The Sentinel

Hey, guys! Just a fun little short story I had to do for English class and decided to publish. Enjoy!

The fields at night were far different from the fields by day.

Soybean plants rustled gently in the breeze, a light dusting of frost silver in the moonlight. The stars twinkled far overhead like salt on a black table, obscured in places by thin wisps of grey cloud. The rolling hills were blanketed in a cold, bare, lonely glow, a stark contrast to the golden sun that had been there only two hours before.

The trees in the woodlot had almost completely shed themselves of leaves, and the clack of twigs knocking against one another and the creak of branches was audible even from a distance. An owl hooted deep within their gnarled depths. The air smelled cold and sharp, winter fast approaching.

The house seemed like an intruder in this late October landscape. Warm, golden light shone in the windows, laughter drifted from inside. The mouth-watering scent of spiced cider and ham could be detected. It seemed ludicrously out of place. Darkness was a curious property, taking what was familiar and safe and warping it till closets held beasts on a day pass from Hell and night lights became beacons of hope.

Many nights it had stood like this, watching the celebrations from afar. Many, too many to count.

Tonight was going to be different.

All it had to do was wait.

It didn't know why its curse of inanimacy was lifted for one particular hour on one particular night, it only felt regret that it came only once a year.

It could still remember the old days, when it had existed in another form much like this one, when people had offered sacrifices and kept massive bonfires burning throughout the night, when people had understood fear. They'd known the power of this night, this night where the barrier between life and death was so paper thin. Now, there were funny costumes and cheesy movies and sweet treats.

It would show them. It would remind them of what they'd forgotten. And this family, the family that had escaped its grasp for six years now, would be the first example. Mother, father, brother and sister hadn't been home for this night since they'd moved in, and it was ecstatic its luck had finally turned.

Eventually, the lights went out and night creeped in. It waited patiently, comfortable with the cold that would've made a human retreat to their fireside within minutes.

An unholy glee washed through him as stiff limbs and joints relaxed. It raised its head and stepped away from the pole that had been its prison for 364 days, letting out a dry, rasping sort of laugh.

It headed for the woodlot first. The family could wait until it finished its tradition.

Leaves crackled and crunched under its feet, the scent of decaying plant matter permeating the air. The few remaining leaves, golden in day, were dulled by the gleam of the moon and the shadow of night.

A maple tree with evenly spaced, thick branches looked promising. It climbed silently, straw falling from tears in its burlap.

On a higher branch was a roosting crow, beak tucked under an inky wing. Moonlight gleamed off of its ebony feathers, waxed and waned with each rise and fall of the bird's chest.

A burlap hand closed around the crow's neck. It cawed, eyes flying open, and attempted to flap its wings. It squeezed, savouring the tiny heartbeat pulsing against its fingers and the talons nipping its fabric skin. Another frantic caw split the night.

It slammed the bird into the branch. Hollow bones shattered, cawing replaced with desperate wheezing. A grin tugged at its sewn-on lips as the animation faded from the crow's dark eyes and it went limp. The bird peeled off the bark, now nothing more than a bag of bones and muck.