The Thing That Stalks The Fields

It was a few weeks ago that the hay bales started creeping slowly 
away from the house. Every morning when I woke up, each had moved a few 
hundred feet from where it was before. I assumed it was pranksters with 
nothing better to do, and I so I ignored it. Within a few days, though, 
the bales began to approach the boundaries of the farm. I was tired of 
the whole game by then, and decided to move them back. It took a tedious
 hour to bring them all from where they were to over near the house 
again, and by the time I was done I was ready to snap the neck of 
whatever little pissant was deciding to screw with me.
The next morning, I found each and every one of my horses messily 
decapitated. The smell was what woke me up. Each one was slumped over 
against the side of its stall. There were no signs of the heads. I spent
 the rest of the day cleaning up the mess and burying the remains. It 
was only when I was done that I noticed the bales of hay had all 
returned to their positions from the day before, scattered far out into 
the fields. This time I left them where they were.
That night I sat on my porch with my shotgun in hand and a pot of 
coffee on the table beside me. I sat for hours, straining my eyes into 
the fields to catch a glimpse of who was moving my hay bales. Finally, I
 was beginning to nod off. I would have, but just as my eyes began to 
close I heard a clamor and a rustling of trees from the nearby woods. I 
leaned forward, my heart racing with excitement; I was going to catch 
the bastard. I fumbled with my gun and fidgeted in my seat, waiting 
anxiously for whoever it was to get close enough to ambush. It was only 
when the thing got close enough for me to make out its silhouette in the
 dark that I was frozen still. The thing that crept into my fields from 
the nearby woods didn’t seem to notice me sitting there. It stalked, 
hunched and deliberate, through the field with the posture of a 
tiptoeing thief. If not for the fact that it must have towered to over 
ten feet tall even in its crouched position, it might have seemed almost
 frail. The thinness of its arms and legs and the emaciated, caved-in 
quality of its chest reminded me of a starving animal. Still, this thing
 was undeniably strong, and I watched it hoist each bale up into its 
arms with ease, and set it down carefully a while away, taking only a 
few strides to cover the distance. I watched it work, moving each bale 
thoughtfully. Every once in a while it would straighten up to look 
around at the other bales’ positions in the field, before adjusting the 
one it was working on ever so slightly.
Before it left, it looked towards the house. I felt its eyes sweep 
over me in the dark, but whether it saw me or not I couldn’t tell. Then,
 it turned silently and crept back the way it came, disappearing into 
the dark of the woods. It took me an hour before I had the courage to 
move at all. I went inside after a while, but didn’t sleep that night. 
It was only when the sun rose that I dared step off my porch into the 
fields. The hay bales were where it left them. Strangely, it didn’t move
 them as far as it had in the previous days. They were approaching 
something invisible in the fields, and as I looked at them I realized 
that they seemed to be marking some line. Indeed, as I walked around the
 house, I saw the distinct circle that they formed with me at the 
center. At first I thought the bales were just being haphazardly moved 
away from the house, but now I could see that they were instead being 
moved towards some boundary. The thing was sending me a message. I slept
 uneasily that night, and only because I was exhausted.
The next morning the bales hadn’t moved at all. They didn’t move at 
all for the rest of that week, in fact. They were finally where the 
thing wanted them. I made myself sick trying to interpret them. Why 
would this thing expend so much energy moving my hay bales, and threaten
 me with such violence should I try to interfere? Killing my horses was 
just that – a threat. An intelligent threat, at that. It knew what would
 scare me, and it knew that I would understand the implications.
The sound of an automobile working its way along the road to my farm 
one morning gave me a little rush of excitement. I’d been planning to 
abandon the farm since I saw the thing, but I couldn’t hope to leave on 
foot without risking it treating me like it treated my horses. But, if I
 could get in the car with whoever was coming my way, I might be able to
 escape before it could stop me. I didn’t know or care who it was. I 
decided that the moment they stopped the car, I would jump in the 
passenger’s seat and tell them to get the hell out of here. I didn’t get
 the chance.
The car worked its way slowly along the road, trundling across the 
uneven ground. I urged it silently to hurry. It was when it passed 
between the two bales placed on either side of the road that I began to 
hear a booming clatter from the woods. The thing burst suddenly from 
between the trees, sprinting on all four of its terrible, gangly limbs 
towards the car. Within a few seconds it was there, pouncing on the 
automobile like a predatory cat. Within moments it was picking and 
peeling the vehicle’s steel frame apart, working to get at the driver. 
The man, whoever he was, screamed all the while and I could hear him 
even over the crunching of metal and the shattering of glass. It was 
only when the thing crushed him carelessly in its hand that the 
screaming stopped. It tossed him away, and straightened up to look at me
 once again. In the sunlight, I could see the inhumanity of it. It was 
composed entirely of something awful and alive which was lashed together
 in a messy semblance of a human form. Whatever it was made of looked so
 polished and hard, that if it weren’t for the minute writhing of the 
stuff, I’d think it was made of granite.
The thing retreated back into the woods, and I was left to my shock. 
My eyes wandered to where the car sat, the engine still sputtering, 
between two of the hay bales. Suddenly, I understood. The message was 
clear. I am this thing’s captive, and I am not allowed visitors. Nothing
 may cross the borders it has set. I’m trapped here, by the thing that 
stalks the fields, and it demands nothing except that I never leave. 
Still, I don’t know if I can handle being that thing’s canary. I’ve been
 thinking hard for the last few days since I saw it crush that man’s 
chest, and silence him before he could finish his scream. If I crossed 
the hay bale border, it’d probably do the same. It’d smash my skull 
before I could put my hands up to protect myself. It’d go and find a new
 pet, and probably keep looking until it found someone who could stand 
knowing that it was waiting just outside, watching it at all hours with 
its shiny, insect eyes.
I’ve been thinking hard for the last few days, and I might just make a run for it.