Chapter Text
|-An unknown field of wheat-|
It smells like bread. Uncooked bread. Everywhere I look, that smell permeates the air. I don't know where I am. I don't know how I got here. I don't know what time it is. The feeling of eyes is stronger than ever here. And the worst part? I can't tell where those eyes are. There's wheat everywhere. Stalks so tall that you get completely enveloped in them. Anything could be hiding here. It's that ancient, primeval fear those two-legged apes that would eventually become us felt as they walked through the African bush: There's a lion in this grass... And I don't know where it is. Every step I take needs to be made with extreme care. I then stand up, still dwarfed by the wheat. The stalks have to be... 6'7" at least. A good six inches taller than me. If anything is coming from above, it'll be hard to see. Even harder to hear. With how dense the field is, it's hard to get a tell on anything. If I could just get a good sight of the moon... I'll have some point of reference and can maybe get out of here and back to Wilmington. I look up and start searching. But I can't see it. Fuck... It's not cloudy, is it? It can't be. I can see stars. So the moon has to be out. Somewhere... So I keep looking. Searching. It can't be hard to find a big, white glowing disc in the night sky. But all I can see are little pin-points of light, and even then it's just a few. The rest are blocked out by all this fucking wheat. I swear, I'm gonna develop hay fever after this.
After a few more minutes of searching, I see it. That big white disc. But now I'm faced with a new problem: I don't know which direction I'm facing. It is in the middle of the sky, denoting midnight. And it doesn't look like it's moving. And that's when I hear something brush behind me. Something big. It sets my nerves on edge. So much that I start running. But I don't make progress. I move my legs yet I make no ground. I just don't move. Not a single inch. It's as if I'm running on ice. Like how it is when you try to run in a dream. And that only makes the nerves worse. Whatever is moving behind me can make ground, and it is getting closer. Too close. Too fast. If I don't break free from whatever is holding me soon, I'm a dead man. So I push, and I push, and I push but I still gain no ground. All while whatever is behind me keeps getting closer. I hear growling and thrashing, as if it's cutting down the wheat stalks as it goes. Anything... Come on... Keep pushing... Just one more... With some luck, I manage to start moving. Faster than I have ever moved in my life. I don't care about what's in front of me. I just care about putting distance between me and whatever it was coming behind me.
It feels like hours, yet the moon hasn't changed it's position in the sky. Not by an inch. And I am no closer to getting out of this wheat field. You'd think I'd find a house of some kind by now, home to some redneck looking dude who wouldn't be happy to see a "Yankee" like me on his property. But I haven't. Not a single sign of civilization anywhere. Not even abandoned farm equipment. I need to keep running. But I'm feeling exhausted. To the point of collapse if I'm not careful. I need a breather. But just like with keeping my momentum, there are problems with that idea. Namely, whatever was following me catching up. I need a plan. I don't hear the wheat being threshed. So I'm think I'm in the clear. I fall down flat on my ass, chest heaving as I catch my breath. This is risky. Too risky. I could be giving away my position with how loud I am and I'd be none the wiser. But still, I hear nothing except my own heavy breathing. Either this is a good sign... or it's a big red herring. If there is a predator here, it's being exceptionally quiet. Laying the perfect trap. Like what the velociraptor did to Muldoon in Jurassic Park. Movie, of course. That clever bitch. I finally feel the nerves calming down a bit as oxygen fills my lungs. In and out. In and out. Soon, my breathing slows as well, and I can start focusing on what's around me. Any out of place sound. Nothing.
...
I start to look around. Try to see what's here, but I just keep finding wheat stalks. As far as the eye can see. And there's so damn many that it's hard to get a good look through them.
...
I train my ears again. What that the wind? Or the howl of a wolf? Maybe the yelp of a coyote? I don't know. It's too far away and too faint.
...
I look around again. I thought I saw something blitz past in the wheat, but then again, they are all swaying. Could have been one falling down.
...
I listen again. Still nothing. But it's not calming. It's making me paranoid. And in a situation like this, you can't afford to be paranoid. Not on a level like this. I quickly stand, and start moving again. I'm not taking my chances here. Not here. I've caught enough breath. It's time to get moving again.
Time has no meaning here. Not with the moon perpetually at midnight. But something has changed: My surroundings. I'm not surrounded by wheat anymore. The stalks are still here, but they're not dominant. Stone pavers litter the ground and I see a dead forest in front of me with barren shrubs and wheat claiming the ground between the grey, desiccated wood. It doesn't do a lot to calm my nerves, but it's better than nothing I guess. I knew sleep deprivation could do weird things to the brain but good fucking lord, what the hell am I even hallucinating? Regardless, I press on, into that leafless forest, still weary and cautious. Just because the scenery is new doesn't mean it's safe. I look up and see no stars, only a golden moon an a forebodingly brown sky. I need to find a way out of here. As I go, the feeling of eyes doesn't leave. It hasn't left once. If anything, it's only gotten stronger. Especially here. And as if to prove my point, I hear... them. Crows.
caw
caw
caw
They're taunting me. I can hear it now. 'You'll never leave this place, stupid monkeigh.' In those little posh voices like the little Eldar scum they are. So infuriating. So god damn infuriat-
"You'll never leave this place."
"This place. This place."
It comes out of nowhere, but it's unmistakable: A human voice. No. Not human. I don't know what it is, but I know it wasn't human. I quickly turn around, trying to find where it came from... but see nothing except a murder of crows. I don't like this. I start backing away, slowly, not wanting those damn bird to leave my sight.
"Running is useless, Cameron."
"Useless. Useless."
Oh God... How the hell does it know my name? And why? This is a nightmare, it has to be. As I keep backing away, I see the wheat move violently. Something is crashing through. And then I see it. The golden "crow", with those little red eyes. Fear sets in. They say "fight or flight", but there's a third option. One that almost always gets you killed: Freeze. And that's what's happened to me now. I'm frozen out of fear. I need to run. Get away. But my legs aren't moving.
"There is nothing you can do. Can do. Accept your fate."
That ignites something in me. I bend down and grab a rock. This is a dumb idea, but it's something. I throw the rock as hard as I can towards the crows, hoping to hit one of them. The rock flies straight, and to my shock, I hit little Goldie. But it didn't like that. Because when that rock makes contact, the entire murder starts flying. Towards me. Goldie at the front. It happens so fast. There's no way out. I accept that this is where I die as I see those god damn red eyes get closer... and closer... and closer...
|-Tuesday morning, March 19th, 2024. The Cordelia, 4721 Azalea Landing Drive, Room 3G, Wilmington, North Carolina-|
I sit up with speed, breathing heavy. Eyes shooting awake like I just saw God and had every preconceived notion of my life actively challenged. I look around. It's dark, but I can see my surroundings: it's Bo's room. I'm on the air mattress. What the hell happened? Was it just a nightmare? I sure as shit hope so. I'm too tired to stand, so I lay back down. But after something like that, I'm not going back to sleep. Combination of not being tired in that way and... not wanting the dream to continue. So I just lay here. Eyes trained on the ceiling. My phone is right there. Probably not a good idea, but I got nothing better to do right now. I grab the little black box and immediately am greeted by the time: Half past three in the morning. The god damn "Witching Hour". It's then that I remember what Bo said when I came back from my run yesterday.
Not every bird sings a sweet song.