Some soil remembers. Some soil expects. Maya Kapoor arrives in Aylesbury seeking refuge from academic burnout and personal collapse. A ground-floor flat. A PhD to finish. The kind of quiet anonymity that lets you rebuild yourself piece by piece. The allotment behind her garden offers something she didn't know she needed: earth to dig, seeds to plant, a community of gardeners who understand the value of routine and rootedness. Plot Seventeen, with its centuries of cultivation, produces vegetables that taste more real than anything she's eaten before. Working the soil steadies her. Eating what she grows restores her. But her misgivings don't scream. They seep. The allotment's history runs deeper than council records suggest. The chairman speaks of continuity, of maintaining relationships with the land that predate modern agriculture. The other gardeners talk about acknowledgment, about giving back what you take. The soil here is different-richer, darker, older. Some plots require more than compost and crop rotation. Some ground needs extra ... feeding. The Allotment explores the seduction of belonging, the horror of realizing you've already been consumed, and what it costs to put down roots in hungry earth. This is folk horror in the tradition of British rural uncanny-where community becomes cult, where nourishment becomes contamination, where the price of healing is measured in more than labour. For readers who appreciate slow-building dread, body horror that earns its reveals, and protagonists who discover too late that they've already made their choice. Perfect for anyone who's ever wondered about what really is in their topsoil... Start reading now to discover what grows in Plot Seventeen-and what Plot Seventeen grows in return.