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surmounted by heads that partook from a multitude of
unrelated species. As I moved closer, the fog retreated from
me, giving the illusion that the fabricated monsters were on
the march, shambling toward me through the cornstalks.
I was somewhere in the middle of the massive field when
I heard a well-aimed whisper from the rolling fog. “Hi,” said
the sad little whisper.
“Hello,” I responded.
“Come here,” the whisper said, eagerly.
“Certainly,” I assured it, moving further into the mist and
corn.
“Hurry,” the voice continued. “You’re almost there.
We’re waiting for you.”
Gradually, the fog mixed with blood and the corn turned
crimson. Hordes of dead cattle were strewn about, their
insides scattered everywhere. “Don’t pay them any mind,”
the whisper said. “He did all this, but he doesn’t want you
yet. So don’t worry, okay?” The whisper inflected genuine
concern.
“I rarely worry, little whisper,” I responded, matching
the whisper’s concern with genuine honesty. Eventually, the
corn hallways fell away and revealed an unobstructed view
of a stable. The doors to the structure had been ripped from
their metal hinges and repainted in blood.
“He did that, too,” the whisper indicated.
“I assumed as much,” I said. “I will also assume that all
the animals in the stable are dead, along with whomever
owned this farm.”
“Oh, yes,” the whisper confirmed. “Quite dead. That’s
what he’s like. Not much I can do about it, anymore.” Its
tone grew mournful. “He killed me.”
“That’s too bad,” I offered.
The whisper led me into the farmhouse. The bodies
inside were almost unrecognizable as human—they had
been mindlessly disorganized. As I continued to follow the
whisper through the house, I noticed that all the intervening
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