Fearful Harvest 3
A trip and a thud. A desperate spitting to clear the mouth of the grime and mud. The woods were long lost to him by now. Or was it all in his imagination? The ditch in the uneven field was not. The spitting and gasping from the chill brought up something a bit warm. He should be moving yet he naturally reached up out of curiosity and dread at just what it might be. It came off red. He must have cut himself or bitten— Knch.
The sky thundered as if in response and then running again. Desperation. Curse this open terrain! Nowhere to hide! Shelter, shelter! There must be something, someplace, somewhere; anywhere that might enclosed! Rumbling in the sky again. It might just rain. A flash of something as the lighting flashed in the sky creating a strobe-like effect. In the flashes was-was… IT. Whatever it was. It kept seeming to blink in and out of existence…
Whatever was happening? A boom and he tripped over something again. Blast this thick yellow grass and the inability to see! He didn't know if he was under attack or what was going on. He just wanted to get inside someplace and hide but he had nowhere. How had this even started? He only knew his fear now. It seemed all he had left.
He collapsed almost in exhaustion but mostly out of fearful helplessness. What could he do? He could not run, he knew, but that was all he had been doing. He couldn't fight, yet there must be surely some way or someone who could. It surely could not be so hopeless. IT IS whispered the grass.
He stiffened though he did not raise his head. NO HOPE. NOWHERE TO RUN. The field was whispering. The ground seemed to bleed white wisps that formed something and twisted about as if trying to be as hands reaching to take hold of him.
KEEP AWAY,
UNLESS YOUR TIRED OF LIVING.
MOST WHO KNOW OF HIM ARE DEAD,
BUT THAT SHOULDN'T BRING YOU DREAD.
MEAN AND WITH NO FORGIVING,
ONLY HE MAY LAUGH, 'CAUSE YOU ARE DONE.
He was scrabbling as he fought to get up on his exhausted limbs. The grass was singing some dreadful notes. Was this real or unreal? He could only start moving again, and then he froze.
Could his eyes possibly be deceiving him? Off in the distance, appeared to be a dwelling. A barn and a house.
FOR SOME SCARY REASON,
VEANGEANCE DOES HE FIND TO BE MOST FUN.
NO MATTER THE SEASON,
NOR HEIGHT OF MOON OR SUN.
ITS WHEN YOU THINK HE FORGOT,
THAT HE HAS YOU ALL, BY THE LOT.
He was running again. But now he had a bit of strength in him. There was a desperate hope. Maybe yet he might somehow get out of this. Whatever he had done, however all had come to be, he just needed this chance.
BOLTED DOORS AND THE WINDOWS BARRED,
DOGS PROWLING IN THE YARD,
CANNOT PROTECT YOU, EVEN IN YOU BED,
FOR IS HE NOT ALREADY INSIDE OF YOUR HEAD?
. . . . .
Manifestation, and then simply did he stand. The observer simply watched. He could see it all beginning to unfold. A part of it. He was not so great with his foresight and understanding that things could not happen so that he might be taken by surprise. If only nobody ever came near the field anymore. So many lost to it already.
That silhouette, over the house and field, bearing a pumpkin-headed image this time. Leering down in a malevolent manner because it could not be seen by mortal eyes, yet it could be felt. A gigantic and terrifying force all over the land and acres where several lives had foolishly taken up residence. And another was running straight towards them.
But tonight, this might be the only one to perish instead of everyone. Maybe it might even spare its frightened object of pursuit. Then the wind shifted, and the scent of the soul carried to him. No sadly. Too late. He was ripe.