Fields of Death

Walking. Alone. I can feel the breath on my lips. The sound of my heart beating faster, faster. Don’t like this.

Midnight. It was ages ago. Pitch black. Street lights bathe the empty lane with a pale yellow haze. Can’t stop. Breathing louder. There’s something in that field.

I hear noises from it. It is to my left. I have to follow it every night to get home. Hate It. Never liked it. The hedge grows thin in places. I don’t wasn’t to look through but somehow I have to. I see the corn, growing vertical in the night. The sound of the rustling leaves scares me. Carry on waking.

I hum to myself. Yes, that better. Nothing to be afraid of now. I hear my own voice. All is well.

Something moves to my left. Not that of the wind rustling through the corn, but something else. A stamp. Of a boot.

I gulp. Just my imagination. Nothing there. Carry on walking. But there it goes again.

Don’t want to stop, but I do. Look through the gap in the hedge. There it is. The field. Nothing but corn. Turn away.

Blank. Nothing. Everything in between then and here was forgotten. And I am still where I was before. But I am in the middle of the field. Stand up. Look around. Nothing. The stamping has stopped. I must have fallen.

Then I see the scythes, poking out atop of the corn. Coming closer. Petrified. Don’t know what to do. Another to my right and left. Nowhere to run.

But I do anyway. Run. Run. Run as fast as I can. Doesn’t help. They soon catch up.

In a clearing. No corn. Odd. I fall in a ditch. Can’t get up. The rustling in the corn gets violent and then the things erupt from it. They horrify me. Faceless demons of the night. Faceless, floating ghouls. I cannot escape. They draw closer. The reapers. They are here to reap my soul. Shout at them. Bible quotes; "although I pass through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil!" Or something like that. They laugh. A vicious sound. They do not care. They float closer, brandishing their scythes around their backs. Surrounded me. Can’t move. Here I am, about to die. In the fields of death. What is happening? I don’t know myself. My life is being sapped from me. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

They draw closer still; I am crawling on my back. Away from inevitable death. But inevitable death is just that: inevitable. They all hold their weapons in one hand, then the other. Hold them up to my face. Try to avoid the razor sharp blades. Resistance is futile. The scythes go up into the night. A Glimmer of silver in the pale darkness. Come down. SCHUTINKKKK. Gone.