Fearful Harvest Part 1
He stood on the front porch and breathed hard. "It's out there. And it won't stop. It will not stop except for death."
. . . . .
"I'm telling you to choose elsewhere. Bad things will happen. That is simply what I feel about it."
"And I'm telling you that I have a family to consider. That place is perfect for them."
"…It is a grave. A great yawning throat which one falls down through eternally. Is that what you want?"
"I want you to leave me in peace. My family needs a home."
"One final thing then: Who planted the field? Why is there vegetation there but nowhere else?"
. . . . .
The house was built; the barn was established; the children were hard at work with chores and play; his wife was expecting their seventh child. Everything was good indeed. This year's harvest was good, and it promised an even better one next year for there were many seeds and much fertile ground.
He smiled. His wealth was great, for he had a wonderful family, his animals were strong and without blemish, and the land he had built upon was wide and open with potential.
The wind… what an odd wind it was, the way it felt. This place, it seemed to have an unusual quality to it.
. . . . .
SSSHHHHHH. The wind sighed and whispered through the field.
Tmp. Tmp. Shhhh. Rstle… rstle. Tmp. "Haaaaaahhhh. Warm bodies. Been a long time."
A smile. Not a kind one. "Fun. Blood. Screammmmmsssss."
. . . . .
Not a whisper as a figure simply… became corporeal. He simply… became. He was not, and then he was. He saw everything over the whole of the land where he stood. They would be coming soon. Much might be lost if his warnings were not heeded.
But he simply watched. That was all that he did. It was his duty. And it hurt so much at times. Time was running out.
. . . . .
Jack could sleep through the dogs barking and the storm. But tonight, something was different. He… well, he felt something. Felt; that was the only word for the sensation. There was something dark and chilling settling like fog in the house. His feet carried him from the bed, through the house with objects somehow looking like nightmarish living things, out on to the porch.
The wind was blowing, rustling the corn stalks and wheat, the grass, the trees. The Labrador huddled near the rocking chair beside the door and whimpered. It was not your usual sound. It was somehow primal, true, pure. The animal was afraid, paralyzed, refusing to leave the porch.
His eyes stared out into the dark. What was happening? What was out there? He had never felt so naked, stripped bare. Something was digging into his heart, like the point of a spear. It came again, like the pulsing beat of a heart, darker and stronger. He moved hopelessly closer to the edge, near the first step descending from the house.
There. Something in the wheat. The wheat? No, now it was in the stalks of corn. It kept blinking in and out, winking behind the stalks. Like twin lights shining from a lighthouse. Moving up and down, sideways. What light moved like that?
He almost felt a desire to go see the source, but his fear and concern kept him from doing so. Something deep inside told him not to go out there. The movement, it was like, whatever it was, it was actually following something. Maybe…
It was nearing the path he took towards the barn. Yes, whatever it was, it was moving in the direction his footsteps had taken. It was tracking his movements.
…Gone. Just like that. He stood there for five minutes. Finally, Jack went back into the house and returned to his bed and his pregnant wife. But he didn't sleep for the rest of the night; the feeling was gone, but he couldn't forget. It was gone, whatever it was, but he was not pleased. He was afraid, afraid of tomorrow.
. . . . .
They rested, and moved, repeated. The open land was before them but soon they would be back in the city. Supplies were being tested and limits redefined. The soldiers marched on. Demacia was waiting.
. . . . .
Jack was grateful for the light of the day. Nothing was around to prove that anything had been in the field s last night. Still, he had seen something. But what? A slight chill in the air. Fall might be coming a little early this year.
Then again, maybe it was just a slight cool front.
"Your attention."
He jumped and spun around. The stranger who had spoken to him when he had first arrived at this place was standing calmly, hands clasped behind his back.
"Don't do that! And what do you want sneaking upon me like that?!"
"To get your attention." He cocked his head. "You have received a visitation. That is your warning. You are fortunate thus far."
"Fortunate of what?" Jack demanded.
"That it has taken this long for it to decide to begin to move. Usually, it is faster. It is drawing this out. Therein lies an opportunity."
"What are you speaking about in riddles? Speak plainly."
"You were counseled by me about this place. Now I tell you this: Time is short and more than one hinges upon what you do next. You shall decide multiple fates besides your own."
"What? I ask again that you say it plainly."
"I have said enough and all that I can. You must leave and your family. That is what I told you at the beginning. And nothing has changed that. The choice is yours to make. Mine choice is to simply observe and hope. That is all I am allowed to do." With that he turned and began to walk away and vanished even as he did so.