The Harvest Season

In a small, remote village encircled by rolling hills and thick forests, the approach of autumn was always greeted with a peculiar mix of fear and excitement. The Harvest Season, when the soil itself appeared to pulse with a dark, old enchantment, was mentioned in whispered tones by the people. The crops would grow higher and more twisted than ever before, and the fields would become a deep, unnatural shade of crimson. But there was a horrible cost to the blessing.

The origins of the custom had long since been forgotten by the peasants, but they adhered to it religiously each year. The town allegedly struck a deal with a strong earthly spirit, known only as the Harvest Lord, ages ago. The people accepted a ceremony that involved a human sacrifice in return for the bountiful crops that would keep the community afloat during the most severe winters.

However, this was no typical sacrifice. Something more...personal was what the Harvest Lord wanted. The community would select one of its own to be the Harvest Child each year when the leaves turned scarlet and the air grew chilly. Young, vibrant, and full of possibilities was always the chosen one. Clad in ceremonial robes, they were guided to the forest's edge, where a large, centuries-old oak tree's twisted roots concealed an old stone altar.

Since none of the chosen ever came back, the ceremony itself was a mystery. The Harvest Child would be presented to the Harvest Lord at the altar after being led there by the local elders. The crops would grow taller, their stalks heavy with grain and fruit, and the fields would be covered in a spooky, glowing mist the following morning. Knowing that the feast they savored was purchased with one of their own lives, the villagers would reap the abundance with sorrow.

However, something went wrong one year.

Mira, a girl with a kind heart and a lively spirit, was that year's Harvest Child. The crops were failing, and the village had been hit by a drought. The elders quickly selected Mira because they were desperate to rescue their house and thought that her clean soul would please the Harvest Lord and provide rain. As she was carried to the altar, Mira's eyes widened in terror but also with an odd determination. She refused to leave in silence even though she had heard the stories and knew what lay ahead.

Mira accomplished something that no other Harvest Child had ever done before. The Elders started the ceremony by chanting in a language that most people had long since forgotten. She let out a scream. A heartbreaking, blood-curdling scream that sent chills own everyone's spines in the town and reverberated across the forest. The air became heavy with an unnatural cold, and the elders trembled, their voices faltering.

The ancient oak's roots writhed and twisted as though alive, and the ground under the alter started to shake. In fear, the elders withdrew, but it was too late. Not in the manner they had anticipated, the Harvest lord had been called. A tall, haggard man wearing robes made of leaves and vines appeared out of the forest's shadows. it had a cover over its face, but its hollow, luminous eyes were visible through the shadows.

As the apparition drew closer, Mira's scream died in her throat, and the air was filled with such dread that the elders were rendered immobile and sank to their knees. Mira realized that her fate was decided as the Harvest Lord reached out a skeletal hand to her. The Harvest Lord, however, spoke instead, its voice a low, rumbling whisper that appeared to come from the earth itself.

"You have broken the pact," it hissed. Where there ought to be submission, you have displayed defiance. The harvest will be cursed as a result."

The Harvest Lord disappeared with a wave of its hand, leaving the people shaking in its wake. Before their very eyes, the crops died and withered, turning to ash that was carried away by the chilly autumn wind. The village was abandoned, its fields deserted, its inhabitants starving.

The real terror, however, was not yet here.

The peasants were huddled in their houses that night when they heard a movement in the fields. Like the whisper of dead leaves, there was a gentle rustling sound. They noticed tall, slender beings with twisted limbs and hollow eyes standing among the withered crops when they looked outside. Despite their scarecrow-like appearance, they weren't made of straw. Their bodies were made from bone, soil, and roots found in the earth itself.

The Harvest Lord had taken something from every community, but it had not taken Mira. Their misdeeds, their guilt, and their worries were all represented by the scarecrows. They watched and waited in silence in the fields. Additionally, they would go a little bit closer to the village each night.

The locals made an unsuccessful attempt to escape. The lifeless eyes of the scarecrows never blinked as they followed them, always a step behind. The peasants vanished one by one as the curse they had placed on themselves overtook them.

With its fields overgrown and its houses deserted, the community is now reduced to a ghost town. On some evenings, though, when the wind is just perfect, you can still hear the scarecrows rustling as they search for the next Harvest Child in the deserted streets.

And pay attention if you ever happen to be close to that abandoned location during Harvest Season. It recalls those who dare to disobey its will, and the Harvest Lord continues to watch.