The thick black mud clutched at Amelia’s legs as she hacked away at one particularly determined pumpkin vine and wondered why she’d ever agreed to spend her weekends poking around in the mud on Aunt Bea’s farm. The pumpkin, the bane of her existence, seemed to glare at her through the thin layer of dried mud crusted on its plump body. She glared right back at it, stretched her back, wiped the sweat off her forehead, and immediately regretted it because there was now a streak of mud on her face.
After a few more minutes of whacking, the obstinate pumpkin finally gave way. Amelia made her way through the light drizzle with her pumpkins. Her arms burned with the effort of guiding the entire wheelbarrow-full of pumpkins over the uneven path, and despite wearing knee-high boots, her entire body was splattered with mud. The soft raindrops were freezing against her skin, warm with the effort of harvesting a dozen obscenely stubborn pumpkins. She left the wheelbarrow inside the storehouse and stomped into the farmhouse.
After a morning of smelling damp dirt and cold air, the spice-filled warmth of the kitchen nearly overwhelmed Amelia’s nostrils. Aunt Bea had her back to Amelia and was stirring a pot of jam while chopping away at a pumpkin. Oliver, the other teenager who worked on the farm, was also drenched from head to toe and crouched in front of the wood stove. Amelia removed her mud-encrusted boots with some difficulty and poured two mugs of steaming apple cider. She handed one to Oliver, settled on the floor next to the stove—Aunt Bea would throw a fit if she got any of the furniture wet—and wrapped her numb fingers around the mug.
“What great weather we’re having,” Oliver said with his signature sarcastic grin.
“I know, I just love running around in the mud in fifty-degree weather,” Amelia laughed. At this point, she couldn’t even deny that Oliver was the only reason she hadn’t quit already.
Aunt Bea poked her head into the living room a few moments later carrying two loaded plates. “Do you guys want pumpkin pie? I made it from the new batch of pumpkins.”
“You used the pumpkins from the greenhouse?” Oliver asked as Amelia accepted the pie gratefully.
Aunt Bea’s eyes flashed. “Yes, from the greenhouse,” she said sharply. “You didn’t—”
“Don’t worry, we didn’t go in it.” Amelia rolled her eyes and took a bite. “You’re such a control freak, Aunt Bea. This pie is really good! You should try some, Oliver.”
“No thanks.” Oliver avoided her gaze. “I’m going to head out
early today. I need to take care of something back home. See you next weekend, Amelia, Bea.”
“Already?” Amelia said, dismayed. “I’ll walk you out, then, and get back to the pumpkins.”
Oliver didn’t say anything. He tugged his raincoat and boots on and slipped out of the house. Amelia rose to follow, but Aunt Bea caught her by the arm. “Aunt Bea—?”
Her aunt glared at her with a ferocity that caught Amelia by surprise. “Remember what I said on your first day, Amelia. Don’t ever go into my greenhouse.”
“Yeah, I got it the first time,” Amelia snapped. “Don’t worry, no one wants to mess up your precious little pumpkins.”
She shrugged off her aunt’s grip, shoved her boots on, and ran outside. Oliver glanced up at her from where he was bent over his bike lock. “Are you okay?” Amelia asked quietly. He looked so upset, she didn’t even have the heart to make fun of his old-fashioned, rusty bike.
Oliver shook his head softly. “I think … I made a mistake.”
“What? What do you mean?”
He wouldn’t look at her as he snapped on his helmet and hopped on his bike. “I’ll see you next weekend, Amelia.”
Amelia waved at him as he got farther and farther down the dirt path, but he didn’t look back. She wrapped her arms around herself. There was something wrong with the way Oliver had interacted with Aunt Bea, and Bea’s visceral response after he’d left gave her chills. Slowly, hesitantly, she trudged back to the farmhouse.
*
Oliver wasn’t there the next weekend. Amelia hung around near the road all morning, keeping her eye on the road in case he came biking in. Finally, at lunchtime, she gave up and went inside with a basket of late tomatoes. Aunt Bea had set the table for two and put out bowls of steaming squash soup. Amelia gave it a few moments of silent slurping before she ventured the question. “Where’s Oliver this weekend?”
Her aunt swallowed a spoonful of soup before answering curtly, “He had to take this weekend off.”
“Why?”
“He didn’t give a reason.”
The rest of the meal passed in silence.
Although she had been delegated to hauling more squash for the afternoon, Amelia found herself inching closer and closer to that forbidden greenhouse. It was a foreboding structure, lined with tinted glass windows so you couldn’t see into it from the sides. She wandered around the fields, inching closer and closer to the building. Everything that was going wrong with Oliver and Aunt Bea had to do with this greenhouse.
She glanced over her shoulder, then felt silly. Aunt Bea was all the way back in the farmhouse. There was no way she’d see Amelia out here. Still, she couldn’t be too cautious. Whatever was in this greenhouse, it had scared Oliver enough to not come back to the farm. For the sake of her own sanity, Amelia had to know
what was in there.
The path leading to the greenhouse was cobblestone, which was surprising considering Aunt Bea hadn’t taken the effort to pave any of the other paths on the farm. She must have really loved the plants here. The door wasn’t locked, but the handle was covered in something warm and sticky. Amelia shuddered.
A blast of warm air hit her the moment she stepped inside. Heat lamps were strung all along the walls and the roof, and the floor was covered in a weird sticky substance. There was a lingering unpleasant smell that Amelia couldn’t place. And right in front of her, huddled in a pile, were about half a dozen huge, red, fat pumpkins.
They were oddly shaped, with what looked like jagged scars running along their skins. A puddle of dark, thick liquid was spreading from under the pumpkins, forming a thin trail to a dark corner of the greenhouse. Amelia squinted into the shadows, and her eyes fell on something that made her heart shudder.
A bicycle helmet lay in a particularly large puddle of the dark liquid.
Amelia only knew one person who still biked everywhere.
It was most certainly a trick of the dim lighting, but Amelia could have sworn she saw one of the pumpkins move. Now that she looked at them carefully, the marks on their skins didn’t look like scars.
They looked like mouths.
There was a sigh from the doorway. Amelia didn’t need to turn to know who it was.
“Oh Amelia, why couldn’t you have listened to me?”
Amelia couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t believe her aunt could speak with such venom. “What happened to Oliver?”
She didn’t need to look at Bea’s face to know that there was a terrible smile spreading across it. “All plants need fertilizer.”
Whimpering, Amelia spun around and tried to run.
The door slammed shut. Behind her, the vines rustled and stretched. The pumpkins were getting hungry.