The Women of Harvest Fall
Rake claws, sharp like teeth, reached over the bed of red, orange, and yellow maple leaves that smothered the sidewalk. Each scrape of the rake pulled with it the light, crisp noise of dry leaves. It calmed Melanie. It was one of the few activities that brought her peace. Shorter days were forced to let in the darkness and the bright blue summer sky withered away for autumn to attend its wake.
She raked the leaves into a large pile onto the street in front of her house. For years, Luke insisted on hiring someone to do the yard work but Melanie held onto this one activity that brought her peace like a locket necklace against her heart. She planned to keep it with her until she was buried.
“It’s ridiculous that you want to do this and a bit embarrassing. Our neighbors probably think we can’t afford a landscaper,” Luke would say.
The train arriving for those who cared about what others thought left Melanie’s life long ago and she made sure those tracks led right off the edge of a cliff. She turned around to face her two story house, a house too big for just her and Luke. A house that mocked her for having a husband who didn’t want children. Glaring down at her anytime she escaped its swallow, the red brick colonial house waited for her return because she always returned. Five windows with white shutters ran across the front of the house above the door. There was no porch, just two steps leading to the front door. Melanie walked back inside the belly of the beast.
Autumn brought to her something else to look forward to. She longed for this time of the year because it meant aromas filled the brick house with her seasonal autumn soup. Like the leaves falling to their fate, into the pot the butternut squash went. This year, Melanie was getting homegrown squash from her friend Cynthia who lived in the neighborhood. The squash was due to arrive later that night, after Luke and Melanie had dinner and once Luke left to the airport on his business trip.
He was head of marketing and in their small town of Pennsylvania, they lived in luxury and were regarded as such. Ten years married but with a magnifying glass, there were things discovered unseen to the naked eye. Upon further dissection, ten years married revealed only three good years of marriage. The remaining seven could be written as tragedy with themes of deceit, lies, and sadness. Luke’s business trips increased over the years, leaving Melanie alone with the echoes of her own footsteps floating up to high ceilings. Loneliness wasn’t just a guest in their house but had a room of its own, walked the hallways, and used the spiral staircase to make its way up and down the red brick beast. Melanie imagined people there. Creaks and groans of the house became the laughter and breathing of imaginary friends.
Meeting Cynthia earlier in the year made way for a new friendship, one that began to take the place of the imaginary friends that resided in Melanie’s mind. Like Melanie, Cynthia stayed at home. She moved into the neighborhood in January. Living lives of isolation, both absent of a child’s whimsical spirit, they became good friends. Necessary company that kept doors leading to dark places locked.
“Is dinner ready soon?” Luke said from the dining room.
Melanie picked up both plates of food from the kitchen counter and walked into the dining room, setting the plates down on the twelve-foot long table. They sat on each end, twelve feet apart. Staring at anything else was better than staring into her husband’s eyes. She pushed a pea with her fork across her plate, a game in her mind to entertain her from the mediocre conversation that was about to arrive from twelve feet away.
“Melanie? Are you even listening?” and there it was but she hadn’t noticed amongst her Pea Hockey game.
“I’m sorry. I was thinking about tonight,” Melanie said.
“That’s exactly what I was asking. I leave after dinner. What are your plans for tonight?”
Moving too fast, Luke cut his steak and stared up at Melanie with just his eyes. Now she played, Make a Moat with Mashed Potatoes. He slammed the fork and knife onto the table, the sides of the silverware hit the plate and a reverberated ringing pierced their ears.
Melanie stopped playing with her food, “I’m making my butternut squash soup tonight. Cynthia is coming over and bringing me squash from her garden.”
“Cynthia? You know Mel, things aren’t going well between her and Mike.”
She hated when he called her Mel, and he knew that, “They’re only separated. Nothing more, Lu.”
“Only whores separate from their husbands. I don’t want any problems while I’m gone, you know that.”
“I do know. The problems that arise from a butternut squash soup, I would love to hear about,” Melanie said.
“It’s not the soup I’m worried about. I understand you get lonely when I’m gone but I work so that you can stay here and enjoy our home.”
Swirling her fork in the mashed potatoes, she stared down at her plate, “I’m glad you understand,” she didn’t look up.
“Are you going to eat or just play with your food like a child?” he said.
Scooping some onto her fork, she looked up at him and placed the mashed potatoes into her mouth, chewing and staring into Luke’s eyes. He stared back, with disdain. She knew all about his business meetings and she knew there were other women. She always knew but never said a word. Her silence was not from fear. Her silence brought her closer to herself, those imaginary friends that came out when Luke left, and brought her closer to Cynthia. Away from the red brick house, away more often, Luke’s absence brought upon Melanie the realization of what she wanted in life. The realization that she could live without him.
Bringing the white linen to his mouth, he wiped his lips of steak sauce.
“You are absolutely right. I am being a child,” Melanie said.
She stood up and grabbed the bottle of Cabernet from the center of the table, halfway there, and walked it over to Luke. Pouring it into his glass, she forced a smile.
“I am glad you are seeing reason Mel.”
He picked up the wine glass and swirled it around, placing his nose in first to get a whiff before sipping it.
“What is this? It doesn’t taste like the wine Mike gave us from Coasterra Vineyard.”
“It’s not. I just picked it up from the store,” said Melanie.
“It’s not horrible but you can work on your taste my dear.”
As she walked back to her chair, twelve feet away, she smiled to herself thinking that she very well needed to work on her taste in many areas of her life.
“I know how much you love your wine before getting on a flight,” she said.
“It calms my nerves,” he took another drink.
“Did you pack my tie?” he said.
She nodded from across the table.
A bite of steak, chewed, and washed down with more wine.
“Really Mel, why aren’t you eating?”
“I don’t have much of an appetite at the moment. I guess I’m just anxious to get started on my soup.”
Luke finished off the first glass of wine and tilted his head back to get the last drop. Melanie walked over and poured him a second glass.
“I shouldn’t,” he said.
“You’re taking the car service so you have nothing to worry about.”
“Yeah...but...I’m feeling-” everything in Luke’s line of sight began to triple, blurred layers of space overlapped and played tricks with his mind. Draping crystals from the chandelier danced with the light. Bright, sharp rays hypnotized Luke as he blinked, eyelids attempting to hold onto reality, but logic faded away as recompense took over. He gripped onto the edge of the table to try and keep his swaying upper torso from collapsing.
“Darling, are you feeling alright?” Melanie said.
He only heard echoed sounds. Drifting away from clarity, pulled away from comfort, blurred vision, colors and edges collided with noise and faded into darkness. Darkness was victorious. He surrendered.
Like a black hole, light could not escape. Time and space warped into a complexity that made no sense to him.
Loud sounds of crunching, sliding, and muffled voices nudged at him to wake up. Calling to him for the last time. Fighting against heavy eyelids, he used all the energy he had to see what was in front of him. Luke tried to move but was met with restraint. Tied to a chair with rope, he could only turn his head and nothing more. When his world came into focus, there she was, Melanie. She wasn’t alone. He recognized Cynthia but the others were just glaring eyes staring at him, undressing his flesh and pulling everything out that lived inside.
“Mel-what…” he attempted but fell short.
“Luke, we’re glad you’re back,” Melanie said.
“Actually, he never left Melanie,” Cynthia said. Long, straight red hair fell over her shoulders and her blue eyes seemed to smile but her lips were stiff and stern.
“Mel-what’s going on?” Luke said.
“Just consider this one of your business meetings except you aren’t going to fuck anyone here,” said Melanie.
“You’re mistaken-” he stared up at the six of them.
“No Luke. It’s you that is mistaken. This house is the perfect house for what we do,” said Melanie.
The emptiness is his eyes screamed confusion as he searched for the answer.
“The perfect house. Walls made of people just like you,” Cynthia said.
“I don’t understand,” said Luke.
“We are here to help you understand. We need to feed it so that I’m not alone anymore but before we do, do you have any last words?” Melanie said.
“Mel-what is. You need to get me out here. Enough fucking around. I have the best lawyer in-”
All six stepped closer to him and all at once, like an orchestra led by a conductor, in sync with rhythm and beat, they pulled knives from behind their backs and shoved them into his body wherever was convenient. Sticking him over and over again, each knife beckoned sounds of wet flesh and blood. The storm of knives that rained down upon him created a puddle of blood that spread from beneath him. That is when they finally stopped.
“It’s time to wrap him in the plastic. Then we transport him into the brick wall,” said Cynthia.
With precision and calmness, all six of them worked together in Melanie’s basement, the basement of the red brick beast. Moving his body, they nestled him into the wall behind the bricks. They added him to the rest. Feeding the house more imaginary friends to keep it alive.
“Well, I don’t know about you ladies, but I’m ready to eat some butternut squash soup,” Melanie said.
Pulling the chairs out from the dining room table, they arranged them into a circle with nothing in the middle. This is where they sat to eat their soup, knees facing in toward a circle of space. Elbows almost touching and no longer twelve feet apart, they ate soup made with squash from Cynthia’s garden.
Melanie looked at the woman sitting across from her, “Debra, what do you think?”
“I’m ready to go next. I’m tired of being invisible to Steve.”
“You should be tired,” Cynthia said.
The Women of Harvest Fall sat in their circle and enjoyed their butternut squash soup while the red brick beast digested its meal for the next.
-Written by Stephanie Evelyn (Sterp)
She raked the leaves into a large pile onto the street in front of her house. For years, Luke insisted on hiring someone to do the yard work but Melanie held onto this one activity that brought her peace like a locket necklace against her heart. She planned to keep it with her until she was buried.
“It’s ridiculous that you want to do this and a bit embarrassing. Our neighbors probably think we can’t afford a landscaper,” Luke would say.
The train arriving for those who cared about what others thought left Melanie’s life long ago and she made sure those tracks led right off the edge of a cliff. She turned around to face her two story house, a house too big for just her and Luke. A house that mocked her for having a husband who didn’t want children. Glaring down at her anytime she escaped its swallow, the red brick colonial house waited for her return because she always returned. Five windows with white shutters ran across the front of the house above the door. There was no porch, just two steps leading to the front door. Melanie walked back inside the belly of the beast.
Autumn brought to her something else to look forward to. She longed for this time of the year because it meant aromas filled the brick house with her seasonal autumn soup. Like the leaves falling to their fate, into the pot the butternut squash went. This year, Melanie was getting homegrown squash from her friend Cynthia who lived in the neighborhood. The squash was due to arrive later that night, after Luke and Melanie had dinner and once Luke left to the airport on his business trip.
He was head of marketing and in their small town of Pennsylvania, they lived in luxury and were regarded as such. Ten years married but with a magnifying glass, there were things discovered unseen to the naked eye. Upon further dissection, ten years married revealed only three good years of marriage. The remaining seven could be written as tragedy with themes of deceit, lies, and sadness. Luke’s business trips increased over the years, leaving Melanie alone with the echoes of her own footsteps floating up to high ceilings. Loneliness wasn’t just a guest in their house but had a room of its own, walked the hallways, and used the spiral staircase to make its way up and down the red brick beast. Melanie imagined people there. Creaks and groans of the house became the laughter and breathing of imaginary friends.
Meeting Cynthia earlier in the year made way for a new friendship, one that began to take the place of the imaginary friends that resided in Melanie’s mind. Like Melanie, Cynthia stayed at home. She moved into the neighborhood in January. Living lives of isolation, both absent of a child’s whimsical spirit, they became good friends. Necessary company that kept doors leading to dark places locked.
“Is dinner ready soon?” Luke said from the dining room.
Melanie picked up both plates of food from the kitchen counter and walked into the dining room, setting the plates down on the twelve-foot long table. They sat on each end, twelve feet apart. Staring at anything else was better than staring into her husband’s eyes. She pushed a pea with her fork across her plate, a game in her mind to entertain her from the mediocre conversation that was about to arrive from twelve feet away.
“Melanie? Are you even listening?” and there it was but she hadn’t noticed amongst her Pea Hockey game.
“I’m sorry. I was thinking about tonight,” Melanie said.
“That’s exactly what I was asking. I leave after dinner. What are your plans for tonight?”
Moving too fast, Luke cut his steak and stared up at Melanie with just his eyes. Now she played, Make a Moat with Mashed Potatoes. He slammed the fork and knife onto the table, the sides of the silverware hit the plate and a reverberated ringing pierced their ears.
Melanie stopped playing with her food, “I’m making my butternut squash soup tonight. Cynthia is coming over and bringing me squash from her garden.”
“Cynthia? You know Mel, things aren’t going well between her and Mike.”
She hated when he called her Mel, and he knew that, “They’re only separated. Nothing more, Lu.”
“Only whores separate from their husbands. I don’t want any problems while I’m gone, you know that.”
“I do know. The problems that arise from a butternut squash soup, I would love to hear about,” Melanie said.
“It’s not the soup I’m worried about. I understand you get lonely when I’m gone but I work so that you can stay here and enjoy our home.”
Swirling her fork in the mashed potatoes, she stared down at her plate, “I’m glad you understand,” she didn’t look up.
“Are you going to eat or just play with your food like a child?” he said.
Scooping some onto her fork, she looked up at him and placed the mashed potatoes into her mouth, chewing and staring into Luke’s eyes. He stared back, with disdain. She knew all about his business meetings and she knew there were other women. She always knew but never said a word. Her silence was not from fear. Her silence brought her closer to herself, those imaginary friends that came out when Luke left, and brought her closer to Cynthia. Away from the red brick house, away more often, Luke’s absence brought upon Melanie the realization of what she wanted in life. The realization that she could live without him.
Bringing the white linen to his mouth, he wiped his lips of steak sauce.
“You are absolutely right. I am being a child,” Melanie said.
She stood up and grabbed the bottle of Cabernet from the center of the table, halfway there, and walked it over to Luke. Pouring it into his glass, she forced a smile.
“I am glad you are seeing reason Mel.”
He picked up the wine glass and swirled it around, placing his nose in first to get a whiff before sipping it.
“What is this? It doesn’t taste like the wine Mike gave us from Coasterra Vineyard.”
“It’s not. I just picked it up from the store,” said Melanie.
“It’s not horrible but you can work on your taste my dear.”
As she walked back to her chair, twelve feet away, she smiled to herself thinking that she very well needed to work on her taste in many areas of her life.
“I know how much you love your wine before getting on a flight,” she said.
“It calms my nerves,” he took another drink.
“Did you pack my tie?” he said.
She nodded from across the table.
A bite of steak, chewed, and washed down with more wine.
“Really Mel, why aren’t you eating?”
“I don’t have much of an appetite at the moment. I guess I’m just anxious to get started on my soup.”
Luke finished off the first glass of wine and tilted his head back to get the last drop. Melanie walked over and poured him a second glass.
“I shouldn’t,” he said.
“You’re taking the car service so you have nothing to worry about.”
“Yeah...but...I’m feeling-” everything in Luke’s line of sight began to triple, blurred layers of space overlapped and played tricks with his mind. Draping crystals from the chandelier danced with the light. Bright, sharp rays hypnotized Luke as he blinked, eyelids attempting to hold onto reality, but logic faded away as recompense took over. He gripped onto the edge of the table to try and keep his swaying upper torso from collapsing.
“Darling, are you feeling alright?” Melanie said.
He only heard echoed sounds. Drifting away from clarity, pulled away from comfort, blurred vision, colors and edges collided with noise and faded into darkness. Darkness was victorious. He surrendered.
Like a black hole, light could not escape. Time and space warped into a complexity that made no sense to him.
Loud sounds of crunching, sliding, and muffled voices nudged at him to wake up. Calling to him for the last time. Fighting against heavy eyelids, he used all the energy he had to see what was in front of him. Luke tried to move but was met with restraint. Tied to a chair with rope, he could only turn his head and nothing more. When his world came into focus, there she was, Melanie. She wasn’t alone. He recognized Cynthia but the others were just glaring eyes staring at him, undressing his flesh and pulling everything out that lived inside.
“Mel-what…” he attempted but fell short.
“Luke, we’re glad you’re back,” Melanie said.
“Actually, he never left Melanie,” Cynthia said. Long, straight red hair fell over her shoulders and her blue eyes seemed to smile but her lips were stiff and stern.
“Mel-what’s going on?” Luke said.
“Just consider this one of your business meetings except you aren’t going to fuck anyone here,” said Melanie.
“You’re mistaken-” he stared up at the six of them.
“No Luke. It’s you that is mistaken. This house is the perfect house for what we do,” said Melanie.
The emptiness is his eyes screamed confusion as he searched for the answer.
“The perfect house. Walls made of people just like you,” Cynthia said.
“I don’t understand,” said Luke.
“We are here to help you understand. We need to feed it so that I’m not alone anymore but before we do, do you have any last words?” Melanie said.
“Mel-what is. You need to get me out here. Enough fucking around. I have the best lawyer in-”
All six stepped closer to him and all at once, like an orchestra led by a conductor, in sync with rhythm and beat, they pulled knives from behind their backs and shoved them into his body wherever was convenient. Sticking him over and over again, each knife beckoned sounds of wet flesh and blood. The storm of knives that rained down upon him created a puddle of blood that spread from beneath him. That is when they finally stopped.
“It’s time to wrap him in the plastic. Then we transport him into the brick wall,” said Cynthia.
With precision and calmness, all six of them worked together in Melanie’s basement, the basement of the red brick beast. Moving his body, they nestled him into the wall behind the bricks. They added him to the rest. Feeding the house more imaginary friends to keep it alive.
“Well, I don’t know about you ladies, but I’m ready to eat some butternut squash soup,” Melanie said.
Pulling the chairs out from the dining room table, they arranged them into a circle with nothing in the middle. This is where they sat to eat their soup, knees facing in toward a circle of space. Elbows almost touching and no longer twelve feet apart, they ate soup made with squash from Cynthia’s garden.
Melanie looked at the woman sitting across from her, “Debra, what do you think?”
“I’m ready to go next. I’m tired of being invisible to Steve.”
“You should be tired,” Cynthia said.
The Women of Harvest Fall sat in their circle and enjoyed their butternut squash soup while the red brick beast digested its meal for the next.
-Written by Stephanie Evelyn (Sterp)
