THE HARVEST

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic


mrahahahah...be scared...very scared

Submitted: April 29, 2018

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Submitted: April 29, 2018

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THE HARVEST

BY

DONALD HARRY ROBERTS

1

So much in this world goes un-noticed. Only when the few in the wake of a great evil and tragedy who survive ever get to tell their story and even then they are most often scoffed at for spinning tales of fiction. Like this one I am about to tell, though it is real and happened, not a long time ago or far away, but recently in your back yard, so to speak.

Yet this was never picked up by a reporter and never saw the notoriety it deserved because of the two hundred and fifty souls involved in this catastrophe I am the only survivor. So who will ever believe me since I have no accomplices on no evidence that this ever happened, But tell the story I will anyway.

2

“Rest in peace.” said the Reverend who was conducting his last funeral before retiring, words that he had spoken many times but somehow never made anyone believe he spoke with any sincerity. The new Reverend was equally as flat and unconvincing in his conviction and his first sermon had been as dull and dreary as his predecessor’s.

They both always managed to insert one interesting comment that should have echoed a warning into their true nature.

“And one day all who stand within the circle of this light shall find rapture.”  They made it sound like we would be chosen for heaven. But there was another truth to their words that were realized a week after the new Reverend took over the church.

3

It was a Sunday, the second one of March, and the sky was filled with a snow storm of such might unknown in living history. In hind-sight I see it as a perfect prelude to the horror that followed.

 With no power in their homes and the temperature dropping to dangerous levels it was reasonable that all the residents of Little River gathered in the sanctuary of the church which had an emergency generator for times just like this. I had a generator as well so I remained in my home justifying my absence by believing I was leaving more room and food and water for others. And in a sense I was correct, or would have been had not things gone so horribly.

 

4

The storm raged on toward midnight, turning from snow to freezing rain and a wind that howled like a dozen banshees perched on the village roof tops. But there was another sound, a roaring thing that one could describe as jet plane after burner. With the two rancors sharing the sky it was deafening and frightening. And who would have thought lightening would find its way into an ice storm.

Well the fact is, the facts and the illusions were blending like a swirling mass of dazzling sight and sound to mystify even the most open minded dreamer, including myself.

5

I looked out my front window where I had a clear view of the church, clear that is considering the sheets of windblown ice wailing crosswise between me and that grand old building. And as I studied the night there came from above the church a circle of red flashing lights at least a hundred feet in diameter from the centre of which descended a fiery beam that coned into the roof of the church.

“It must be an illusion caused by the ice storm. Nothing like this can exist.” I told myself but decided to try and make my way to a closer vantage point with camera in hand. But when I attempted to go outside the wind drove me back and the door slammed against me and sent me reeling to the floor. My head hit something, knocking me nearly unconscious. That place where one can still see and hear but is detached from the world and locked in a seemingly inescapable haze.

6

It only lasted minutes and soon I was on my feet again, a little weakened at first but quickly I gain strength and tried the door once again. And for the second time I was driven back only this time I suffered an injury as the wind driven ice raked against the skin of my face. I felt the rawness and the warmth of blood trickling down my cheeks.

The door slammed shut and I decided not to try again. Instead I struggled my way to the bath room to look at my face. If a cat had clawed me viciously I could look no worse and the scars of that encounter still show in my flesh and I am shy to show my face in public. I have in fact become reclusive.

7

Through the front window I watched as that conning light bore down on the roof of the church and the listened to the wail of the banshees on the roof top the night through. The ice storm was relentless and coated the village in a thick layer of clear blue ice. Foolishly I thought how beautiful nature could be, not realizing this was not an act of nature. But how was I to know when my mind had never been opened to other possible properties that included such tempest. I even delighted in the power of nature, how easily it could bring human kind to its knees.

8

And then as I gazed out the window, now coated with a thin layer of ice I saw, or thought I saw the good reverend emerge from the church and walk through the storm as though it was not even there. I thought at first the tempest had subsided and tried a third time to leave my house and for a third time I was driven back, luckily without any further damage. And by the time I returned to the window the reverend had disappeared or should I  say he had faded into the storm.

9

The dawn came clear and bright with not a cloud in the sky or a breath of wind, nor a single layer of ice that had been so thick only hours before, In fact one would not have guessed there had been a storm at all.

Not a house was damaged. The only thing that was proof the storm had even existed was the raw scaring of my face. Such evil comedy for I did laugh at the singularity of it.

I left my home un challenged this time and walked toward the church. Now the village was wrapped in silence.

10

Not another soul was too been seen, anywhere up and down the one long street of Little River. Not an animal could be seen or heard, not even the annoying cry of a seagull.

And then I came to the church and saw as I entered that the roof was gone.

I strode cautiously into the sanctuary and there I found all the fine residents of Little river, Or should I describe it as, I saw their remains, then bare skeletal remains of all those I had called neighbour and friend.

And as I stood their staring in horror a voice came from behind me. “My dear Mr. Roddenway. How ever did you escape the harvest.

I turned and screamed and charged the Reverend and with my bare hands strangled the life from his body.

Then I fled into oblivion for fear that I would be caught for murder.

 

 


© Copyright 2018 Donald Harry Roberts. All rights reserved.

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