November 2, 2025
10:00 PM CDT

The autumn moon hung low over the fields, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch across the land like fingers from the past. The harvest was late this year. Weeks had passed since the first frost, and yet the crops remained stubbornly rooted in the earth, unwilling to give up their bounty.

For Sarah, it had been a season of loss—her father’s sudden death left the farm in her hands, a burden too heavy for someone so young. Her brothers had long since left for the city, chasing dreams she knew they would never catch. Now, the land seemed to mock her as it held its fruits just out of reach.

The weather had been unusually warm, the earth too soft underfoot, as though the season itself had been stretched and pulled beyond its natural limits. Even now, the air had a strange stillness to it, thick and heavy with the promise of something unspoken.

Tonight, the wind had a different sound. It wasn’t the usual whistling through the trees or the rustling of dry leaves. It was a deep, unsettling hum, as if the very earth was groaning under the weight of its secrets.

Sarah stood in the center of the field, her lantern casting a dim light over the rows of withered corn, the husks dry and brittle under her fingers. The fields stretched out in every direction, empty and silent, save for the hum that seemed to grow louder the longer she stood.

A rustle broke the silence.

Sarah’s heart skipped a beat as she turned sharply. The sound had come from the far end of the field, near the old stone well. It wasn’t the wind. It was too rhythmic—too deliberate.

She crept closer, boots crunching in the fallen leaves. The hum was now a low, thrumming pulse, like the very ground beneath her feet was alive, breathing in time with her every step. There, in the distance, by the well, something moved.

She squinted. At first, she thought it was just a trick of the light. A shadow, maybe. But then it shifted again—slowly, deliberately.

The lantern’s light barely touched the figure standing in the field. It was tall, unnaturally so, and as it stepped closer, Sarah’s blood ran cold. It wasn’t a man, but a thing that looked too much like one. Its limbs were twisted, crooked, its body a gaunt silhouette, its face hidden beneath a hooded cloak.

And then it spoke. The voice was hollow, distant, as if it came from deep within the earth itself.

“You’re too late.”

Sarah’s pulse quickened. “Who are you?”

The figure stepped forward, the ground beneath its feet rippling as though it were made of water, not solid earth.

“I am the harvest,” the thing rasped. “The land takes what it is owed. It always does.”

A chill spread through her, creeping up her spine. She could feel the earth shifting beneath her, as if it were waking up, stretching like a beast rising from slumber.

“The crops are ripe,” it continued, its voice almost a sigh, “but not for the living.”

The lantern flickered, casting long shadows around them. Sarah tried to back away, but her feet felt heavy, as if the earth itself were pulling her closer. The thing reached out with skeletal fingers, its touch sending an icy shiver through her.

“You’ve waited too long,” it whispered. “The harvest waits for no one.”

The wind picked up, swirling around them, and Sarah could feel the soil under her feet beginning to give way, softening, pulling her deeper into the earth. The shadows grew long, stretching like dark fingers across the field, and she could hear the faint, distant sound of something moving beneath the ground, something waiting.

As she stumbled backward, the earth shifted again, and the thing stepped closer, its face still hidden beneath the hood.

“You will feed the land,” it murmured. “As all must.”

And with that, the earth opened wide, swallowing the land whole.