The night covers the fields like a blanket. Twinkling stars form a nightlight for critters best unseen. Large claws drag through the rows of corn. Faint sounds of stalks rubbing against fur. A quickness speaks to the still air.
A few distance sounds leave the farm house. The century and a half walls hold no secrets to those outside. Footfalls race up stairs. Voices chase but are match for youth. Foreign scenes flicker unmatched across a flat screen. Their rhythm, an artifical heartbeat.
Waiting on the edge of the field, dark shapes gather. A night crow beckons. It shifts those who wait back into shadows. Their time is now. They taste their prize. Those who wait must extract their pound of flesh. The silver of the Moon demands it tonite.
His form casts no shadow amongst the fields. Soft ground caress loose bound feet. The electricity of the moment has ssparked him to life. Quickened movements. A spring in the step cause great strides through the cornfield.
His goal is the home. If he can beseech the darkness for another night, the kill could be delayed. It is not the darkness but the false light of the Moon that holds his chains.
The house fills with giggles. Fights of bedtime and youth. Empty rooms echo distant places to bring back the family in vain. The outside world closes in unnoticed.
Those who watch unsettle from their haunches. Movement rips their fury from their passive thoughts. Terrible claws extend. Dark flashes follow solitary figure. Two beasts on lightning strikes grab forth an arm. The body parts. Two more shall tear away legs. The missing mouth in deafness screams upon unseen ears.
Those who watch carry back their prize. They wait for their master to praise their quick actions. Master never leaves the sky. But he always can tell the scarecrow that forgets his proper place against man.