The Harvest

Taken

The first sign of its presence was a icy wind, blowing through the street. Way too cold for mid-summer. A breeze blew through my open window and raised goosebumps all over my body. Next, the lights began to flicker. Every single streetlight went on and off in absolute unison. The rhythm was slow at first, but quickly grew faster and faster until it made me almost dizzy. The wind was stronger now, and cold as winter snow.

I leaned foreward and gripped the windowframe.

A figure, cloaked in shadows, walked down the road. They were tall and lanky, that was all I could gather through the flickering light. I was frozen in place as the figure approached my friend's house and stretched their long arms out.

The lights went out.

All the lights.

I was surrounded by absolute darkness.

The wind was howling, there was a storm going on outside, I wrapped my arms around my body to protect myself from the piercing cold. For several seconds, maybe even minutes, there was nothing but darkness and the screaming storm. And then, without a warning, there was a flash of lightning. No rain, no thunder, just a bright white flash and the lights came back again. The shadow figure was gone.

I exhaled before I even realized I had held my breath and collapsed onto my bed.

The next day, the garden across the road was overgrown with Plumeria. The husband, who was a soldier, returned from whatever middle-eastern country he had been stationed in, entirely unscathered.

I never saw my friend again.

Nobody ever searched for him.