Mariel was exhausted. She looked at the clock in the corner of her computer screen. Then she looked at the redundant clock on the wall. The work day was barely a quarter over. Mariel opened her email, hoping something might have come in. There was nothing. Once again, all the emails were waiting to come in until an hour before her shift ended, when she’d be forced to complete a day’s worth of work in a fraction of the time. She wished her coworkers would be more thoughtful, or that her manager would relax his turnaround times, but she’d long since given up on either of those wishes coming true.
Leaning back in her chair, Mariel pressed her palms against her eyes. They were dry from staring at the computer screen. Mariel rested them a moment, listening to the hushed sounds of the office around her. She peeked at the clock through her fingers. Two more minutes ticked by. Mariel sighed and pushed back from her desk. She’d held out as long as she could. Pulling open a drawer, she withdrew a vape from the purse resting inside. She gave one quick glance around to make sure her manager wasn’t around before heading for the door.
Mariel stood in the shadow of her office building, trying not to shiver as she smoked. It wasn’t supposed to be too cold today, but being surrounded by skyscrapers that blocked the light always left the business district feeling frigid. She wasn’t willing to walk around for a sunny patch of concrete to stand on though; she’d warm up just in time to have to go back inside.
Mariel breathed out, watching the smoke whisk away. Almost a quarter through the work day. Almost halfway through the work week. Not for the first time, Mariel wondered if she’d be able to make it to the end.
Drag in. Blow out. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d enjoyed coming to work. Every day felt like is was closing in around her, squeezing tighter and tighter. The pressure eased up on the weekends, but it was only a brief reprieve. Mariel was drowning. She knew it, deep down, but she couldn’t admit it. If she did that, she might fully sink.
“Excuse me?”
Mariel blew out the smoke and turned toward the voice. A man stood there, looking supremely awkward. He had dark, patchy hair, which matched the patchy facial hair on his cheeks. There was a loping awkwardness in his limbs that most people left behind in adolescence. “Yes?”
The man fumbled with a paper in his hand for a moment. “Are you Mariel Reyes?”
Mariel straightened. She kept her gaze fixed on the man while estimating how fast she could run to the front doors. “Why do you ask?”
The man reached into a small bag at his side and withdrew an envelope. “I’m supposed to deliver this to—” the man looked back at the first paper, “—Mariel Reyes, yes.”
A lifetime of habit and heard horror stories urged Mariel to remain cautious, but something in her found the man difficult to be threatened by. Despite starting the conversation, he seemed more desperate to end it than her. He wore a navy windbreaker with an embroidered logo she didn’t recognize; it could be for a delivery company, or just the clothing company that made it. Mariel scratched her neck and considered.
If you get stabbed, you don’t have to go back to work.
“Yes, I’m Mariel Reyes.” The words had barely left her mouth before the man jabbed the envelope towards her. Mariel looked at it. There was her name, but no address. “How did you know where to—” Mariel stopped talking when she realized the man had already gone. Keeping her head on a swivel, Mariel headed back to the office.
Apparently the emails had decided to come in while she was on break. Her manager watched her hustle back to her desk, disapproval dominating his face. Mariel shot him a small smile that had no effect before sitting down to work. She tossed the envelope to the side of her desk.
It did not take Mariel long to regret wishing something would come in. The requests were half-assed at best, missing important information. The CRM was buggy (again), and IT wasn’t confident about what was causing the issue (again), and Mariel’s manager didn’t care, he just wanted the work done (again). By the time she had finished working on the first batch, Mariel was well overdue for lunch, and another batch had already popped up in her inbox. She scanned the list of new requests and knew she’d be eating at her desk.
With the crush of work, the hours slipped by without Mariel noticing. When she looked up from her screen, eyes bleary, she realized the sun was sinking. She’d made it to the end of the day. Freedom was hers. As Mariel gathered up her things, she found the envelope from that morning.
She stared at her name again, written in beautiful calligraphy. It was amazing how quickly she’d forgotten the unusual encounter after the usual stressors of work had reared their ugly heads. Walking to the elevator, she ripped open the envelope. Inside was an invitation, printed on thick, soft paper that felt like luxury.
You are cordially invited to the annual Harvest Party
This evening at 8pm
Food and Drink will be provided
Please be punctual
Mariel flipped the invitation over. The backside was blank. She reread the text. For such a nice invitation, it felt horribly vague. Who was hosting this party? Was this a weird prank? Did Mariel know anyone who would go to such lengths for a joke? She was pretty sure she didn’t. Was she just randomly chosen?
There was an address at the bottom of the invitation—a public park near the forest reserve. Mariel was familiar with the location, at least enough to know it wasn’t overtly dangerous. Still, she knew she probably shouldn’t go. It was a work night; going to a party was a bad idea. As Mariel pulled onto the highway, taking her place in the rush hour traffic, a horrible image rose in her mind. It was her, sitting on her lumpy couch, staring at her phone without emotion. A half-eaten plate of food was abandoned on a side table, the room empty and silent. It was the scene that awaited Mariel at the end of every work day. Before she could second guess, Mariel sped past her usual exit, heading to the Harvest Party.
The sun had disappeared completely by the time Mariel pulled into the parking lot. Hers wasn’t the only car in the lot, which made her feel a little better. As she walked toward the park, a sign sporting the same calligraphy as the envelope greeted her, pointing towards a trail into the forest.
Mariel knew this was stupid. Every lesson she’d been taught, every horror story she’d been told, was screaming at her to not follow the signs into the dark woods. But something deeper pulled her forward.
Small paper lanterns guarded the edges of the path. As Mariel walked, she started to hear music up ahead. Something about the rhythm hummed in her chest, like a song she’d long since forgotten. There was a growing light too, flickering between the trees. Mariel breathed in—a bonfire. As she turned a final corner, the firelight flared up, momentarily blinding her. Mariel blinked several times, and then several times more when she saw the clearing.
There was a massive bonfire in the center of the space. It was over half the height of the trees towering around it, yet it was perfectly contained. Music pulsed through the air with no clear origin. Wherever Mariel turned, its volume remained the same. But it was the figures dancing around the fire that really caught her attention. At least a dozen ivory skeletons danced around the flames. They moved with a careless joy Mariel had never seen before. They were oblivious to the bonfire’s heat, oblivious to her stare. Their bones clacked and clattered in time to the music, adding to its power.
It was the most beautiful thing Mariel had every seen.
She took a few steps closer. Something squished under her foot. Mariel pulled her gaze away from the skeletons. Something was piled at her feet—part brown, part red, all squishy. There was another pile a little ways away, and another past that. It took her a moment to realize what she was looking at. Piles of skin and meat littered the outskirts of the clearing.
It should have been a horrifying sight, the sort of thing that drives someone to madness (or a lifetime of therapy, at the very least). But in the heat of the fire, in the presence of the music, it felt perfectly natural. How else could the dancing be enjoyed?
There was a simple foldout table not far from the entrance to the clearing. Several cups covered the surface, some empty, some filled with purple liquid. A sign read One per person.
Mariel picked up a cup. She swirled the purple fluid. It shimmered in the firelight. There was no more hesitation. She raised the cup to her lips and drank it down. She could feel the effects immediately. She raised her hands and stripped off her clothes. Then she stripped away the skin and sinew beneath. It didn’t hurt; it actually felt good. All that weight, all that pressure, sloughing off to reveal what was underneath. Mariel couldn’t remember the last time she felt this happy.
Finally stripped down to her bare essence, Mariel leapt towards the fire, the music already bouncing through her bones.