The Harvest Game - XTales (Folk Horror, Ritual, Monsters and Creatures, 10-20 mins., Creepyasta)

A remote village in the mountains is blessed by an ancient deity as long as it receives something in return.

Reading Time: 12 minutes.

SENSITIVE CONTENT WARNING!

1.

Why did I agree to this?

I questioned myself, trying to stay hidden among the ripe crops beneath a dark sky. The lanterns' flickering lights exposed those searching for us. Anyone could be my father. Hide and seek in the fields after dusk sounded more exciting than it was. To be fair, no one mentioned that an ancient deity would be hunting for its sacrifice.

My father grew up in this hidden, remote village in the mountains, safe from pretty much every invasion or colonisation. It was almost like the last of those uncontacted tribes. For one, this place is so well hidden in the mountains that local or state transport still doesn’t have its buses running on this route. Two, there really wasn’t much for invaders. I mean, a few hundred huts, a population of less than a thousand, and barely any produce from the fields—it wasn’t really worth the trouble. The place remained safe for centuries.

The people mistook this fortunate coincidence for a blessing from their protector—the great grain sire.

I carefully moved through the crops, scared to make a sound. Adrenaline pumped through my body as I tuned my ears for the quietest rustle. Someone was making their way through the field nearby. I saw no light from a lantern. My immediate thought was—Oh, no. Is it the grain sire? My eyes had adjusted to the dark, so I saw another terrified face. My cousin Rani was on the verge of tears. If she screamed, it could have been the end for both of us.

“Shhh…don’t worry,” I whispered to her.

She gasped, put her hand on her mouth, and turned towards me. She then shook her head and pointed in front of her.

I tried to see through the crops what she was pointing at. Honest to my gods, my heart gave up.

Is this…?

2.

“Is this the great grain sire?” I asked, sarcastically. “An action figure made of hay, bound with threads.”

My father’s eyes popped with anger when he stared down at me and said, “Boy, this is your first and final warning. If you disrespect our guardian, I will directly throw you at him—no need for any ritual.”

I had never seen my father this angry, so I quietly bowed my head to this figurine placed on a wooden block inside a hollowed-out tree trunk. That’s when I noticed the ground littered with dry leaves, hay, small sticks, and—my eyes opened wide and my heart jumped—tiny pieces of bones. It meant the dried, dark splashes must be—No!

I immediately looked up. The tiny, strange metal symbols hanging from threads glimmered in light coming from a couple of candles. If I were being honest with myself, I would know that it was a shrine and my first clue to the fact that I was in a cult.

My father pulled a metal symbol with the thread and tied it around my arm. “Don’t untie it until after the game,” he instructed.

“What game?”

“Nothing—it’s a game of hide and seek to celebrate the good harvest we’ve had this year. It’s part of the ceremony.”

My father had been very eager and excited to visit the village this year. I remember his eyes glimmered with euphoria when my uncle called him to give the news of the good harvest. I shrugged and ignored the metal symbol on my arm. But if I knew any better, I’d realise that I was being marked for a sacrifice.

We left the shrine and joined the rest of our family. Then, my uncle went in with his daughter, my cousin Rani. She came out with a similar symbol on her arm as well. I caught a glimpse of despair on her mother’s face. It made me feel uneasy, so I looked at my mother. She looked even sadder. Something about this entire thing didn’t feel right.

3.

I couldn’t finish my question because someone covered my mouth. I turned back to find another participant, a boy from the village. He signalled me to stay quiet as he removed his hand from my mouth. Then, like an experienced player, he picked up a stone from the half-dry, half-wet ground and threw it away in the other direction.

Something moved towards the noise. That’s when I took a good look at it. It was the same figurine from the shrine, made of hay bound with threads. The grain sire moved in a very inhuman fashion. It seemed as if the sire didn’t have any bones. It still moved quite fast for someone made of hay.

When it had cleared the area, the boy finally spoke. “Keep your voices down,” he said. “Stay away from the sire. Don’t stay in one place for too long. Keep moving.”

He then quickly disappeared into the crops, leaving me and Rani behind. We followed his advice and dispersed in different directions right away.

Man! How could my father do this to me?

I was cursing my father while trying not to be the sacrifice. Then, I remembered what he said to me only minutes before the game began.

4.

“Listen, son.”

“Yes?”

I was actually excited for the game, having grown up in the city. Mom never let me play hide and seek after dark. All the kids had to leave the park immediately after sunset. So when my father stared at me as if I was going to fight in a war, I got scared. My excitement left me quicker than the red hue left the sky.

“Don’t panic. Be quiet. I’ll find you.”

I wondered whether my father even knew the rules of hide and seek. The goal would be to stay hidden and not be found. I was going to mention it, but then his voice got quieter, and the tone grimmer.

“Whatever happens, whatever you see, do not scream. Do not run. And do not try to signal me your location.”

Now, I was scared. Before I could ask anything, a man from the village shouted at the top of his lungs, announcing the game to begin.

“Go, go, go.”

My father basically pushed me into the crops, and I did something I would regret in less than ten minutes.

It wasn’t as much fun as I had thought. The park in which all the kids play had nice, soft grass. The fields were muddy. My feet dug into it, making it way more difficult than in the park. Instead of short, trimmed bushes, I was struggling to see through these tall, dense crops.

The man shouted again, and I saw twinkling lights enter the fields. So it begins, I thought to myself. Then, something else happened. A strong gust of wind washed over the village. I almost felt like someone had descended from the mountains. It was just a feeling, a presence, hauntingly close to me. I wanted to get out immediately, but I remembered my father’s words. I couldn’t shout to call him to get me. Even if I dared to break the rule, I couldn’t tell which of those twinkling lights was coming from my father’s lantern.

That’s precisely when I started questioning myself. Why did I agree to this?

5.

I carefully crawled through the half-dry mud to find my way closer to the flickering lights. That’s when I heard it again, the noise of the footsteps. Not fast but eager. Not heavy but scary. My heart started pumping so fast I could hear my heartbeat in my ears. There was no time to look back. I moved as fast as I could while crouching. The footsteps got closer, and I almost screamed in fear. I still don’t know what exactly happened. The next thing I remember was my father dragging me through the crops with his hand covering my mouth, preventing me from making any sound. I also remember a scream—a girl’s scream that echoed through the entire village and fields, then abruptly stopped.

I didn’t know whose scream it was, but I never saw Rani after that night. Her parents, my uncle and auntie, claim she moved abroad to study and eventually got a job there. Honestly, I never trusted them. And I found the truth a few years later.

It didn’t rain in the village that year. The streams vanished, and the cattle died. The blessing of the grain Sire seemed to have been lifted. Our survival in the city also depended on the financial aid we received from selling our share of the harvest. My father couldn’t figure out what to do. One night, he received a call from my uncle, and the next day, we were all packing to leave for the village.

6.

Before I knew it, I was back at the shrine. The same ordeal happened again. They tied that strange symbol to my arm. There were other kids, too. I resisted, threw hands, and even cried, but to no avail. My father dragged me to a side and stared deep into my eyes. I saw concern and fear.

“Son, I understand that you don’t wanna do this. None of us does. The ritual is only supposed to happen every ten years.”

“We just did it four years ago. I almost died.”

“I wouldn’t have let anything happen to you. I can not tell you how relieved I was that night when I found you. I thought you wouldn’t have to do it again because you would be a grown man the next time the ritual happens. But…”

He didn’t have to say it. I could see the empty fields covered with dead crops. It did spike my curiosity. “Why did the sire stop blessing us?” I asked.

“We don’t know, son. Maybe we did something to anger the sire. Our only hope for survival is to ascertain that this ritual goes well, and the great grain sire is pleased.

Which means another poor, innocent kid has to be sacrificed, I thought.

“I know what you are thinking. No parent would want this for their child, but it’s for the entire village. I’m not saying it’s a small price. It’s the worst one could be asked to pay in return for such a small reward. But it enabled us to survive this long, and it will help us to prosper for the coming decades.”

I couldn’t tell if I was being manipulated, but once again, I did something stupid. I agreed to participate in the harvest game.

7.

This time, I moved more quickly and quietly. But the crops were dead and didn’t provide enough cover to hide well. The man from the village shouted for the second time, and the seekers entered the fields with their lanterns. Then, it happened again. Strong winds ruffled my hair, and I felt a presence. The moonless night did not help much, but it was impossible not to see this tall figure standing in the middle of the dead, dry field. The sire looked like a scarecrow except for the fact that it could move. The sound was like someone rolling around in hay very aggressively. The noise would stop now and then when the sire paused and looked for a sacrifice. I heard it moving towards me, so I ran in the opposite direction.

“Hey!” someone whispered. “Wait for me!”

I turned back to find a boy a little younger than me. He was panting and shaking from fear.

“First time?” I asked.

He nodded.

Before any of us could say anything else, the other set of footsteps drew closer. We both made a run for it.

The sire got closer and closer to us. We could imagine the arms made of hay reaching out to grab us. The fear of being the sacrifice made me wet my shorts. It was impossible to outrun a literal deity. Well, at least the village will prosper, I thought. Maybe it was all for the best. A sacrifice would help feed the people for the coming years.

A sacrifice? Another thought popped into my head. Any sacrifice would do then. I turned around and pushed the boy. He fell with utter shock on his face. Within seconds, the sire appeared. My bladder was already empty. Otherwise, I would have peed myself all over again.

The sire grabbed the kid and lifted him with its hollow, boneless arms made of hay. One covered his mouth shut while the other held him in place. The boy struggled, but nothing helped. The horror—oh, my gods, the horror on his face. I would never forget it. And then, my eyes moved up to the sire.

The featureless face, or should I say a bundle of hay, stared at me. The great grain sire was at least ten feet tall. The sheer realisation that I was face-to-face with an ancient entity made me do what I did next instinctively. I sat down on my knees and bowed.

I heard a few words. They seemed as if spoken by an old person with no teeth. It sounded like, “Bless your kin.”

Then, another strong gust of wind came, and the sire flew back as if flying with it. The man shouted, announcing the end of the game. All the seekers started calling out the names. I heard my father calling my name, so I moved in his direction.

All the parents cried with joy upon reuniting with their children, except for one couple. They kept shouting, calling for their kid. That’s how I learned the name of the boy who was just claimed as the sacrifice. I still hear that name in my sleep sometimes. His face still appears in my nightmares. The shock and horror on that innocent face question me. I tell myself that what I did was for the greater good. A necessary step that ascertained the survival of the folks of my village.

Then, why am I reluctant to tie this metal symbol to my son’s arm?

8.

“What’s the matter, Dad?”

“Nothing, son,” I said, wiping my tears. “I just remembered the first time I had played the game?”

“Aww, did you lose? It’s okay. I’ll win it for you this time.”

A feeble smile stretched on my face. My heart ached for him. “I hope not, son,” I muttered under my breath as I ushered him out of the hollow tree, away from the shrine. After all these years, I still ask myself this question and never get an answer.

Why the hell did I agree to this?

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