Don’t worry, nosy stranger, there’s nothing that unusual about our harvest festival. All across the world, there are harvest festivals much like this one – in hamlets, villages, towns, cities and midterm elections.
Sure, we have our idiosyncrasies, but what town doesn’t? We just have a healthy respect for the old ways. The Old One ways. Yeah, we only have one-way streets here. Helps with traffic and crop yields. How else do you think Old Man Phillips could grow that two-headed pumpkin?
You like my mask? You’re not just saying that? You’re sweet. Actually, I was a bit disappointed I didn’t get to be a bear this year. Billy Guth beat me to it. Again. I’m not even a cat person, really. I’m allergic to them. Of course, this one is wooden and attached to my face.
There’s funnel cake, a pie-eating contest, and a dunking booth. Our town dwarf can hold his breath for a really long time. No, those aren’t gills on the sides of his neck. That’s just waterproof paint. But don’t go ask him about it – he likes to kid around. That’s why he’s currently begging to be let out.
Yeah, we even have a ferris wheel. Of course, there are no cars on it – just paper mache symbols – one for each sign of the Zodiac. Actually, there are thirteen signs. Most people don’t realize that. The thirteenth sign is not Cthulhu. You shouldn’t even joke like that.
I wouldn’t bother going into that house of mirrors if I were you. That’s just for the village children. You wouldn’t see anything interesting in there… ever again.
Look, it’s time for the parade. No, you should definitely stay and watch this. You wouldn’t want to miss the parade. I won’t let you miss it. Just keep chewing on that turkey leg you bought. You paid a lot for it. More than you even know.
Here comes the marching band. Talented devils. You know, they won’t touch an instrument invented after 1843. One time the band leader accidentally put his hand on a synthesizer. That’s why he wears that black glove now.
The pretty virgin in motley green is our Woodwitch. She’s really going places. I mean, she can never cross the county line but within the parameters of her power range, she is nigh infallible. Don’t let the name scare you – she’s a sweetheart – just ask the children at the orphanage.
They love her with all their little pacemakers.
And that strapping young fellow is the Horned King. No, he’s not chosen by popular vote. He’s not the Homecoming King, you wouldn’t want to go home with him; he was more or less born like this. And yes, those are authentic antlers.
Marvelous, isn’t it? That’s the Grapevine Man. Twenty feet tall, five hundred pounds. Takes three months to harvest all the grapevine and another two to wrap it into that vaguely humanoid shape. Yes, his stomach opens and closes. The hinge is the one thing on it that isn’t grapevine. Plus the padlock.
Those men in robes dancing around at the feet of the Grapevine Man – those are the village elders. Every year they pick one lucky person to play the Lamb in our annual harvest festival play. What’s the play called? *clears throat* Sacrifice.
Oh, this is my favorite part. Hear that chanting? That means the village elders are going to pick their Lamb. Why, they’re coming our way. You lucky dog. Looks like you’re about to make your stage debut.
No, you’re not going anywhere. The show must go on. Don’t you get it by now? You’re not this dense, are you? Really? Fine. *sigh* We’re going to burn you alive in the belly of that thing as part of a ritual sacrifice to our heathen gods.
How did you not realize this already? I’ve been saying a lot of very disturbing things. You’re not particularly clever, are you? No wonder you couldn’t solve the mystery that brought you to our creepy little village in the first place.
Well, break a leg. Sorry, I wasn’t talking to you. Break his legs.
