The Fields

Dexter Fredrichs was enjoying a ride through the rural pieces of Wisconsin in his hybrid car. He always admired the silence of the vehicle when he was alone enough on the road to not hear other, non-electric cars. He was driving out of Madison, on assignment for the indie corn chip company his friends ran. They had recently gotten a tip that a local town called Ridgeway had organic cornfields with non-GMO crops that were nearly twice the size of their current partner, and at half cost. They had sampled the corn themselves, the ears were 150% the average size and tasted delicious. Dexter was the company’s resident farming expert. That was, to say, that Dexter had lived near a farm when he was a child and had picked up some of it as he grew up. He offered to do a surprise visit to the town to verify their claims without having time to create a façade for him.

“You’re sure about this Dex?”

“Oscar, what exactly are you afraid of? I’m not even gonna be an hour away.”

“Yeah, but I’ve seen The Hills Have Eyes.”

“I know you’ve lived in cities your whole life, but you can’t honestly think that the farming suburbs of Madison are analogous to the deserts in California.”

“They were on their way to California; the desert was in New Mexico.”

“Semantic-lovin’ motherfucker, I’ll be fine. I only have to be there for a day or two. They barely have 600 people in their town, I doubt they’re serial killers.”

“It would be the perfect place. You said you didn’t have cell service in that area when you got the samples.”

“Dude, I don’t have service at the Whole Foods. My phone is a two-year-old burner.”

“Fine, just check in with me when you get to the hotel.” Dexter chuckled as he ended the call with the button on his steering wheel. It had been Oscar’s idea to switch their supplier to Ridgeway, ever since Dexter told him about the amazing meal his mother had prepared him using Ridgeway corn when he visited her. Oscar had trouble trusting any place where there were more animals than people.

As Oscar had mentioned, Dexter’s cell service faded as he entered the town limits. He parked his car on the side of street which was the only real place to park in the whole town. The ‘town’ was a single street as far as the average person was concerned. The street had a single convenience store, a gas station, five houses that were mostly multiple bedrooms rented as apartments, and three bars next to each other. The rest of the town’s land was farmland and most of the crops were corn.

Dexter began walking down the street, eyeing the numbers on the buildings to locate where his contact was. He noticed the occasional stray person staring at him, but he thought nothing of it. After all, he was a stranger staring at people’s homes. There was also the fact that Dexter’s appearance was purposefully quite strange. Whether it was the 14mm gauges in his ears, his mustache that curled at the ends, or his partially-shaved-partially-long haircut; people usually found reasons to stare.

He finally located the building and walked up the steps to the second level to find his contact. The doorbell button was cracked in half, so he knocked firmly on the door. There was no response.

“Excuse me, what are you doing?” Dexter turned to find an older woman with a sun damaged face staring, with her head cocked at him.

“I’m here to meet a Benjamin Schmidt. My name is Dexter; he’s expecting me.”

“He’s getting his mail. Should be back in a few minutes.”

“His mailbox isn’t here?”

“The mail doesn’t come to houses here. We all have P.O. boxes at the local place and pick up our mail there. Mostly bills anyway.”

“Makes sense, I guess.”

“Are you a lumberjack?”

“I- I’m sorry?”

“The plaid shirt with the rolled-up sleeves. Mostly a lumberjack look, isn’t it?”

“Actually, I work at a chip company. This is more the fashion where I come from.”

“Oh. Isn’t that nice.” The conversation played out rather awkwardly, as Dexter was on the second floor, nearly yelling down at the sun-damaged woman, as she lightly spoke up at him. Soon after, a burly man in blue denim overalls and a white undershirt approached with a small stack of junk mail in hand.

“Can I help ya, son?” The man said with a kind southern accent.

“My name is Dexter, I believe we spoke on the phone, Mr. Schmidt.”

“The feller from the chip company? Whatcha doin’ here?” Dexter was now working his way down the stairs before more people gathered and he began to feel like the Pope.

“We’re very interested in switching our supply deals so you can be our main supplier. I just need to examine everything and make sure it’s… up to snuff, so to say. I had to make this something of a surprise, I hope you don’t mind, Mr. Schmidt.”

“Call me Benny. I got no problems with ya goin’ out there, but if’n there’s somethin’ you’re lookin’ for, you’ll have to tell me so I can point it out. You don’t wanna wander aimless-like, it’s real easy to get lost in the fields.”

“Don’t worry, Benny. This isn’t some government audit. I just need to see the corn and your methods. I have to verify your corn is organic and non-GMO and such.”

“Well alright. Lemme grab a few things and we’ll get goin’.” At this point, the sun-damaged woman who had been listening in on their conversation left, without saying a word. Dexter waited as Benny journeyed into his apartment. It sounded as though Benny was having trouble finding his things. A few minutes later, Benny came down wearing a sun-hat and grasping a set of keys. He guided Dexter over to an old car and they began their journey beyond the town street and into the dirt road mapped fields.

“So, what exactly are you uh, lookin’ fer?” Benny asked. He seemed uncomfortable, as though the Queen of England was in his passenger seat and he had never studied British etiquette.

“Oh, nothing special. Let’s start with the farmers. I’d like to meet them if I can.” Dexter tried his best to seem easy-going; he was beginning to feel like he had broken Benny in some small way.

“Alright, that’s nice ‘n easy.” Benny seemed to relax a bit. He began to speed up a bit on the road, slightly indicating he did not have a destination up to this point. They pulled up to a small grouping of houses that appeared quite old. Each one had a very different look and design, though all fell into the archetypical farm-house. “This is where most of our farmers live. We manage about five acres each. Most people don’t think that’s very much, but we make do quite alright.”

“Is it all the organic, non-GMO?”

“Oh, yessir, all of it.”

“And how many acres total?”

“About twenny-five.”

“That’s more than double our current supply. It would be fantastic if we could come to a deal.” Dexter immediately thought he should not let himself get so excited and reveal so much. Benny’s demeaner had disarmed him, making him feel bad as though he had intruded. He said these things more to comfort Benny than to achieve his goal.

“The guys’ll be happy to hear it. The number ya’ll brought up was quite a bit higher than what we get sellin’ to the local shops.” Benny began going to the houses individually and knocking on the doors. Dexter began to wonder if he had come on a holiday he had forgotten. Surely the farmers had work to be done in the fields this time of day. Why were they all inside? And why did they come outside looking like they had just woken up? After some time, Benny gathered up all the others and began speaking to them. Their faces produced happy looks and glanced back at Dexter periodically. Thinking it was time to, Dexter exited the car and came over to the group.

“Hey there. I’m Dexter. Are you all the farmers?”

“These are the other four, yessir.”

“Is it true, what Benny says?” A gruff older man asked.

“I’m sorry?”

“The amount he says you’re offering is over twice our usual payout.”

“Dangit, Marcus, you don’ want him ta know that! He might lower the offer now, ya idgit.”

“Don’t worry, the number is real. And firm. I just need to see the seed, where you get it from and that kind of stuff.” Their faces came to ease. They were smiling, glancing at each other, pleased with the results. “Oh, and I’ll need to check the fields themselves out of course.” The tone immediately changed. Dexter wondered if he had said something other than he had thought. Based on the reaction, it seemed he had insulted someone’s mother.

“Now, now, ya’ll don’t be worryin’. I’ma take him out there myself and keep an eye on things. Nothin’ to be gettin’ all in a tizzy about.” Benny had formed a small barrier between Dexter and the group as he said this, getting between them as though he was blocking gunfire. “Come on, let’s get goin’.” Benny escorted Dexter away and back to the car.

“What was that about?”

“Oh nothin’ ta worry yourself about. They just don’t quite like city-slicker types out in the fields. This one year, ‘bout two years after I moved here from Missouri, a few city kids came by, drunk off their asses, and made one-a-them alien crop circle things. Cost a bundle in destroyed crop all ‘cause some dumbass wanted a laugh.”

“I understand the apprehension. They’ll feel better once the check clears.”

Dexter and Benny arrived at a storehouse and began talking about the specifics of the crops. The conversation had gone smoothly and Dexter was beginning to feel better about the deal in general. He could not shake the feeling that Benny was hiding something. Finally, Dexter asked the one question he thought would get a rise out of Benny, despite it being necessary.

“Everything seems to be in order. Do you think I could examine the fields now?”

“Now don’ take no offense to this, but would ya even know what to look fer?”

“I know enough. Don’t worry, it’ll only take a few minutes.” They began the journey out into a random section of the fields that Dexter had chosen. Benny never made a sound the whole way there. He seemed frightened, oddly enough, of Dexter. It was as though he thought Dexter would burn the crops down. They arrived at the section and Dexter began inspecting. The corn was massive, as expected. The soil was good, no bugs or infestations. The crops looked fine. Dexter turned to Benny and began to speak but then caught something out of the corner of his eye. He walked out to investigate and found what had grabbed his attention: a scarecrow.

This scarecrow was hardly what one would expect. It was more than tattered clothes and a hat on some straw. It was expertly made. The head was a leather case that had a beautiful porcelain masked attached. It was snapped in certain places like little lines on the face. Its clothes were old, but well-kept and clearly looked after. The hands were a hook and a sickle, both sharp and gleaming. It seemed to be crafted from sticks and sod. Fine golden straw gave it a woman’s haircut. It looked more like a mannequin in turn-of-the-century clothing than a scarecrow.

“That is one hell of a scarecrow, Benny.”

“Oh, that’s Suzie Sickle. Beauty ain’t she?”

“Are all your scarecrows like this?”

“Yep. They’re antiques. Almost as old as the town itself. Been usin’ em out here the whole time.”

“That would make these like over one hundred years old!”

“Yessir. They ain’t broke, why get rid of em?”

“How many are there?”

“’Bout three others. Ya wanna see?”

“Sure.” Dexter had no idea what made him so interested in the scarecrows, but something about them was alluring enough to warrant investigation. Luckily, Benny seemed far more at ease now that Dexter had seen the fields and had no qualms about showing off the scarecrows. He made light conversation about how the farmers looked after the scarecrows, repairing their clothes, polishing the metal and porcelain pieces, keeping them upright. Dexter was fascinated by them. He was unsure what drew him in; he mostly chalked it up to being an interest in fine arts.

Benny took him to see the other scarecrows. Each had a unique name and theme fitting it. Suzie Sickle had her sickle-hand, but this was uncommon for the bunch. The other four had leather gloves filled in with a substance Dexter assumed was identical to the one filling out the bodies. Smiling Jack had a large smile on his porcelain mask, one that had been sewn over with thick threads as though to hold it shut. Victor the Giant was nearly seven feet tall and twice as filled out as the others. Sammy One-Eye was true to his name, having only one eyehole in his porcelain mask. He was also the only one of the bunch that had a hat, his being made of old straw.

When Dexter had finished gawking at the various scarecrows, he returned to the collection of houses with Benny. The farmers still had a death glare on whenever they glanced at Dexter. One of the farmers was chastising his son as he cleaned a wound in the teen’s leg.

“What have I told you about going out into the fields at night?”

“Not to.”

“And what did you do?”

“Did.”

“What is it you wanted for this little adventure? To get lost in a cornfield?”

“I just wanted to see-”

“Curiosity satisfied?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Go inside, you’re grounded.” The farmer then turned to Dexter, who had been staring at the altercation, and glared. It was as though he blamed Dexter for his son’s misconduct.

“So, is that everythin’ ya needed?” Benny asked.

“I suppose so. I’ll get back to my friends and we’ll get the deal written up for you.”

“How about ya stay for a while longer and have supper here, with us?” Dexter felt his stomach groan slightly, instantly realizing he was hungry.

“Oh sure. What could be the harm?”

Dexter followed Benny into one of the farmhouses and conversed with the farmers as food was being prepared by their wives. Now that the day was winding down and he had stopped making requests of Benny, the farmers started to warm up to Dexter. They told stories about their lives and asked questions about the chip company. Dexter sated their curiosity as best he could, and joined in on the storytelling with tales of his own life. The meal itself was delicious. Fresh food that had all come from local farms without ever stopping at a grocery store. After the meal, a slight knock was heard at the door. It barely made a sound, being only a slight tap, but the calm of the room and the silent country atmosphere had made it audible. One of the farmers got up and answered it. After about twenty minutes he returned, grabbed Benny by the arm and took him to another room. Soon, the other farmers joined him, then their wives. Dexter began to feel uncomfortable in the room alone. After some time, Benny returned. He took Dexter into a small den at the front of the house.

“Look, there’s… there’s somethin’ we gotta discuss,” Benny said in a tone obviously attempting hospitality, though it was wracked with nervousness.

“What is it?” Dexter asked, slightly taken aback in the disappearance of cheer from Benny’s face.

“I… I shouldn’ta let you in the fields. I knew I shouldn’ta, but I did. Outta southern manners an’ such.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I’m sure you noticed, our fields are a bit special…”

“Yes, that’s why I came here. To make sure you guys really were pure organic, remember?”

“Well, yes, but didn’ ya notice we ain’t got no problems out there? Did you see a squirrel or a bird or, Hell, you even see a damned bug?”

“Are you trying to say it’s not organic? Pesticides or something?”

“No, see that’s what I’m gettin’ at. We got the guardians out there. Normally, we keep ‘em all happy-like ourselves. But when I let you out there earlier, they decided they gotta have you.”

“Guardians? You mean those farmers who keep staring daggers at me for no damn reason?”

“No, no, them’s just the farmers. I’m talkin’ bout… aw Hell, you saw ‘em. Ol’ Sammy One-Eye and Suzie Sickle and the rest.”

Dexter’s face dropped.

“Are you… are you talking about the scarecrows?”

“Now, surely you seen they much better put together than any ol’ scarecrow. We do the plantin’ and the plowin’ and they handle the carin’.”

“The sc-scarecrows?”

“Uh, yeah. See, way back when, the injuns would make deals with these things when times got real tough. When the settlers all moved in, they learned how it was done and now we got the best darn fields out there. E’ery harvest, they bless a lady, she has twins and we give one of ‘em to the guardians. See? All real fair like. She gets to keep her baby, and they get the extra!” Benny was mostly talking as long as he was to fill the silence from Dexter’s agape mouth. “But when they saw you all city slicker type, they said they needed you as payment for us gettin’ money from the outside.” Benny faked a smile.

Dexter stood up slowly, and then bolted for the door. As he opened it, he was met by the sight of Sammy One-Eye. Dexter now understood the breakages in the porcelain mask that was Sammy’s face. They were where a person would have folds in the skin. This allowed the cold, unfeeling face to have a disturbingly uncanny range of motion. Dexter had hoped it would have red glowing eyes. Instead it simply had the same black voids as before. Red would have meant it had woken up. Black meant it had always been awake. He ripped through his fear and pushed Sammy. Though the scarecrow gave in and was pushed back, Dexter did not feel the softness of sod or dirt when he collided with Sammy. He felt a bony and thin body beneath the façade of the old clothes.

As Dexter continued to run past Sammy, he noticed the other three were also there. In just the moonlight, it was nearly impossible to tell the difference between them and a human, aside from their gleaming porcelain mask-faces. Dexter bolted forward looking for a hiding place. The only place to hide was in the cornfield.

It was only once he had managed to cast himself out into the field that he found out how truly scary a simple field can be. The night was pitch black, save for the slight light of a crescent moon and tiny star dots in the sky. The corn grew high above his head and just close enough together that he could not see through it. In every direction was a wall of crops and the sounds of rustling as unknown beings moved through it. He had no idea where he was, which way the houses were, and which bits of rustling were the wind and which were those things moving closer.

Resigning the idea of running, he instead attempted to hide. Dexter crouched down as low as he could while still moving and snuck between the crops, carefully making sure only to create as much rustle as the wind did. Then he dropped prone on the ground. His breathing slowed and he began to think.

I’m being stupid. Scarecrows don’t move. Think about the facts. They knew you would stare at the scarecrows, who wouldn’t? Then they all get up and leave for a while. Suddenly, only one of them comes back and tells you a ghost story. Then you freak and head for the door and find them, fully decked out in their costumes. They’re probably gonna find you and laugh their heads off.

The comforting thoughts did not make him get up. They also did not stop the burning memory of the gleaming, polished sickle on Suzie. He laid there for what seemed like hours. The rustling had faded, only lightly reappearing when the gentle night air rolled by.

Finally, he rose. He wandered down the paths between the crops until he found a clear path out. He meandered back to the collection of farm houses. Through the window, he saw the group once again gathered at the table, talking and laughing. Though he could not hear the words, he assumed it was at his expense. He assumed they were giggling about how they stuck it to the city boy. He walked to the door, unsure if he was angry or simply relieved it was over. As he reached for the handle, he felt a sharp pain in his shoulder.

Suzie had forced the point of her sickle into his shoulder from behind.

He recoiled back toward the window of the farmhouse, staring in horror at the same scarecrows he had fled from before. They were most certainly not the farmers in costume. Dexter screamed at the top of his lungs and began to beat on the window. He turned and saw the people inside, looking disgusted at him as one of the wives came over to close the curtains.

Victor walked over to Dexter and reached his hand out. Dexter batted it away, knocking off the glove that had been covering it. The hand beneath was inhuman. Grey, decaying flesh stretched itself tightly over misshapen bones that jutted out the fingertips leaving bloody, peeling skin where they exited. Dexter now accepted that these were not men in costumes come to scare him. They were the guardians, come to claim him.

Dexter bolted for the dirt road on the edge of the fields to try to make it back to his car and leave this horrible town. The guardians only followed slowly, never going above a walking pace. No matter how far he got from them, Dexter could still smell the horrid stink of death and rot that emanated from the uncovered hand. In fact, it seemed, the smell was following him, rising in intensity. It overpowered Dexter’s senses and he soon found himself vomiting. The spew was violent and unexpected; Dexter was still running when it released. He found himself back on the ground, covered in it, having tripped from the surprise.

The smell was still there and much more prevalent than the smell of the vomit. Dexter stared up at the sky, his vision blurred and hazy from his poor state. Soon the faces of the guardians looked down at Dexter as he found himself unable to move. Smiling Jack knelt to Dexter’s level and grabbed his hand. The coarse leather of the worn gloves was unpleasant enough to get a groan from the incapacitated Dexter. Jack pulled his mask up a bit revealing his lower jaw. It had the same grey skin on what looked like an emaciated face. The teeth were crooked and pointed. Jack’s tongue was black and fell below his neckline. He looked at Dexter’s hand and wrapped his tongue around Dexter’s pointer finger. He then brought it to his mouth and bit the finger clean off, the snapping action of the jaw severing flesh and bone alike in a single crunch.

Dexter howled in pain, the sensation snapping him from his delirium. He grabbed Jack’s mask and pulled on it to get him away. The mask gave great resistance. As he ripped it off, it became clear the stitches on Jack’s mouth went far deeper than the leather of his mask. Jack released Dexter’s hand and gave a guttural hiss as his upper lip was ripped from his face in bits and pieces. The face was stretched slightly and resembled a starvation victim in its skeletal definition. The nose had rotted away leaving only the bone that usually supported the cartilage. The eyes were milky and bloodshot, sinking deep in their sockets. The hair on the top was wispy and white, barely there at all.

Dexter tried to use Jack’s recoil as an opportunity by rolling away and getting back on his feet. The attempt was less nimble than Dexter had imagined, collecting soft dirt as it stuck to the vomit on his shirt and stumbling slightly as he got back on his feet. Once again, the guardians barely gave chase. Dexter had great difficulty running as he clamped down on his hand to stop the profuse bleeding of the missing finger. He stared down the dirt road, his eyes following it as it curved behind a tree line.

How far was Main Street? A mile? Two? I wasn’t even paying attention. I-I can’t make it. If I keep my heart going like this, I’ll lose too much blood. They left me alone when I hid before. I can do it again. Dexter ran into a small outcropping of trees, staring back at the lumbering bodies of the guardians as they lightly pursued. He took a randomized path to make sure he could not be easily followed. Unable to place a tourniquet anywhere, he simply used a ripped section of his overshirt to make a bandage for the wound. He began breathing exercises to slow his heart rate.

It was only seconds after he had begun to feel calm again that he heard the first signs of the creatures that pursued him. Twigs snapped and leaves rustled as their meandering bodies dragged their feet through the miniature forest. Dexter did his best to trace their sounds to keep track of them, but blood loss had blurred his mind so he could do little more than sit there and hope they were somehow unable to locate him.

SNAP!

The sound came from just behind him. Adrenaline shot into his heart as though a syringe had been shoved into his ribcage. Dexter shot up and forward through the forest, only looking back at the very instant he began to see what he had missed. Sammy had not been dragging his feet. He had been calmly and silently moving through the forest as his compatriots made as much noise as possible. Dexter was not being hunted by mindless monsters. He was being hunted by intelligent things that wanted him for dinner.

A small light appeared in the darkness before him. For a moment, he feared it was the afterlife, come for his soul. The next moment, he realized he did not care. A few paces later the light revealed itself to be a home. A farmhouse, not much unlike the ones he had fled from, sat there like a beautiful mirage in this valley. Dexter did not knock. He did not even call out after he opened the door and slammed it shut. He, instead, immediately fell to his knees and wept quietly, from fear and pain and all the discomforts afforded to him in his current situation. He opened his eyes and saw a pair of loafers in front of him. He yelped as he jumped back into the door and looked up at the owner of the house.

“Are you okay, son?” The kindly old man was in a classic set of pajamas. His face showed a genuine concern with his deep wrinkles and grey hair emphasizing the fatherly quality of his demeanor.

“There’s-there’s scare-,” he caught himself before he finished his sentence. His story sounded crazy, so he needed to lie. “I was lured out here by accident. There are these lunatics following me. I need to call the police. Please, look they cut off my fucking finger!”

“Calm down, son, it’s gonna be alright. Come into the other room.” Dexter followed meekly as the man helped him up and guided him over to the living room. “I’m gonna go into the kitchen and make the call. You just rest here a minute.”

“Wait, wait, wait, they’re coming, I can’t just sit here.”

“It’ll be fine son, you’re safe here.” Dexter was still shivering a bit from his crying and his heart was beating too fast. He let himself rest as the old man made an inaudible call in the other room.

Dexter fell asleep for an indefinite amount of time, waking up to the old man inspecting his wounds. He reached out and touched the man’s face, only to confirm it was indeed real.

“They really did a number on you.”

“Are the police coming?”

“No, son, no they’re not.”

“What?”

“I didn’t call the police. I called up Benny.”

“Oh, Jesus fucking Christ no. No, no, no”

“Calm down, calm down. I’m not gonna let anyone hurt you.”

“What?”

“My name is Isaac. Isaac Bachman. I handle the guardians.”

“What!?”

“Benny and the others you saw work the fields. I’m the only one who is supposed to handle sacrifices and the like. The guardians made some threats and the boys thought they should give you up like they wanted. They shouldn’ta done that, I’m awfully sorry.”

“You-You’re sorry!? They fucking attacked me. They bit off my fucking finger! Fuck you. Fuck this town. I’d burn it to the ground if I could.”

“Now, now. There’s lots of newfangled prosthetics these days, you’ll hardly notice it’s gone. The boys weren’t using their heads and I’m sorry for that. We all want this deal with your company to happen.”

“Fuck the deal. I’m gonna make sure everyone knows what a bunch of lunatics live here. How the natives attacked me and bit off my goddamn finger!”

“I’m asking you to be reasonable here. If you just agree to make the deal happen, this all ends, nice and clean. It doesn’t have to become a problem like this.”

“Fuck. You.” Dexter made his way for the same door he had entered. When he opened, it he found the familiar torn face of Smiling Jack awaiting him. He was holding up his hand to show Dexter something.

Jack’s pointer finger now looked identical to the one he had bitten off Dexter.

The hand still had its grey, stretched flesh and the other fingers were still misshapen pieces of bone sticking out of their flesh wrapping, but the pointer finger was the same peach-colored flesh of Dexter’s.

“The Indians had a lot of legends about them. Words like Wendigo and Skinwalker, creatures that can eat you to become you. They were scared of them. Who wouldn’t be? It wasn’t until my ancestors came through this area that they found use of them.” Dexter flippantly jerked in different directions looking for a way out. “It was a bad famine. A year all their food had rotted or been stolen. They couldn’t just run to the supermarket like we do now. My great, great grandfather noticed that the Indians were fine. Plenty of food. So, he did what any man who needed to protect his family would do, he went to take it. The chief made a deal. They would teach him what the Indians did when this happened. He showed him how to appease the less benevolent gods, through a sacrifice. My grandfather then sacrificed the chief. The settlement survived. Ever since, one of mine has always kept them happy, and they’ve taught us wonderful things. Benny shouldn’t have made this deal with you. Too much attention. But we’re locked in now. I gave you a chance and you said no, so we’re doing this the hard way.” Smiling Jack opened his mouth at Dexter. Dexter responded by punching Jack as hard as he could, in the face, and running past him.

He once again took off for the forest, but not to hide. He felt a burning determination to run straight to his car. Being attacked had been one thing, being replaced was another. He couldn’t let some sick facsimile of himself go around in his life attacking and eating the people he loved. This was no longer self-preservation. It was war.

Dexter had felt rage before, but he had never felt the burning desire to see someone else die until this moment. There had been a million chances to save him from this, to prevent any of this horrible night from ever happening, and they had taken none of them. They did not care about him. They did not care about anything but their own gain, to the point of sacrificing children for it. Morality was out the window. Cry ‘havoc’ Dexter thought to himself. A combination of adrenaline and focus carried Dexter to his car. It was intact. He could run. He could call the police and tell them the PR version of the story and maybe something would come of it.

Fuck that.

Dexter grabbed a tire iron from his trunk and put it in a belt loop, like a knight donning a sword. He took inventory of his trunk: A bottle of whiskey, a gas can, a utility knife, and a nylon rope. The plan was made. Dexter got in his car and drove back to the farmhouses. The old man and the guardians were waiting.

“And here I was thinking you had run off. I already called the police and told them about you. How you had gone crazy and threatened us all. I figure they’re waiting for you out there.” The old man had a sickly smile as he said it, obviously feeling victorious. “Come to reconsider the offer?”

Dexter slammed the gas pedal. The old man jumped away but not quite quick enough. His legs took a solid hit from the rushing vehicle as he dove to the side. Dexter stopped the car. He turned on the brights and got out, staring at the shadows made by the cornfield in front of the car as he approached the old man.

“What are you hoping to accomplish, boy!?” Dexter did not hesitate. He did not respond. He did not slow. He simply approached and bashed the damaged legs of the old man with the tire iron. The guardians looked on, staring at Dexter but not moving. The old man howled as Dexter repeatedly struck him. The other farmers were running out of their homes now. Dexter saw them approaching and decided to stop. He shoved the angled side of the tire iron into the old man’s eye and ripped it out with fervor. A guttural scream was heard from the guardians, muffled by their thick masks. Dexter ran back to his car, but was unable to get the door open before he was grabbed by Victor. He was thrown to the ground as Victor removed his mask.

Victor’s face was the same desiccated, emaciated flesh as Jack’s, but far more composed. Victor’s face had little signs of rot and his lips were more shriveled than torn. His neck and certain parts of his face bulged with some sort of cancerous facsimile of muscle, as though a body as skeletal and worn as this could possibly have muscle. Victor lunged at Dexter’s face and was quickly met with the bloodied tire iron Dexter was wielding as though it was Excalibur. Dexter hopped back to his feet and saw the others making an attempt at his car.

Suzie Sickle had given up scratching at the window of the driver’s side, unable to break it. It seemed the guardians were unsure of what a car exactly was. After scratching at various parts with her makeshift limbs only to realize it was mostly metal, she began to stare at the tires. Smiling Jack had been trying to bash the windows in with his own head. Suzie made some sort of grunt and Jack focused on the tire as well. She took her sharp sickle-hand and shoved it into the front tire. The force of the air pressure in the tire quickly blew like a shotgun blast and ripped off Suzie’s arm and half of her mask while also breaking Jack’s leg at the knee, bending it backward. Sammy merely stared on as it all happened.

Dexter ran back to his car, taking a quick moment to look at Suzie. Her teeth, most of which had been blown away, were rotten and black. The exposed skull beneath her destroyed face showed it was textured and scraped unlike the smooth bones of a human. Dexter kicked her away as he got back in the car. The farmers seemed too horrified by something, either Dexter or the guardians themselves, to get any closer than the few hundred feet away they were. Dexter forced the gas pedal down as hard as he could. Even with the one flat tire, the car managed to ram its way through the cornfield until Dexter felt he had gone far enough.

Dexter got out and looked back to see if things were going as he wanted. The guardians were approaching, battered and beaten, but still determined. Suzie hobbled with her destroyed form. Jack hopped on his single unbroken leg as the other cracked and snapped next to it. Victor dizzily stumbled forward. Sammy merely stepped menacingly, slowly putting one foot in front of the other. Dexter began pouring gasoline on the upholstery of his car using the gas can he had cut a large spout into to expedite the pouring. He then poured a line of it to his standing position and used his car’s cigarette lighter to ignite a piece of shirt he had stuck in the whiskey bottle. He used the tire iron to break his windshield.

Dexter waited and watched the approach of the guardians. When he was close enough to be seen well, Sammy removed his mask. Beneath was the same flesh as the others, except the eye the mask implied was missing was actually a healthy human eye. Dexter knew whose, it looked just like the old man’s. That’s why it’s his family. Gotta keep Daddy close. When Sammy finished removing his mask, he howled, now unimpeded. The four guardians ran at him, hissing and grunting. Just as they reached him, Dexter swung the cut-open gas can at them. As they recoiled, he threw his Molotov at the car.

The car, the corn, and the scarecrows all ignited. The three that had been crippled in some way writhed, unable to escape. Sammy began to turn, but Dexter hugged him as hard as he could and held him in place. The fire began consuming everything, and Dexter felt the searing pain of his own burning flesh. He stared into Sammy’s human eye as it melted and burned. Dexter knew he had only one weapon: complete incineration. He began to feel his body lift up and he opened his eyes to see the afterlife.

But the afterlife was not what Dexter saw. He was still very much alive, though not for much longer. Sammy had lifted him. Though his compatriots were shrinking to charcoal, Sammy was growing. The flesh was falling away. Beneath it were crimson scales and black claws. Sammy’s body grew muscular and huge as giant leather wings expanded behind him. Dexter realized his mistake. Fire would not kill this creature, for it was its domain.

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