Mission Ridge, South Dakota

Annabelle was feeding the chickens when a pop of red caught her eye. A strand of yarn, resting on the dirt floor. She reached down to pick it up and it yanked away from her. Annabelle giggled. She reached for it a second time and it was tugged again, pulled through the wire mesh of the coop.

She ran outside, letting the screen door slam behind her. Around the back of the coop she crept, only to see the red yarn slithering through the grass like a snake. Annabelle chased the strand, hopping and laughing as it disappeared into the tall switchgrass. She spread the stems apart with her little hands and peered into the thicket.

“Hello?” she moved into the patch, swatting at the grasshoppers who launched themselves at her. Finally, the speck of red appeared again, smothered by a worn leather boot. Her eyes followed up the boot upwards and into its black eyes.

Annabelle yelped, her tiny body dragged deeper into the thicket.

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“It’s been two days,” Jessa said wearily as she stared into the tall grass.

“She’ll come back,” Brother Shep replied. “They always do.”

Jessa surveyed the compound; four cabins, the Meeting House and Communion Shack. A meager stock of chickens, goats and sheep. Their crops—kale, peas, and squash—usually ready by July, were stunted by drought. Outside of the cabin she shared with her daughters, her girls hung laundry on the line. Hannah’s son Myron milked a doe in the goat pen. Outside of their cabin, Hannah built a fire underneath the Dutch oven.

Hiram and Brother Daniel, undoubtedly, were in the Meeting House preparing for worship.

Beyond the compound prairie stretched for miles, except for Mission Creek, where cottonwoods and willows lined the stream as it meandered into the Missouri River.

“Maybe I should take the truck into Fort Pierre,” Jessa suggested.

“You know better than that,” Shep replied.

In the Meeting House, Jessa sat in a pew with her daughters, Sarah, Rachel and Ruth. Annabelle’s seat remained hopelessly empty. Behind them sat Hannah and Myron. Across the aisle, Shep and Daniel.

Hiram stood at the altar. “Now more than ever, we must prove our love to him. He is vengeful! Because our production has stalled. One measly goat is not enough. We must grow our family! When we devote ourselves to creation, he will return Annabelle to us.”

“We must not be sorrowful. Tonight is a special night. Sarah—“

Sarah looked at her mother with apprehension.

“Sarah will be bound to him tonight. Let us pray that she may be a vehicle for his love.”

The Family bowed their heads.

After supper, Jessa washed Sarah’s hands and feet and rubbed them with lavender oil. “So he will know your scent,” Jessa said.

She led the girl, barefoot, to the Communion Shack. At the doorway, Jessa hugged her daughter, holding back tears.

Sarah disappeared into the darkness.

Inside, she lay on the mattress. The room was still. She could see the stars peeking between the beams above. “Who will come?” She wondered.

Sarah dozed off and awoke to a tickle on her cheek. She brushed it aside but it returned to cross her nose. The moonlight caught the intruder—a strand of red yarn, dangling from the ceiling.

Sarah sat up. “Who’s there?”

The yarn danced around her head. She tried to grab it but it was slick—running through her fingers as it reeled into the ceiling. Sarah sniffed her hands. Kerosene.

The red yarn appeared again, twirling through the moonlight and settling on her lap. Above, a spark ignited. Fire ran down the yarn. Her nightgown caught fire. She tried to smother the blaze with her hands, but instead fed them with her fuel soaked fingers. The fire exploded, engulfing the mattress. Soon she was consumed by flames as they lapped the walls of the shack. Her screams burned into the night.

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Jessa jolted upright in bed, flames raging outside her window. She ran outside to find Hiram, Shep and Daniel dousing the shack with water. Myron rushed toward them with buckets of water from the well. Jessa summoned her daughters, who grabbed their laundry pails and started for the creek. Jessa watched helplessly, paralyzed by terror.

The roof of the shack collapsed.

“Get back!” Hiram shouted.

The group huddled together as the bonfire spiraled into the night.

“There is nothing we can do,” Hiram said.

“No!” Jessa cried.

“He has accepted our offering!” Hiram erupted. “This is a blaze of triumph!”

“This is the devil’s work!” Jessa snarled, shaking Hiram by the shoulders. Daniel and Shep restrained her.

“Take her to the cellar!” Hiram commanded.

The men dragged Jessa to the cellar. Myron ran ahead and flung open the doors. They threw her down and she rolled onto the dirt floor. The doors slammed overhead and the bolt slid into place. Jessa whimpered—her arm badly injured. Soon, smoke from the fire filled the chamber and she passed out.

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In the morning, Rachel and Ruth stood near the remains of the fire, still smoldering, ash blanketing the surrounding earth.

Hannah watched with disdain as Ruth sobbed into her sister’s arms. “Take her away,” Hannah hissed.

“Come on, piggy back,” Rachel knelt down and Ruth climbed atop her shoulders. They walked along the path to the creek.

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Daniel tended to the sheep as Hiram and Shep convened.

“This is no good,” Shep said, shaking his head.

“These sacrifices are mere potholes along the road to salvation. Do you doubt me, Brother?” Hiram asked.

“Those girls need a mother. More than ever. You must bring Jessa above ground.”

“Let her rot in the cellar. She is no use to any of us, the dried up cow.”

“She is your wife, Hiram.”

“He has commanded me to take a new wife.”

Shep scoffed. “Rachel is too young.”

“Perhaps you want her for yourself.”

“She has been promised to me. As Annabelle was promised to Daniel.”

“So, you and Daniel conspire against me?”

“This is the plan ordained to you!”

“Plans change. Sarah is nothing but ash and bones. So, we each move down the ladder.”

“Ruth has only just turned six! I am an old man, Hiram! I cannot wait forever!”

“Then perhaps you would be better off elsewhere.”

“You will regret this!” Shep growled.

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Hannah looked through her window to see Shep storm into his cabin, then returned her attention to her wheel, pumping the foot treadle as her hands drafted wool into yarn.

“Mama?” Myron whispered.

“Not now.”

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At the creek, Ruth and Rachel skipped stones.

“Five skips!” Rachel cheered. Ruth smiled for the first time that afternoon.

Ruth searched the bank for the perfect stone. She reached into a pile of rocks and felt her finger snag.

The strand yanked forward and she splashed into the water, the current carrying her downstream. Rachel dove into the creek and swam after her.

Underneath the muddy water, Rachel caught a glimpse of a red tugging Ruth along. Little Ruthie gurgled in the muck as Rachel swam after her.

Down into the depths of the Missouri River they went, the red line reeling them to their watery grave.

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Shep filled a pillowcase with his paltry possessions. He left his cabin and entered Hiram’s.

He rifled through Hiram’s dresser and found the keys. Passing by the cellar, he heard Jessa pounding furiously on the doors, and unlatched the bolt.

Shep took off in Hiram’s truck and sped over the prairie. A quarter mile past the compound, the truck sputtered to a stop. He got out of the truck and crawled under the truck to investigate.

“What the hell?”

Red yarn was strung from the front to rear axle, crisscrossing the undercarriage, leading to a spool stuffed into the exhaust pipe. The end of the yarn trailed back toward the compound. Shep pulled out his pocket knife and began cutting through the yarn. Suddenly, he heard the truck engine start. He struggled to right himself but slid in the dirt as the truck backed over his neck.

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Jessa burst through the cellar doors with her right arm, her left held up by a crude sling. She barreled into the sunlight, toward the pen where Daniel was shearing a ram.

“Where is he?” She shouted, shoving Daniel to the ground. She fell upon him in a rage. Daniel punched the shears at her face, plunging a blade into her right eyeball. Jessa reeled backward, screaming in agony. She yanked at the shears, pulling her eyeball out of its socket before the blade came loose. Her eyeball dangled from the thread of the optic nerve. The ram, unnerved by the chaos, charged Daniel, ravaging him in the chest with his horns. Jessa grabbed blindly in the dirt, finding the shears. She cocked open the shears and lay her optic nerve across. Forcing her weight upon them, she severed the strand, now red with blood. She kicked her eyeball toward the agitated ram who gobbled it up and ran off. As Daniel bled out, Jessa tore a swath from Daniel’s shirt, wadded it up and stuffed it into her gaping eye hole. She shoved the shears into her pocket.

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Hannah watched the blood fest as she spun.

“My goodness,” She murmured.

White wool fed through her fingers. Slowly, the fibers turned pink, then red. Hannah stared at the pile of wool on the floor, dark liquid pooling underneath. Hannah tried to run but slipped in the puddle. Her long braid tangled in the wool fibers and was pulled toward the spinning wheel, her head hitting the foot treadle. She looked up to see a leather boot crash down upon her skull, her braid ripped from her scalp and wound into the wheel as it came to a stop.

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Jessa stormed the Meeting House to find Hiram kneeling before the altar.

“Where are my daughters?” She screamed.

“He came for them. As he will come for us all.”

Hiram lifted his hands to pray and she saw that they were bound with red yarn.

“Don’t you see? This is the end.”

Hiram began to laugh, then drool, then cough a hairball of yarn onto the floor. Jessa picked up the tangle and pulled, yarn withdrawing from his mouth like handkerchiefs from a clown, as she walked backward toward the door. Hiram’s maniacal laughter became a gurgled choke, and he spasmed to the floor.

Jessa ran out of the Meeting House, into the prairie and along the tree line. She found Shep’s lifeless body pinned underneath the truck. The keys were still in the ignition. She started the truck and headed to Fort Pierre. She had only reached the highway when a length of yarn came down over her head from behind. Jessa swerved as she was strangled, careening into a ditch. The truck landed on its side and she climbed out. She struggled to open the back door but it was jammed closed.

Myron burst through the shattered glass window and tackled her, wrapping the spool of yarn around her neck, wrenching it tighter as the life left her eye. Jessa pulled the shears from her pocket and plunged them into the boy’s throat. She straddled him, stabbing him over and over in a fury.

The spool slipped from Myron’s hand as he lay gutted in the road.

Jessa retrieved the shears and ran down the highway, dusk falling upon the rolling plains.

🧶