Harvester Story
Matthew Ryan Fischer
Five men sat around a table. The room was full of cigar smoke and the
scent of stale beer, among other things.
A ceiling fan rotated above them, not doing much more than keeping the
hot air turning and saving the room from becoming completely stagnant.
The sounds came from outside the door, down at the end
of the hall. The hall outside led to
many private meetings spaces. The sounds
that came from those rooms were usually laughter or ecstasy or some combination
of the two. These sounds were not either
of those. They were dark and twisted and
frightening. They were the horrific screeching
of a creature, a pulsing cacophony of the brutal and unidentifiable. If it were just one man that heard it, it might
be considered madness, but all five looked at each other, even though none of
them spoke at first.
Clump… Clump… Clump…
They were quiet steps at first, a slow pace, measured
and approaching.
Clump… Clump… Clump…
The men did not speak.
But their eyes exchanged glances.
They steadied each other. Some
tensed up. Others searched the room for
weapons. One man slowly began to slip
under the table. No one was really sure
what to expect.
A thud came at the door. A steady, painful pounding followed. Someone was knocking, someone wanted in. No one moved.
No one answered.
A gust of wind kicked up all around. For a moment the swirling smoke was too much
and no one could see. The doors burst
open. Something was there, but it was
hidden in the shadows. There was a sense
and awareness felt. It was a calm but
unsettling feeling as if being watched from afar.
A shadow fell across the room. Shaped like a sickle, the blade cast down on
the table, the end pointing at Jonas.
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