Final Harvest-An Electric Eclectic Book.

By Michael J. Elliott

  Final Harvest is a riveting dark tale of an old man's desperate wish to be re-united with his deceased family. In a pact with the ancient tree on his land, the old man is assured his reward will be his wish of reunion. But how many innocent victims must suffer for  him to achieve his promise to the tree and would his reward be according to his wishes. The Final Harvest is a noir tale of love, death and being careful for what you wish for, because it may just come true.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael J Elliott
• Release date: Oct 15, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386499909

Michael J. Elliott

Michael J. Elliott is an Australian author who has been writing since his early schooldays. His headmistress once described him as, "A second Alfred Hitchcock." He majored in Media Studies in College and wrote and directed short films, videos and radio ads. Michael has also written sketch comedy for Australian television. He lives in a bayside suburb in the State of Victoria. When not writing stories to chill readers he enjoys Golden Age Hollywood movies, reading, drawing, and cooking. He is also the illustrator for Claire Plaisted's series of childrens books, Girlie's Adventures. Michael is single but shares his life with his two cats, Charlie and Snaps.

Book preview

Prologue

He was perspiring despite the chill of the moonlit night.

He wiped his brow with the sleeve of his flannelette shirt.

As he tipped the body out of the wheelbarrow, he grunted. A chorus of crickets seemed to voice their disapproval.

The body hit the dark, loamy soil with a soft thud. It was dwarfed by the massive trunk of the old tree.

The youth’s sightless eyes seemed to stare up at the enormity of the tree.

A lone beetle, searching for nocturnal nourishment, explored the inside of the youth’s mouth. It could find nothing edible and left the orifice for pastures greener.

The man stared down at the corpse. He had stopped feeling guilty about the murders some time ago. It didn’t matter to him that they were someone’s son or daughter. He didn’t care that somewhere, someone was sobbing over a missing loved one.

The pact was the only thing that mattered.

An owl hooted its agreement...or its displeasure.

The man slapped his cheek. It was strange how the mosquitoes always seemed to be more prolific around the tree. Most insects preferred to live around the tree.

The nasty kind. The wasps, the millipedes, the gnats and the like. It was almost as if they sensed in the tree a kindred spirit.

From the ebony-coloured soil came a wet squelching sound.

The body moved slightly, as though it still contained some semblance of life.

It wasn’t a miracle.

It was something just as powerful, but dark and evil.

The soil began to churn. Blind earthworms weaved to and fro, suddenly thrust into the night air. They instinctively headed back to the safety of soil.

Thick roots began to shake free of their confinement. Like the worms they had disturbed, they blindly began inching forward, searching for the nourishment they sensed was before them.

A fibrous root touched the dead youth’s chest. It recoiled slightly.

A few seconds later it reached out again. Sensing no resistance, it inched forward farther, draping itself across the body’s torso.

The roots acted like a human nervous system. A signal had been received, then relayed to them all.

Two thick roots pushed forward and manoeuvred themselves under the body, tipping it back towards the trunk like a front-end loader. Smaller roots began to cover the front of the body, encasing it like a mummy’s organic wraps.

Soil rolled and grew like waves at sea. It began to cover the body like some macabre automatic burial. Slowly, inexorably, the body descended into the soil where it would decompose over time and nourish the tree.

It needed constant nourishment.

The man looked up towards the topmost branches.

How many? he shouted. How many more before you give me what I was promised?

The leaves rustled despite the complete lack of wind. A few of them fluttered down, landing in the spot which had just been occupied by the body.

He glanced at the leaves.

They moved as if being carried on the backs of invisible ants. They seemed to manoeuvre themselves into various positions. Some stopped, others continued their progression until they had reached some predetermined destination known only to them.

The man looked down at the leaves. He trembled uncontrollably. They had spelt out a single word.

Four.

Chapter 1

Rowan

The pub beckoned like an oasis in the middle of the Sahara Desert.

This part of England was experiencing a warmer than usual spring. Rowan was starting to feel its effects. His tee shirt clung to him, perspiration stains marked his neckline and underarms. His khaki backpack felt heavy and cumbersome.

Rowan definitely regretted his decision to hitchhike up