The bare vines taunted Jamal. The was the third year in a row that no grapes had grown on their stems, and the winery was facing complete and utter devastation. Soil scientists had come to study the earth, and had left each year assuring the family that the leaves growing were a fine sign, and the earth was rich. The sun shone and their roots were well-watered, but when it came time for the grapes to grow... nothing. The stems even had the appearance of grapes having grown and then having been plucked.
Ghost grapes, the old witch had warned. His father had laughed as he bought an empty bottle that she claimed was filled with ghost wine. A novelty, he was happy to purchase when their winery was flush. Something to lend ambiance to a Halloween celebration, and an opportunity to make a donation to the local witch's coven, which did wonderful charity work, helping families displaced by fires, rising housing costs, and other symptoms of a rotting society.
But now they were up against the wall, and these same societal ills were calling at all hours and sending notices of unpaid bills and scary mortgage brokers, who each suggested they refinance refinance refinance like a chanting cult.
The witch visited. She promised them, if they would have faith, they could harvest and ferment the ghost grapes. They could make ghost wine, and the coven would act as their distributor.
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