Silas woke with a start, his nightshirt sticking to his frail frame as though glued. He looked to the bedroom window, seeing it open, yet no sign of a draft coming in. Out beyond the window was an endless ocean of dark, the stars overhead failing to emit enough light to illuminate his crop. Rising out of bed, careful not to rouse Mary or step in his piss pot, Silas moved to the window and peered outside.
He took a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the dark, letting the outline of the cornfield come into view. Silas was a soft sleep and knew that something had pull him out of his slumber. Eyes narrowed, he looked for signs of movement and finally caught stalks swaying off in the distance. With no wind to speak of, it had to be one of two things: rats trying to grab a late-night feast, or old man Buford from the next far over. Silas saw them both as vermin. The rats were part and parcel of working the land, but Buford was a different beast entirely; a willfully ignorant fool who didn’t know corn from creosote.
Felling his way downstairs, Silas lit a lantern and grabbed his shotgun from beside the back door. No matter which form of vermin it was, they were about to get a fistful of buckshot in the behind. He walked out to the edge of his crop and hooked the lantern onto a wooden post to free up both hands. Silas grumbled to himself upon seeing a trampled path cutting through the corn. This was not the work of rats and more likely Buford fucking with his crop.
Stepping into the open space, Silas grimaced as he stepped into something cold and sticky. The moment he made contact with the goo, a scent like rotten apples wafted up to his nostrils. Silas felt rising bile catch in his throat and he swallowed it down, the acid leaving a burning sensation in his tonsils.
Something moved ahead, making the stalks sway.
“Is that you, Buford, you nasty old fuck? Show yourself or I’m going to start shooting.” He heaved the shotgun up to his shoulder and aimed down the newly formed path. What stepped out what not anything that Silas could put a name to.
The creature slunk forward, its huge black eyes resting on a bulbous, domed head. Its body was shaped like a pear and covered in what looked to be slick, leathery skin pulled tight. The arms and legs were long and spindly, ending in digits that seemed to move independently of anything else and on too many joints.
Silas felt his mind urge him to shoot, but there was something else in there, plucking the idea away. It was an unpleasant sensation that felt like a hot iron nail being shoved into his ear. Tears streamed down Silas; face with the pain of it all, the shotgun falling as he pressed his hands to his ears. “Make it stop. he pleaded.
Overhead, lights like that of a million lanterns flooded the night sky, blinding Silas in an instant. He screamed again as he felt his body lift into the air, rising within the beams of light. The pain was immense, but Silas was not aware that it was only just beginning.
*********************************************************************
The original image was supplied by Labyrinthia Mythweaver
