22 Nov The Horn of Plenty

The air in the Andrews household was tense, rife with the particular brand of anxiety that crept in around the holidays, when expenses piled up and paychecks seemed to shrink. Jim Andrews sat at the head of the table, staring down at the stack of bills he’d been avoiding, his fingers nervously tapping. Across from him, his wife Karen was busy scraping together the remnants of their pantry for dinner, her face lined with exhaustion.

Sarah, their teenage daughter, glanced up from her phone, noticing her parents’ silence. “So… are we going to have Thanksgiving this year?” she asked, a hint of sarcasm slipping into her voice, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of hope.

“We’ll have something,” Karen said, forcing a smile as she ladled soup into mismatched bowls. It was thin, stretched with water to make it last, and Sarah knew it all too well. “We might not have the turkey and stuffing, but we’ll make do.”

Jim sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair. “Sometimes, I wish something would just… turn our luck around. Give us a break, you know?”

They all fell silent for a moment, the words hanging in the air. It was a quiet, desperate plea from a father who had done everything he could to make ends meet and failed. If anyone out there was listening, they certainly weren’t showing it.

“Maybe we’ll win the lottery,” Sarah mumbled, stirring her soup with little enthusiasm.

Tommy, just seven years old, looked at his family with wide eyes. “Maybe we could wish for it!” he said innocently, as if such a thing was the most natural solution in the world. “You know, like on our birthdays, when we blow out the candles?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Jim replied, but his voice was flat. Wishful thinking wouldn’t fill the fridge or pay the bills. As they sat together in the flickering light of the single bulb above the table, a chill snaked its way through the room, unnoticed by any of them.

* * * * * *

The next morning, Karen opened the front door to take out the trash, only to stop dead in her tracks. Sitting on their worn welcome mat was an object she didn’t recognize—an ornate, ancient-looking horn.

It was curved, with an intricate design carved into the dark, ridged, bone-like material. Mysterious symbols twisted and turned along its surface. It looked like an old cornucopia, though unlike any she’d ever seen before. She watched, fascinated, as the symbols seemed to undulate, subtly writhing with an unseen energy. Just as she reached out a hand to touch it, she was interrupted.

“What is it, Mom?” Sarah appeared behind her, curiosity in her eyes as she scanned the peculiar horn. “Looks like a cornucopia.”

“I… I don’t know. Someone must have left it here.” Karen bent down, picking it up. The horn felt warm in her hands, unnaturally so for a November morning. Tucked underneath was a small note written in delicate, slanted handwriting.

“To those in need: This Horn of Plenty shall grant you blessings, provided you make the proper offerings. May abundance find you in exchange for small sacrifices.”

Karen laughed nervously, looking back at her daughter. “Someone’s idea of a joke, maybe? Some kind of decoration?”

Sarah shrugged. “It looks cool, though. We could keep it. It’d be kind of festive, right?”

Jim wandered into the hallway, drawn by the sound of their voices. “What’s going on?”

Karen hesitated for a moment before handing him the note and the horn. He examined it, his brow furrowing as he read the words.

“Small sacrifices, huh?” he murmured, turning the artifact in his hands. There was something eerie about it, but the idea of “blessings” was tempting, especially now. “Well, we could use a little help, couldn’t we?”

Karen bit her lip. “Maybe… maybe it wouldn’t hurt to try? Just… you know, play along for fun.”

They placed the horn in the center of their modest dining table, its dark form casting strange, elongated shadows across the room. It felt odd, but no more unsettling than the empty pantry, the overdue bills, and the thought of yet another Thanksgiving without a proper meal.

“Let’s just keep it,” Karen said finally. “Maybe it’ll bring us some luck.”

And in the quiet, as if acknowledging her desires, the horn hummed gently—a faint vibration rippling along its enigmatic carvings.

* * * * * *

That evening, as they settled around the dinner table, Karen peered at the horn sitting quietly in the center. For some reason–she didn’t know why–it felt as if it was watching them. She pushed the thought away, embarrassed by her own imagination.

With a smile, Karen grabbed a piece of bread from her plate and placed it in the horn, half-jokingly. “Alright, ‘Horn of Plenty,’” she murmured. “Bring us some blessings. Just a nice Thanksgiving meal would be more than enough.”

Jim chuckled, shaking his head, but there was an unspoken hope in his eyes. The bread disappeared into the dark opening of the horn, as if swallowed. With bated breath, the members of the Andrews household watched and waited, but nothing happened. The horn sat, inanimate, a far cry from the magical display they’d half-expected. Laughing it off, they moved on, forgetting the moment as they finished their modest meal.

The next morning, Karen went to make breakfast, prepared to make do with the last few eggs, a handful of apples, and whatever oatmeal she had left. But as she opened the fridge, she gasped. It was packed full—overflowing with meats, fruits, fresh vegetables, cheeses, and all the trimmings she could have dreamed of.

Excitedly she darted to the pantry, where she opened it doors to find its shelves similarly lined with goods. When she opened the freezer, she gasped, her eyes welling up with joyful tears. Nestled inside was a plump, frozen turkey, far bigger and better than any they could afford.

“Jim! Kids! Come here!” she called, her voice breaking with emotion.

The family gathered in the kitchen, their eyes wide with amazement.

“Is this… did someone leave all this for us?” Sarah asked, in disbelief.

Jim ran a hand through his hair, a sheepish grin breaking across his face. “Looks like our luck really turned around, huh?” He clapped his hands together, laughing, and dramatically planted an appreciative kiss on the horn atop their table. “Thanksgiving is back on!”

Their excitement quickly spread. They spent the day marveling over the newfound bounty, planning for the perfect meal they’d all but given up on. For the first time in months, they had something to look forward to.

As the sun set, however, an inexplicable malaise seemed to settle over their street. Whispers about a strange misfortune made their way through the area after dark—a friend’s beloved golden retriever had gone missing, with no trace of where it might have wandered off to. The neighborhood felt somber, and given the Andrews family’s sudden, expected spate of luck, the pet’s sudden disappearance felt downright untimely.

Things took a further turn for the worse when the missing dog was later found – or, rather, its body was found. It appeared to have been struck by a vehicle.

Upon hearing the news, Karen cast a wary glance at the Horn of Plenty. Perhaps it was her mind playing tricks on her, but from her perspective its carvings seemed darker, as though they’d been etched just a little deeper in the wake of the dog’s death. As she peered at the bizarre sigils, then back to the fully stocked pantry and refrigerator, a strange notion crossed her mind: What if the artifact hadn’t simply given gifts and good fortune, but expected something more substantial in exchange?

Her thoughts drifted to the retriever. It seemed preposterous that its unfortunate passing and their sudden blessings could be connected—it had to be a coincidence, she told herself—but he blood ran cold all the same.

What if the horn expected more in return than a bit of stale bread?

And what if it had collected?

When she voiced her concerns to Jim, he brushed then off. “Come on, Karen. That’s absurd,” he scoffed. “You can’t be serious. Dogs get loose and get hit by cars every day. It’s tragic, but it’s not horn’s fault. Cheer up! For once, let’s enjoy life! We deserve it!”

Karen forced a smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You’re right, Jim,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

* * * * * *

That night, as the family gathered in the living room, Sarah grew curious about the peculiar horn. Excited and more than a little uneasy, she pulled out her laptop and started researching. She was surprised to discover that cornucopias like theirs had roots far deeper than she’d expected.

The mysterious item, she learned, had its roots in ancient mythology. She read about two tales that sent a shiver down her spine:

First was the story of Amalthea, the goat who nursed the Greek god Zeus as a child. In gratitude, Zeus broke off one of her horns, blessing it with the power to provide limitless abundance. However, this horn did not simply create food and wealth; it took from the land itself, sapping life from wherever it drew its bounty. This “blessing” had a hidden cost, one often overlooked by the stories.

The second tale came from the story of Achelous, a river god who clashed with the hero Hercules. Hercules tore off one of Achelous’s horns in battle, and it became a symbol of prosperity—yet Achelous was left weakened, his power diminished considerably. In every version of the myth, Sarah noticed, the horn took as much as it gave. It was a double-edged gift, granting abundance, but draining something or someone else.

Her fingers hovered over the keys. She hesitated briefly before digging deeper still. Before long, she found images of statues and ancient coins depicting gods and goddesses holding cornucopias—Demeter, Gaia, Persephone—all deities connected to the earth, the harvest, and cycles of life and death.

Sarah’s gaze drifted to the horn adorning their table. In the dim light of the kitchen, its dark ridges seemed ominous, curling in patterns that hinted at something sinister, lurking just below the surface. She glanced back at the screen, then down at the note that had come with it: “May abundance find you in exchange for small sacrifices.”

The final word etched itself firmly into her mind.

Sacrifices.

A chill coursed through her veins as she considered the implications.

Before she could turn off her laptop, her search turned up a mention of “harvest deities” and the concept of “balance.” In every tale, she read, there was the idea that nature demanded equilibrium: for every feast, there would be a famine; for every blessing, a sacrifice.

“What are you looking at?” Jim’s voice made her jump. She quickly closed the laptop.

“Oh, nothing… just… the horn has a lot of history, I guess.”

He chuckled, patting her shoulder. “Well, it sure is bringing us some good fortune, isn’t it? That’s all we need to know.”

But as he left, Sarah’s gaze lingered on the horn, the unsettling symbols, and the silent promises they seemed to hold. She had the nagging feeling that their “good fortune” was costing someone, somewhere, far more than they knew.

* * * * * *

In the days that followed, the Andrews family began to accept the horn as part of their lives. What had started as a simple request for a meal had sparked something deeper—a hope that this strange relic could finally give them the comfort they had yearned for.

Jim was the first to test its power again. He placed a small coin inside, murmuring a request for enough money to cover their mounting bills. The coin disappeared, just as the bread had, slipping soundlessly into the shadows of the horn.

The next morning, they received an unexpected letter in the mail, containing a refund check from an old insurance claim they’d nearly forgotten about. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to cover their expenses. Jim held the check up triumphantly, his eyes shining with excitement.

“It’s working, Karen! This thing… it’s like it knows exactly what we need!” He laughed, looking down at the horn with newfound admiration. “Maybe we can use it just a little more. You know, just to get us back on our feet.”

Karen hesitated, her thoughts drifting back to her daughter’s research, which Sarah had been quick to share with her since her father had dismissed her findings so readily. Even then, she couldn’t deny the relief that the extra money had brought. She nodded slowly, trying to convince herself it was harmless. “Alright. But let’s be careful. We don’t really know how this thing works.”

Over the next few days, the family continued to make small offerings—pennies, a few crumpled receipts, a bracelet Karen no longer wore. Each time, the horn seemed to answer, providing them with small favors: a promotion at work, a neighbor giving them their excess groceries, a prepaid voucher for a local clothing store.

Yet with each blessing, misfortune began to ripple through their community. A family friend was badly injured in a car accident. Another neighbor’s child fell ill with a mysterious fever. Each incident felt like a whispered warning they refused to heed, that the horn demanded far more than the scraps they were feeding it.

Karen’s worry grew with every offering, but Jim dismissed her fears. “Come on, Karen. Don’t overthink it. Things are finally going our way, and we’ve worked too hard to let this opportunity go to waste! This horn is helping us when no one else would.”

But as she stared at the mysterious cornucopia, she wondered what exactly their newfound luck had to do with the awful things happening to their friends and neighbors… and how long it would be before trouble arrived at their own door.

* * * * * *

Sarah and Tommy, meanwhile, were also becoming wary of the horn’s presence. Ever since she had uncovered the origins of the item, Sarah had experienced nightmares of twisted hands reaching out of the dark, clawing at her, begging to be released. Voices whispered her name, beckoning her to come closer and join them. Unlike her parents, she was certain the horn had contributed to the tragedies surrounding them, well before the nightmares began.

Tommy’s experience was different. Though he slept peacefully, he could swear he heard the horn speaking to him directly in the quiet moments of the day, coaxing him in soft, murmured words. Sometimes, he’d find himself standing near it without remembering how he’d gotten there, his small hand drifting toward it as if pulled by an invisible force.

One evening, Sarah tried to hide the horn, before it could do any more damage. She picked it up carefully, wrapping it in a towel and tucking it away in a storage bin in the attic. For the first time in days, she felt a strange calm settle over the house.

But by morning, the horn was back in its usual place on the dining table, resting innocently in the center as if it had never moved. Its carvings seemed even darker than before, the edges sharper, as if it had fed on the fear that lingered in the air, increasing its influence day by day.

“Did… did you move it back?” Sarah asked, her voice trembling as she looked at her parents.

Karen shook her head, her face pale. “No. I thought you’d left it in the attic.”

Jim frowned but waved it off. “Must have been one of you,” he muttered, forcing a smile. There was a hint of unease in his voice that hadn’t been there before. “Come on, you guys, this horn is a literal godsend! There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Sarah knew better. Every time she looked at the horn, she was overcome with dread, but her father dismissed her feelings, too caught up in the horn’s offerings to see the danger it presented. Her mother remained skeptical and wary, but in spite of her misgivings had done nothing to help.

As the days passed, the horn’s presence weighed heavier in the Andrews home. Strange shadows flickered in and out of sight, and electronics began to malfunction at random. The air felt colder, and Sarah’s nightmares only grew more vivid. Tommy continued hearing voices, repeating the same ominous messages over and again. Even Jim began to suspect something was wrong, but by then he’d grown too accustomed to the horn and its power—and he wasn’t about to give it up.

Even when neighbors fell deathly ill, vehicles crashed, jobs were lost, and children were gravely injured, carnage piling up all around him, Jim refused to dispose of the horn, or to accept that it, and his wishes, might have been responsible for the destruction.

Desperate to have a perfect holiday, Jim ignored every warning sign.

“We deserve this,” Jim told himself. And nothing, and no one, was going to stop him.

* * * * * *

As Thanksgiving approached, Karen’s worried lingered and Sarah’s nightmares continued unabated. However, the consensus was that, horn or no horn, they had made their bed, and had no choice but to sleep in it. The horn had provided everything they needed: food, new clothes, and even a little extra cash to pay down some debts. There was no turning back now, they rationalized. They had already accepted the gifts and put them to use. So, in spite of their concerns, they were determined to be grateful, and to have a good time.

On the morning before Thanksgiving, Karen decided, against her best judgment, to make one last offering, hoping to ensure that everything would be ideal for the big day. She placed a turkey feather into the horn, whispering her wish for a bountiful feast that would bring her family together, and for perfect health for everyone in their home. The feather slipped soundlessly into the depths, and the horn emitted its familiar hum, as if purring in satisfaction.

That evening, as she prepared for the holiday, Karen noticed strange things happening around the house. A soft tapping sound echoed from the walls, though no one could find its source. Shadows seemed to move in the corners, darting away whenever she turned her head. The temperature in the house plummeted, and she found herself constantly shivering, though the heater was running at full blast.

As she set the table, Karen glanced out the window and froze. Animals—dozens of them—had gathered outside their house. Raccoons, squirrels, stray cats, even a few deer stood motionless, their eyes locked on the windows. They watched her, their expressions vacant yet somehow expectant, as if waiting for something. She backed away, feeling a chill crawl up her spine. This was unnatural, she thought. We’ve gone too far. 

“Jim,” she whispered, her voice tight. “Come look at this.”

He joined her at the window, his face paling at the sight of the motionless animals. He laughed nervously, brushing it off. “They’re just… looking for food. It’s Thanksgiving, you know? They smell all the… all the food we’re preparing. That’s all.”

No one believed it. Something about the animals’ stillness, their dark, unblinking eyes, felt wrong. As Karen turned away from the window, she caught sight of the horn on the table, its sigils writhing, ever so subtly, as if alive. The horn itself seemed to pulse, as if breathing in rhythm with the flickering shadows.

By that night, devastating news had spread through their small community. A beloved local teacher had been decapitated in a multi-vehicle collision, and another neighbor’s house had caught fire. An elderly gentleman down the road slipped and fell down his basement steps, and was lying in an emergency room in critical condition. An expectant mother suddenly went into preterm labor, and lost her baby in the process. Tragedy itself seemed to be stalking their street, leaving a trail of misfortune in its wake.

In the Andrews household, however, everything was going wonderfully.  Perfectly.

Even as the body count grew, Jim shook his head, refusing to acknowledge the connection. “We’re just being paranoid,” he muttered. “Let’s not ruin Thanksgiving with a bunch of nonsense.”

Karen wanted to agree, but she couldn’t bring herself to let her guard down. She was certain the horn had brought them more than money and meals. She was sure it had introduced something ancient—something evil—into their home, and that it was too late to stop it now.

* * * * * *

The family gathered in their dining room on Thanksgiving Day, a feast spread before them that was more elaborate than anything they had ever had. Roasted turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, cranberries, pies—it all sat on the table, arranged picture-perfectly, as if from a magazine spread. The family marveled at the bounty, feeling a strange combination of excitement and trepidation.

Jim, sensing Karen’s distress, gave her a reassuring smile. “Calm down, honey. Let’s not let any silly superstitions ruin this. It’s Thanksgiving, and we finally have something to be thankful for. Just take a look at this amazing spread!”

They sat down, each one taking a moment to admire the banquet, though Karen felt increasingly uncomfortable. Something was off. Moreso than usual. At first, she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. But as they began to eat, she noticed an unusual taste in the food—a slight bitterness, a metallic tang that lingered on her tongue. She looked around, noticing the same expression on Sarah and Tommy’s faces, but no one spoke. They pushed through, pretending everything was normal.

But as they continued their meal, the room grew colder. Shadows pooled in the corners, stretching along the walls like dark tendrils. The lights flickered, dimming until only the candles on the table remained, casting an eerie glow over their faces. And then, the food on their plates… began to change.

Karen gasped as she watched the turkey turn a sickly gray, the meat bubbling and rotting before her eyes. Maggots wormed their way up through the mashed potatoes, writhing atop the gravy, and a foul stench filled the room, thick and suffocating. The once-beautiful feast decayed, transforming into something vile and grotesque.

The family leaped back from the table, horrified, but could go no farther, pinned in place by the grip of unseen hands. Dark figures emerged from the shadows—ghoulish wraiths with hollow eyes and twisted, anguished faces, their mouths open in silent screams. Sarah realized, with a chilling certainty, that these were the souls claimed by the horn over centuries. With horror, the members of the Andrews family realized that not all of them were strangers. Before them, mingled with the mutilated remains of the Horn of Plenty’s long-dead victims, were the revenants of their very own neighbors, their visages frozen in terror and despair.

The specters surrounded the table, their empty eyes fixed on the family. One by one, each Andrews family member felt an overwhelming pull, drawing them toward the horn. It sat at the center of the table, its carvings now roiling, alight with a sinister energy.

“Mom… I… I can’t move,” Sarah whispered, her voice trembling as tears streamed down her face. As she struggled to free herself, one word sprang to mind, as if the horn itself was reminding her what she and her family had always been: Sacrifices. 

Tommy whimpered, his small body shaking with terror. Jim tried to grab his hand, but his own limbs refused to move. Meanwhile, the horn’s effects intensified, draining the warmth and light from the room.

Karen struggled to resist, but she could feel herself weakening. The relic’s power was absolute, an ancient, insatiable hunger that demanded its final toll. She watched helplessly as one by one, her family members were drawn into the shadows, their bodies collapsing lifelessly as their spirits were absorbed into the horn, joining the legion of souls already trapped inside. A moment later, with a final, blood-curdling shriek, Karen joined them.

A sudden hush fell over the room. The shadows receded, withdrawing like inky tendrils into the walls, leaving the Andrews household empty and still—and every last member of the family dead.

Atop the table, the horn sat quietly, its glow slowly fading, until at last it too disappeared into the shadows from whence it came.

* * * * * *

Days later, the house remained eerily quiet, its windows dark. No one had heard from the Andrews family. Missed phone calls from Jim and Karen’s employers, and from the children’s schools, filled their voicemails. Not longer after, police conducted well checks, and found the home deserted. The Horn of Plenty was gone, the table bare, the pantry, freezer, and refrigerator restored to their previously vacant conditions.

Neighbors—those unaffected by the horn’s violent demands—whispered about the Andrews’ sudden disappearance, rumors circulating about the connection to the other recent tragedies.  In the end, however, nothing made any sense, and it never would.

Miles away, in another small town, a struggling young couple opened their door to find an unusual object on their doorstep. It was a decorative cornucopia, its dark, ridged surface adorned with mysterious carvings.

Beside it lay a note:

“To those in need: This Horn of Plenty shall grant you blessings, provided you make the proper offerings. May abundance find you in exchange for small sacrifices.”

The woman picked up the horn, her eyes widening as she turned it over in her hands. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it, Mark? Maybe it’s a sign.”

Her husband nodded. As they carried the horn inside, an imperceptible murmur echoed from deep within its confines.

A hopeful smile spread across the man’s face. “Maybe it’ll help us get through Christmas this year,” he said.

“That would be lovely,” his wife replied. “We sure could use a little extra luck.”