Fear Farm October 25, 2008

Dusk. The grey time, in between the reality of day and the unknown of night. A time when what you imagine can become real, and what is real must be imagined. Your mind fills in what your eye cannot see. In a cornfield, you can look above and see all that surrounds you, but if you look below, you cannot even tell what might be a few feet in front of you. The stalks surround you. You hear a noise, and forget for a moment that it might just be the wind, You run like the wind, the leaves of the cornstalks hit against the side of your face, the edges cutting ever so slightly into your skin. You are blind as to what is ahead, and even blinder to what is behind you. You know it is your mind playing tricks on you, that the sound you hear is the wind, or the echoes of your own footsteps, or just some small animal. Even so, it is that tiniest of possibilities that there is a Something chasing you, a Something that means you harm, that drives you now.

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