The night was calm, as it usually was this time of year. Not an animal made a sound, except the wolves howling at the moon. The crisp fall wind blew through the field, gently plucking leaves from their trees with its icy fingers. The leaves always fell slowly, carefully, trying desperately not to wake what lay underneath the ground.
The farmer liked taking walks through the nearby field after harvest. He loved the quiet, and the lighter the moon. The cold dirt nipped at his toes through his worn out boots, but he tried to ignore it, and focused on the serenity. This walk felt different to him somehow. The night seemed ominous. It was almost as if nature were trying to warn him of something, something dangerous.
He shook this thought out of his head, and set it aside as common paranoia, like how a child quits thinking about the monster underneath their bed. As he approached the middle of the field, the clouds drifted in front of the moon, making the night much darker. Another thought then burst into his head; run. Because of this, he stopped, trying to calm himself. The farmer noticed his feet were no longer cold, in fact, they were warm, and growing uncomfortably hot.
The distinct smell of fire rose into the air. There was smoke rising from the earth. The dirt beneath him started to move. As he tried to run, he found that he couldn't. His legs were paralyzed. A figure then ascended from the ground. It looked likes scarecrow at first, but it couldn't have been made by the hands of man. It was made entirely of wood, except for the ancient rags that hung from its body. It had red embers for feet that charred the ground as it walked closer him. It's hands were instead replaced by two burning stakes. It had holes in its head that resembled a man wearing a crooked smile. The fires of Hell burned behind his mask as he smiled at the farmer.
The stake sprouted through the man's back as he fell to the ground. His warm blood trickled from his body as he felt his life slipping away. The figure leaned over his body and whispered something over the wind right before he perished.
"You're mine."
The farmer liked taking walks through the nearby field after harvest. He loved the quiet, and the lighter the moon. The cold dirt nipped at his toes through his worn out boots, but he tried to ignore it, and focused on the serenity. This walk felt different to him somehow. The night seemed ominous. It was almost as if nature were trying to warn him of something, something dangerous.
He shook this thought out of his head, and set it aside as common paranoia, like how a child quits thinking about the monster underneath their bed. As he approached the middle of the field, the clouds drifted in front of the moon, making the night much darker. Another thought then burst into his head; run. Because of this, he stopped, trying to calm himself. The farmer noticed his feet were no longer cold, in fact, they were warm, and growing uncomfortably hot.
The distinct smell of fire rose into the air. There was smoke rising from the earth. The dirt beneath him started to move. As he tried to run, he found that he couldn't. His legs were paralyzed. A figure then ascended from the ground. It looked likes scarecrow at first, but it couldn't have been made by the hands of man. It was made entirely of wood, except for the ancient rags that hung from its body. It had red embers for feet that charred the ground as it walked closer him. It's hands were instead replaced by two burning stakes. It had holes in its head that resembled a man wearing a crooked smile. The fires of Hell burned behind his mask as he smiled at the farmer.
The stake sprouted through the man's back as he fell to the ground. His warm blood trickled from his body as he felt his life slipping away. The figure leaned over his body and whispered something over the wind right before he perished.
"You're mine."
applesauceHater
AthenaMarisaDeterminedbyFate
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