To whom it may concern

The 666H Club had, once again, violated the laws of nature, and nature was, once again, understandably very annoyed about it.

Marshall Teller pressed himself tight against a bank of lockers as a bunch of man-sized carrots - or perhaps carrots that had once been men? - rampaged past, filling the small corridor with the coppery tang of spilled blood and the loamy scent of newly-turned earth.

"How did they make a problem this big out of a vegetable plot the size of a wardrobe?" he very quietly marvelled.

"They are taught to do more with less," Simon offered in a whisper.

Ongoing Verse: Trusted Associates Inc

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The 666H club had built a Wicker Man in the middle of the football field.

Local vegetation already grew thick around it, giddy with anticipation for the blood and fire yet to come. Some sixth graders swore they'd seen Were-Lettuce on school grounds in the last week, and staff and students were missing.

"I'm conflicted," said Tod, staring up into the hollow eye sockets of the towering effigy. "On the one hand, maybe if my old man had burned a few people, we'd still have our farm. On the other, I'm still on the football team, you know?"

Janet nodded.

Ongoing Verse: Janet

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Ongoing Verse: Harvest

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