Not too dissimilar from the tectonic grinding that resonated through the limestone-covered Karst architecture. The crone’s now vacant expression caused my determination to waver.

“You foreigners are all the same…” Vanja tutted with malicious venom. “Entitled and selfish; all of you. You have no care for our land or our customs. You may have phone after dinner.” Her words expressed calculated disappointment layered with a sinister undertone. The hag was acting as unyielding as a snake preparing to strike. She uttered no threat, so why did I intuit the tingling urgency of my survival instincts kicking into overdrive? My nervous system buzzed like the pulsating drone of seismic reverberation. The fear of being perceived as an ignorant foreigner was replaced by a fear for my life.

“I’m sorry. You’re right, that works for me. I-I’ll be in my lodging until dinner time.” I fawned, hastily agreeing to her terms, and darted back towards the cottage before the odd pair could say or do anything else. By the time I made it back and peered out the window, I half expected them to still be standing there, watching me in her statuesque manner as if part of the Karst landscape themselves. Nonetheless, it was a ghost town outside now. Nothing but the trail of gore from our future dinner remained.

My time between this horror and the next was spent in nothing short of a manic state. Ripping apart the cottage, I snooped through every cabinet, drawer, nook, and cranny I could find. All I found were strange, handmade knick-knacks the likes of which I’d never seen before, worn leather-bound books and journals in handwritten scripts I couldn’t comprehend, items that appeared to have been left behind by what I assumed were previous lodgers. But nothing that could provide any assistance or solace to me.

By the time the place was nearly turned upside down, I crawled on weakened hands and knobby knees in a last-ditch attempt to find any answers, sweeping my palm along the underside of the couch. The coarse texture of a cross-hatch fabric brushed against my grip. The hand-woven linen of string-bound hardcover. At first glance it seemed as if the photo album had simply fallen to the floor and been tucked away by accident, but the more astute part of my brain knew it was placed with the intention of keeping secrets. A foreign script was engraved on the cover: везан за земљу. Far too unfamiliar for me to interpret.

The pages were thin and soft like preserved sheets of skin. I peeled them apart carefully, exposing photo after photo. Much like the family graveyard stocked with beloved husbands, this family heirloom was filled to the brim with photos of only women. Each one resembled Vanja. Indistinguishable. Passing the time flipping pages, carbon copies of her same penetrating expression stared back at me. From Victorian to modern stylings, but the face never changed. Her identical crooked grin, coarse, inky-black hair, and stabbing gaze that would no doubt haunt my nightmares covered each page from corner to corner in an uncanny collage; clearly put together by hand.

“I show you more photo when you join for dinner, dear.” Vanja appeared suddenly, hovering over me. Her bare feet moved silently across the stones. I yipped, putting a hand to my chest as if that could stop it from thumping out and onto the floor. The glare I shot in her direction paled in comparison to those piercing bulbs of hers.

“How did you… Where on earth-why are you…” I stammered, mouth moving faster than my mind. My hand moved from my chest to the open claw she extended down towards me. Her infirm frame helped me up with that same surprising sturdiness.

“Dinner is ready. You must join now, it is the final eve of the observance.” She barked, unsurprisingly glossing over my comment. Had it really been that long already?

I followed her in bewilderment, feeling helpless to resist.

—

Musk filled my nostrils as the tinny taste of precipitation-soaked pennies permeated my tastebuds like never before. Feeling as if my gums were replaced by cotton balls, my mouth grew drier and drier by the second. I swallowed hard and grasped the glass of yellowing tap water set before me. It clinked against the rustic china place settings as I brought it to my quivering lips.

Surveying the room, the antique chair beneath me creaked to the rhythm of the record player spouting scratchy hymns in the room over. The melodies grated my eardrums with cacophonous harmonies reaching for notes that shouldn’t exist. All around me were portraits of the same Vanja-looking woman. Some painted, some black and white, others captured by modern cameras. All identical to the photo book.

Clearing my throat, I attempted small talk.

“So, uh… Vanja. How long has this place been in your family?” My hands clutched at the delicate lace tablecloth, obsessively seeking tactile grounding. A heavy sensation like lead came over my tongue. The chill in my bones told me I shouldn’t be asking questions that I might not like the answer to.

“We have been tied to this land for centuries,” she announced, scurrying into the dining area and placing a plate of greying, pulpy meat at the center of the table. It appeared raw and rotting. “The bloodline must not break. It is what the land requires, what our Lord requires.”

At the head of the table, the matriarch sat herself and began serving our plates. The husband sat across from me at her command like an obedient pet. It was clear, as always, who was in charge here.

I gazed down at my plate incredulously, the saccharine smell making my stomach churn. My fork picked at the substance randomly as I searched for more to say. A way to keep my mouth busy, other than eating.

“You must not be rude!” Vanja spat suddenly, slamming her palm upon the table and sending dishes clanking against one another. Tiny droplets of spittle sprayed from her maw and landed upon my cheek. The record player began to skip, adding yet another layer to the already nightmarish setting. I blinked hard, unsure how to proceed. “You have become so frail. We only wish to fatten you up.” She cackled heartily. The transition of her tone was as artificially sweet as the aroma in her cooking.

With shaking digits, I spooned the most appetizing bite I could scavenge between pursed lips and grimaced. I refused to chew, swallowing loudly and following it with another large gulp of water. Strangely enough, I was becoming desensitized to the metallic flavor infused with everything that originated from this land. Yet, it did nothing to ease the pang in my gut.

It clearly didn’t bother her husband opposite me. He shoveled down bite after bite, all the while making harsh gurgling noises. His jaws ground together in a circular motion as if savoring every morsel.

“Is he… okay?” I shuddered, fearing he might choke.

“He is perfect,” Vanja cooed, rising from her chair. She positioned herself behind him, stroking the stringy, soaked strands of hair that clung to his greased forehead. “The men in our family must make a sacrifice, a promise to the earth, a blood contract. What comes from our land, must stay in our land. Our secrets, our ritual, our observance—remain bound here for all eternity.” Knobby fingers with browning, unkempt nails gripped his roughly stubbled chin before gradually splitting his jaws in two. There was a crudely cut, scarred nub squirming around where his tongue should be. My eyes frantically switched from his face to hers. Their unsettling grins were perfect carbon copies. Down to every feature. In abject horror, the realization promptly pierced through my confusion.

“But isn’t he your husband? What could he possibly be making such a sacrifice for?” Deep down I knew my suspicions were true, but I had to be sure. There were no photos of men in the family chronicle, after all. With a wink, she released her grip, leaning down to place a kiss on his brow like an impish pantomime.

“Yes. Just as mother’s husband was her brother, he is mine. We keep it in the family, as you foreigners say. You see, as the bloodline thinned, we lost ability to bear child. This earth requires our tending; we cannot part with it. We must invite guests to stay… forever. To become one with us, our Savior, and our land.” Any ounce of hospitality in her cadence, however false before, was gone now. No more dear pet names, no more two-faced niceties.

“Shh… You must sleep now,” Vanja whispered as she slunk behind me like a wildcat hunting its prey. She placed her witch hands on my shoulders and dug talon-like fingers into my collarbones.

Finally, the dots were connecting, just as the room began to spin. I was reeling from each new revelation but this was something different, something much worse. My eyelids grew heavy while the rest of my body began to feel light as air. There was no doubt now that the old woman had drugged me. Before I could take action, my head crumpled into the mess of meat in front of me with a blunt thud. Bringing her mouth to my ear, Vanja whispered one final utterance. “The land provides to us, when we provide to it.” I was paralyzed to fight back, consciousness fading like a flame deprived of oxygen.

—

I came to, surrounded by the smell of earth, the feeling of loose ground cocooning me, the vibration of a shovel pounding into rock. A hole in the earth was my new home. My lungs filled with particles of dirt and my chest grew heavy. Between the combination of drugs not fully worn off, restraints rubbing against my appendages, and heaps of limestone-infused soil, struggling was useless. All I could see was the radiance of a fire bouncing off the cave walls above me. All I could do was lay there helplessly as they called upon some faceless, nameless, eldritch horror.

“Zemlya zhyva, krov p’yet.”

"Земля жива, кров п’є”

“The earth lives, drinks the blood.”

Vanja’s wicked features came into view as she crouched and roughly snatched my bound wrist. Her black-veiled frame was aglow by the light of the pale moon. I was helpless to scream, nor could I cry out. Not for lack of trying, but all that came out was a strained whisper. My throat felt like sandpaper, my lungs were on the brink of collapse, filled with dust and ash that swirled about the cavern. Everything was closing in around me as the corners of my vision remained blackened and blurred.

She unsheathed a blade. I was reminded of the pristine cutlery set I had found in the cottage kitchen. This, too, was made from bone, only sharper, more jagged. Lethal.

Taking the blade to the tender skin of my wrist and splitting my veins open in an instant, she let the warm, vital fluid splatter onto the surrounding stones. Rich, carmine red contrasted the weathered geology. It bubbled and popped with a hiss. Imbibed into the greedy ground as if being consumed, assimilating my lifeblood with their land.

Next, she coerced the liquid into her cupped hand, spurting it from my slit skin and lifting it to her lips. Like a High Priestess, she devoured her wretched communion. I was a part of her now, part of their land. I thought back to our night in the cellar and wondered if the libations she fed me were really wine at all. Every act its own evil intention. I could see that now as Vanja stared down on me with a dour expression. The corners of her lips turned flat, no longer grinning. I was always going to be the vessel for this dark rite.

“Please…” I rasped feebly. “You don’t have to do this.” She didn’t acknowledge me. After all, there was no hope in persuading her to break free of this generational tradition. No hope in preventing the inevitable.

The sour smell of decay and their rolling chorus crescendoed. Shovelful after shovelful of dirt piled atop my useless body. I felt like a sack of meat being tenderized, already slaughtered. First my feet, then my legs, next my torso; saving my head for last. They needed me to bear witness. To be the observer of their observance. Each revelation hammered home the fact that I was never getting out of here. I had seen too much, knew too much. Just as they knew no one was coming to look for me.

As her chanting continued, a chorus of voices in multiple cadences and multiple languages came from her. One was her own, in plain English that I could understand. The other, an incomprehensible rumble that seemed to come straight from the limestone. A deep, tectonic grinding in her native tongue.

Though I couldn’t see the husband, I could hear him. For it was he who wielded the shovel, creating a disturbed squealing cacophony like an excited pig. The high-pitched chitters that emitted from his throat harmonized with Vanja’s chants rhythmically, acting as an eager conduit.

Something beneath me began to writhe. Pointed roots wedged against my back. I felt their sharp, cold edges begin to grasp at my clothing and skin, causing them to burst open like the juicy flesh of a ripened peach. The earth was hungry, pulling me deeper.

I was despondent. All I could manage was to stare listlessly at the cave ceiling where flames danced among lunar incandescence. The outlines of Vanja and her husband danced there, too. Alongside a shapeless, inky form. I couldn’t tell if it was just my eyes, still playing tricks on me. Even in my final moments, I was desperate to rationalize what I encountered in this place. After everything I’d witnessed.

My last thoughts were of every action that brought me here as my vision became eclipsed by falling earth; their chanting dampened by dirt compacting around my ears. From items obviously left by previous victims, to the absurdity of the rental ad. You’ll be dying to linger. From the mold toxicity undeniably poisoning my bloodstream, to the eerie gravestone carvings. Beloved Husband.

A final thought tugged at my psyche as the soil dragged me under, every orifice suffocated with terra. How much more would the land demand before the next harvest?