The Harvest Watchers: A Chilling Fall Mystery

Red leaves descended on Graysville like a pool of spilt blood—marking more than seasonal change.

Terry had just returned to the town after a few years away in the big city to grow her photography career; its beauty still lingered in her heart.

The layers of blood red leaves juxtaposed on grey cobblestone left her nonplussed.

Different.

From the Graysville she had been used to.

Her neighbours had taken on the same jittery vibe.

"It's the Harvest Watchers," Bob Thorne accused. "No prizes for guessing who killed the leaves on those trees.

" What?" Terry scrunched her face, puzzled. " You didn't know?" Thorne's voice was condescending-- and ominous. "They appear. Every autumn. When red leaves fall and turn gray." He smirked. "You know--" He leaned forward, his voice a confidential whisper. "Seems to me... they want more than leaves."

That night, Terry was in her dark room,bringing negatives to life when she noticed one she had taken of the trees, covered in a blanket of red and gray that was far from warm.

A shadow.

Too long.

Rakish.

More than a little distended.

She dropped the negatives.

It took Terry some time before she could pluck up the courage to take the fallen negatives in her hands.

She held each up to the light in her photography studio.

Each one—-An anomaly.

Stranger than the other.

Each different—from the photo she first took.

Eyes.Peering from branches.

Leaves falling faster...and faster.

Snow piling—too quickly, erasing the leaves as they fell.

Mysterious silhouettes in the fog.

The neighbours weren’t exactly—forthcoming.

The usually placid Mr. Harrison would snarl when she raised the topic.

“You’d best mind your own beeswax, young lady.”He shoved her out of his home, his wrinkled hands shaking.

Then, little things—Manifested.

A little girl’s dress.

Tattered.A cracked locket—with a photo of her in it.

Taken just that morning.

She was sitting alone with a cup of milk in the kitchen one evening when —“Come.”

A whisper.

“You wanted to know. Come.”

The trees in the forest beyond her home seemed —Bent.

Pointing inward. Not following the wind, but a will.

Not her own.

Calling.

Terry stood at the window—Graysville looked too—-Dull.

Gray.

The wind howled and the trees swayed—In the opposite direction.

The branches leaned inward, as if clutching—a heart.

Her camera lay on the table. That wasn’t unusual.

But the negatives were—

Strewn.

Scattered.

Very unlike the too-neat Terry.

A random negative slid across the table’s surface—-no wind blew.

Then, louder. “Come.”

The sound skulked through her skull—a painful migraine that pulsed like a too-loud heartbeat.

She covered her ears—-No help. T

he leaves fell from the trees outside, twisting into tight circles, making—

A path.

Terry stepped outside.

The frosty wind—-

Too cold for fall.

Terry followed the twisted leaf path, each step—

Crunching.

Yet soft.

Muffled.

The surrounding fog curled round her ankles, an unweildly serpent.

Shapes loomed over her—angsty, malformed.

Yet somehow human.

Disappearing when she blinked.

Again, the urgent whisper.

“Come.”

Closer.

Reveberating in her head.

Her heart hammered louder than any carpenter’s tool.

The trees bent in arches.

Stretching.

Reaching.

For her.

A snap.

A twig—in half.

Behind.

No one.

The path led to a clearing—

More red leaves.

Some fresh, others—Dead.

She was alone—

But not.

Their eyes were trained on her.

The air smelt—Of metal.

A figure.Humanoid.

Shadowy.

Covered in leaves.

It stepped forward.

In its yellow eyes—her fear.

She froze.

The leaves made a whirlpool around her.

Faster.

Faster still.

Spinning into an uncontrollable vortex.

“You wanted to know..”

The whispers grow louder.

All over.

The forest.

Alive.

Breathing.

Terry stepped forward, her fingers trembling.

The cloaked figure stood before her, waiting.

Watching.

“You wanted to know.”

The whisper assaulted from all directions—It hit her ears.

Her skull.

Her mind.

Branches twitched like fingers, raking her arms and face.

The figure leaned closer, eyes hollow.Glinting.

It knew her.

Her curiosity.

Her obsession.

The air hummed, vibrating.

Her spine buckled.

Shadows began to peel from the figure, slowly inching towards her.

One grasped her ankle.

Frigid. Not dead.

Yanking.

Terry stumbled, grabbing her camera.

The negatives became a collection of slides, flashing—

Each showing a scene to be.

The leaves from the trees drifted slowly to the ground each becoming—

Shapes.

Them.

The watchers.Her heart thudded.

She had to choose.

Run—and just maybe, survive.

Stay, and find the truth.

She took a breath and stepped forward.

The shadows wrapped round her.“Now you belong.”