As horror goes, this story is rather tame. There is no gore, there are no grisly monsters. There is the Harv itself, but it’s just barely hideous. The real horror comes when one realizes that a story like this is possible.
And then there was the writing of it. I first concocted the plot and submitted it to a few journals with no takers. The rejections were understandable, the creature was abhorrent in the abstract, but needed to become real. In a major rewrite, I objectified the Harv even further by giving it a number (H3JJDx617) while showing glimpses of the creature’s emotion, curiosity and love of mangoes. Published in December 2020 by Teleport Magazine. Unfortunately the publication is no longer available.
THE HARV
by DL Shirey
Dillon Baumgartner stopped before a portrait, one in a row of two dozen along the wall. Each was spotlit, in a thick, ornate frame, yet none had nameplates. Identification wasn’t necessary; Baumgartner recognized the faces. They were among the most affluent men and women in America.
“I thought these were photographs,” he said as he fussed with straightening the visitor’s badge pinned on his lapel. “They’re oil paintings.”
The young man, Cooper, according to his official badge, slowed his walk, but didn’t stop. “Photographs of oil paintings, actually. The originals were gifted to our benefactors, to show our appreciation,” he said, “This way, please.”
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