What Skulks in the Cornfields?
As summer dies and fall lives, the soft green of the cornstalks fades to a crisp yellow. They shrivel and bend over the fields like wriggling, desiccated fingers. And long after the ears of corn have all been harvested, the towering stalks remain in the valley like inert sentries, always spying travelers and trespassers alike. But what have these dead crops seen at night, when mortals dare not walk between the blackened mountains? Only in a mesonoxian breeze might they whisper unto one another of such terrible sights. For in the subdued moonlight, which breaks through the spreading clouds like a screaming face, they have heard the shrill shrieks of someone aghast. Other times, they have felt skulking figures brush beneath their leaf blades.
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