The Harvester Short Horror Novel
Posted 15 May 2005 - 02:02 PM
Be as mean as you like (as long as it reasonable, and u have a reason) I couldn't really care if you say it's sh*t but to the people I've showed this to they seemed to like it enough for me to write another chapter.
So here's two chapters to get your head around.
The Harvester: The Beginning (No pun intended)
Chapter I: Ways of life.
Many people don’t accept the simple way of life. Fields of golden corn, dusty simply stables, long working hours, the beat of a hot brass sun ball in the sky, shining down on you turning your once sickly pale skin, into a colourful brown tan. Animals, lazing around the place as if it’s free, your trusty dog Rover lying by the house chewing on a tasty white bone. Spending your whole life on the farm, not a care in the world, bringing up a family, watching your kids fall into a well or a pit or whatever the hell they come across.
The good life. People probably don’t choose this life, because they probably don’t think it exists in the world we live in today. The probability of life being good or not, is not a matter of choice but a matter of time.
Even in the good life, the farmers, the ranchers, the blacks, the whites even the god dam animals have bad days, from the smallest bird. Coming back to its nest to find that its chicks have been eaten and their small little feathers flowing in the air after a violent attack. To the average day Man, going to work one evening, and getting his resignation papers chucked in his face by some fat greasy boss, with 7 mistress’s and a wife he beats daily.
Obvious not everyone thinks it’s in their reach to have a good life forever. Maybe it’s true maybe not…
Farmers have a good life because they probably don’t go over the technology line then their tractor. Thinking, and this is where I sound like my great uncle Jeff “Them, noew fangled mochine’s, they’ll bring nothun but trouble to these parts”. Again maybe there right, maybe that’s the key to a perfect existence.
But on the other hand, and here’s where I sound like a 21st century hippy teenager (my cousin Jerry) “You gotta get with the timesssss…Man I mean where just standing here and life’s…like Uh”.
If the farmers theory is true then maybe they should explain, how a family of four, The Myles, where savaged one night by an unholy beast from hell, seeking the flesh from it’s bewildered victims in an attempt to release it’s aching rage, which troubles the creature so.
Maybe farmers have bad days because of…The Harvester.
Chapter II: The Resting
It was night time on the Mac Donald’s farm. The air was like wine, smooth and mature after years of use, around the moon clouds beckoned, and quickly began to cover it. Along the old dusty farmhouse, outside was a shadowed figure, watching the moon as it was over come by the clouds. Swallowed and devoured.
John Mac Donald was the shadow watching the moon, with nothing on the TV, or the IV as he so incorrectly named it, he decided to watch the moons peaceful light twinkling among a thousand stars. Like diamonds on black velvet.
John was a average, old farmer type buck. Still young with a head full of brown wavy hair. Although a lot of tinted grey roots in some places, more then he liked to admit, he was still fairly good looking for his age, also more then he liked to admit.
As a stereotypical farmer father, he was wearing several layers of Barbary clothes on his, one blue the other read. All tattered and ripped of course, what clothes don’t you ruining when you work on a farm. Tonight John was wearing his M 50 smith brown Cowboy boots.
His pride and joy, pasted down from father to father, for generations. These where the only clothes John would not allow to get dirty, though again physical impossible on a farm.
Running a hand through his hair, he begun to massage his skull. The roots ached and stretched under the weight of his hand, though it felt so good all the same. John had been thinking about the farm’s income, as with all farmers…it was very low. Dangerously low, his kids weren’t the up on style types and didn’t want to buy the new clothes or the New CD that’s comes out each week.
But still in a way John felt guilty about not being able to provide them with that stuff. His two kids Amy and Ali were both 14, and like most 14 year olds had a relationship with another child of their age. This only added to John guilt, what if Ali wanted to buy Rosie (his girlfriend) a present and couldn’t afford it. Or maybe Amy needed some…protection, for her and Jake (her boyfriend) that would lead to even more problems.
John decided it didn’t bare thinking about, these kids where good kids, they didn’t ask a lot out of life and wanted only the best for each other. John let out a sign of frustration “Oh”.
He had to himself. Back in the day when it was a lot more simply to provide for someone, they cared about, namely his girl friend and future wife Jane. Back in those days you could by chocolate for a penny and roses for a dollar, the farm was also so much more easier to run, without the kids and without greasy black marketers wanting your land to grow and drug factory to kill of young people.
John was referring to his position at the moment. A tall skinny man, with very pale skin, had approached the farm yesterday. When John spotted this figure he did the social thing and said “Hey there how are you”. With a smile and hand outstretched.
But the skinny figure, dressed in nothing but black clothes, declined his handshake and simply offered money for the farm. The way this Man acted it was as if he owned the farm already, running a hand against the railings of the barn and muttering under his voice “…Oh yes that will have to go”. His true reasons for wanting the farm where unclear, but due to the colour of his skin, John suspected drug making, again a further threat to his kids.
When John declined his offer of money, the man couldn’t take it in “230,000 dollars for a run down barn house! AND YOU WON’T TAKE IT”. The man blurted out, John simply replied “This farm is not for sale”. And with that the man stormed off the farm and was never seen again, until a trace of him was found when a bill was violently shoved through Johns door.
It contained a loan from a bank that John hadn’t heard off, for 230,000 and a date to which John’s family would have to pay it back, only 3 mouths away. How this man has faked his I.D in person was a mystery to John. But then again the drug dealers have their ways.
It had been a mouth since then, and seven more reminder letters, informing John he has only etc days left to pay the loan back off. And the farm itself had no real income to provide for his kids, let alone a loan. This drug dealer was cleaver, cleaver wasn’t a compliment, it’s just he’s probably done it so many times before, it’s like clockwork to him.
Strangely the mysterious drug dealer had not yet made contact with John to make a new deal, One probably lower then his previous. Maybe this was he whole plan, wait until the farm has to be sold to the bank. Then buy it back off them for half price he had offered John.
No! John thought, no man could be that inhuman, but John was too old fashioned he didn’t know how far people where willing to go in today’s world to get what they want. As John was in a daze of Misery, his wife entered out the back door searching for him. John turned and even after years of marriage he still wanted to hug and kiss her every time he saw her beautiful body.
Jane was wearing a battered and burnt apron, stained yet still shiny. She looked at him with worry in her eye’s as he walked a few spaces forward and John turned away. Trying to hold back his tears ashamed of the mess his family was in, he still hadn’t told Jane about the loan. He’d been hiding the reminder letters from her, hoping it would just go away.
Jane had long black hair going down to her shoulders, a pretty cheek and two round melon breasts, leading down to her slim figure of a body. Her eyes where small and darty, she had no need for make up. But she still had the looks of a city girl. Clean and refined.
She paced her steps toward him she could tell something was up, she always could. It was a bond between them that none of their friends or family could understand, kinda like a physic link, and now Jane’s senses were telling her that something was up…something big.
She spoke quietly. John pretended he didn’t hear her. “John!”. Jane repeated louder and firmer, He couldn’t get out of it now he had to turn rubbing away most of his tears in the process. “Oh…Hi dear”.
He walked over to her and hugged her stiffly. She didn’t make a move onto him “What’s wrong”
He said, chuckling in a faults surprise. Jane stood there looking him in the eye, not blinking or moving “You tell me”.
John’s smile faded and his eye’s turned to the floor, letting go of her body he walked around her while speaking “What…do you mean by that”.
Jane turned to face him again sneaking under his body and bringing his down looking face to hers. “You know what I mean”. She said bluntly.
“Sorry, no idea”. He chuckled again, but faded as he walked around her once more proceeding towards the door. Jane grabbed his arm to stop him.
“I’ll tell you then, why are you acting like this”. John turned, trying to put an innocent face on. “Like what?” .His voice slightly higher now.
“Like this John, not looking at me in the eye anymore, not talking to me anymore. Talking to people like their not even there”. Jane spoke the words clear and loud, trying to force her way into John’s skull.
“I…I haven’t been feeling very well….I’m…I’m going to bed”. John turned trying to act sick but he knew Jane wasn’t convinced when she spoke again.
“You better be sick John…cause if you can’t tell me what’s wrong then you’ll go mad sooner then you think”.
John froze, she’d noticed his body movement but now even his feelings, but what could he tell her, there was still time maybe he could some how pay back the loan or get rid of the drug dealer…time wasn’t something John was rolling in. He opened the back door of the farm house, and left his wife standing in a circle of rage.
Posted 19 May 2005 - 12:52 AM
Posted 19 May 2005 - 04:25 AM
Posted 19 May 2005 - 05:41 PM
Anyway rest assured next part coming soon.
Posted 22 May 2005 - 09:32 AM
As fire brew at the Mac Donald’s farmhouse between it’s two owners. Another fire was about to brew just 2 miles away, in a un located cavern, on the east side of a mountain that shadowed the farm all day long. John would lie to his kids, in the good way, and say that up in the mountain lay a caves full of gold, caves so full that it was impossible for the world’s greatest mathematician to calculate how much there was.
That Caverns entrance was blocked off, a mistake it had made on it’s last pain shooing murder frenzy. Rock’s as large as cars blocked the way dust covering each one, it almost looked like it wasn’t a entrance to a cave but just a small formation in the rocks. But sadly that was not true. Within the cave lay the beast, along with it’s hoards of treasures and shiny pretties.
Down in the mud it lay, the sliver cross thrown by one of the Samuel Witch hunters still jammed into it’s green frog like back.
Down in the mud it lay, it’s jagged teeth outstretched over it protruding snout, all cracked and broken from it’s long sleep.
Down in the mud it lay, 5 sausage fingers crammed into the earth itself, it’s wrist torn along with it, revealing more cracked and dusty brown skin.
Down in the mud it lay, two glass eyes bundling out of the creature’s head. Died a fainted green colour but with no pupils.
Down in the mud it lay…the monster lay…the creature lay….the harvester lay. The harvests body was splattered on the ground its legs turned in at what only someone could describe as painful. Its arms (along with the broken wrist) where all burnt and cut deep, fresh blood still leaked out of them after all this time. The Harvester had been cut more times then human numbers go, it’s life had been one big hunt from humans, especially the last…the creature feared that the last hunt really was the last for it. The Harvester a unresting, probably unstoppable force roaming the earth for years travelling from one place to another trying to escape it’s one horror…it’s own life. But no as luck would have it no, the creature survived, barely.
The harvester had lived in the past for all the years it had remained in the cave dormant…unmoving, untouchable un living. In what remained of the creatures mind it continual lived the nightmare of its last hunt over and over again…it had been 1832 in Old England a little town called Jungersville, their The Harvester had encounter it’s ultimate battle to date. A battle of hunters….
Posted 04 September 2005 - 03:54 PM
Chapter 4: The Jungersville massacre
The small town of Jungersville lay low in a valley a million miles away from the middle of nowhere and instead lay on the outside of nowhere. In between the two hills in which the city lay, tiny flashes of fire and bright lights gleamed out of the town like diamonds on black velvet. Jungersville was small and compacted the basic features of a town where in the eye of that beholder, A small church, 15 houses 7 more on the way into the town. Usual the town was full of life even at night but now it was empty the streets lay bare, on the lights from gas fires could be seen, and even then behind heavily closed curtains.
A cold wind blew that night, as had all the nights ever since the beast had appeared from the pits of hell. Raking young children of that streets killing old men, butchering them like a animal and leaving only their skeleton behind. The town had done all they could to stop the killings, from the start they captured several men who where merely as the saying goes “In the wrong place, at the wrong time”. Most had been killed there and then by the Volunteers of the town, several men from each family had offered their services to try and catch the murderer.
A many few of these men had been the Kin of the people killed in those last few weeks, which may explain the towns very quick and very paranoid behaviour towards suspects. One wonders why the rangers of that town (the main leaders of the cause) would allow angry relatives of the late Imparted to join the search for the killer and to kill. Then again again the answer is in the question “allow…angry…relatives…to…kill…the…killer”. It all fitted into place nicely for the rangers of the town, little work would be needed from them and the fault would not be there’s if the volunteers accidentally killed the wrong man…but there where those who believed it was not a man that they needed to hunt for.
A reverend Timothy farthing of the Jungervilles church had made several allegations to the Rangers that to proceed in the hunt for a man was sear folly. Instead he insisted that the murders of that last two weeks where the results of a demon roaming the valley. As this was the god fearing years at their height it seemed only proper that the Rangers took into consideration what the Reverend had said. But before they could come to a overall conclusion they asked the Farthing what they could do to stop the monster to which Timothy simply replied “Pray”.
And so the decision was made, every family would pray for the monster to leave their valley for 2 –3 hours a day, and not to make a appearance on the street. However this course of chosen action did not play well with the men of the village, they believed more in action then words and hope. They saw praying as the cowards way out, praying for someone else to get the demon away. But as the men of the village saw it, to was them and them alone who would have the honour to bring down the beast and not god’s. And that is how this hint began, all the men of the valley met in secret at the church this very night as they had done for many other nights to discuss their course of action…little did they know it would be there last.
Within the church sat the many 10’s of men that lived in the village all around the church, walls, seats, floors anywhere and everywhere their was space men had taken a seat up. On the podium at the front of the church one man stood out among the rest facing the crowd with a burst of confidence he spoke in a loud booming voice, as was his appearance. The man was called John Sherman he was tall, very hairy man two small beady eyes sparkling out of his gigantic black beard, his muscles the size of well grown potatoes, with clothes made of the fineness material. Well the fineness material a peasant could buy that is.
John has lived his life as the leader of men, he had battled many times in wars and also many times down the pub. But one thing was for sure that John was ready to battle this creature that plagued Jungersville, It was his expectation. All the time he lived in the village and there was a problem people would turn to John for aid. He was the strongest, biggest, fastest, cunning, clever man you could hope to meet, well I would want to meant if I were lost. John had taken this recent attack in his stride, leaving no stone un turned to what they could do to stop this massacre from continuing.
John was originally going to be one of the leader Volunteers, but was declined by a few equally as high up social men, who found his way of leadership uneasy. But now that had all changed, the others had failed they looked to John for an answer, for an order, for a laugh for anything to make Jungersville brighter. For him it was a big day, because now the time had come for John to clarify what people thought of him, as he would un veal his final solution.
Brushing back some of his hair the church fell quite and John began to speak “My friends…my brothers…..my family…as many of you have requested I hold in my hand”. John quickly clicked his fingers, to signal for a young pale skinned boy to hand him a roll of sheep skin paper tied firmly with a piece of prickly horse hair string.
John continued his speech marching back and forth along the stage his feet pounding against the wood with a thud at every word he spoke “..The final solution to our cause…the extermination of this murder from our simple way of life, It has been informed to me by my watch outs that a shadow has been seen climbing to the top of Mount Took every night that a murder has be committed”.
A selection of gasps let out among the hall, some of fright others of relief in the respect that they would finally be able to catch this killer…though most of what these men where thinking, had nothing to do with capture. John raised a hand to silence the crowd and when it was quiet once again he continued “My plan….has a fatally count level, not everyone here will make it back alive”. From the sudden burst of energy the men had previous given out, seemed to vanish as John said that sentence, their faces seemed to blur away into a mist of sadness know this maybe their last night alive…but they where willing to do it for there simple way of life…the good life.
John paused again and saw this massive change in his warriors attitude “But know this” he began “That by giving your life…you!..” He points his scared index finger at the crowd “…will insure the safety of your children and your children’s children’s and there children…all in all you save…the future!”.
Nothing was said for about 2 minutes, John was waiting for the men’s reaction, for their judgement, for their strength and for their very lives. Finally on the back row of hall a man stood up, he was tall and hairy much like John, two beaming eyes dressed in layers upon layers of tore and burnt clothes making him appear more bulky and muscularly. His name was James Herroin, a good friend of John’s and almost as popular.
“I’m with you John” James bellowed in his deep booming voice.
“I’m with ya too!” Another male said standing up, soon the room was full of the shouts from the crowd, cheers and screams some even chanting John’s name in a mark of respect it was not long until the whole room was in a uproar of pleasure and John’s volunteers had to step in a smooth the crowd down.
Again the hall was in silence and John for the second time was able to continue and this time hopefully finish John thought. Wiping his hand over his face in an attempt to remove the sweat from his brow John began again “We will need…”. At this point John actually unrolled the scroll in his hand and scanned the text while reading it at the same time. “A sword for every man…two axes for every 4 and seven daggers for every 8 we will need torches, gunpowder, maces, crosses, anything that can kill and everything that you can carry….As we storm Mount Took and send that evil creature STRAIGHT BACK TO HELL WHERE IT BELOWS!”. Every man and boy in the hall cheered with rage, banging there feet against the table knocking against the stone walls with their hands, screaming cheers shouting not letting up any time soon.
John jumped from the staged quick as lightning slamming into the stone floor makes many small cracks on his impact point. Men ran towards John in their hundreds to congratulate him on his some what simple…but effective plan, the thanks they got was a slight nod from John as his fellow volunteers linked arms to make a pathway so John could walk safely without being crushed by his adoring fanatics.
Outside it was cold, a dark moon somehow illuminated but the unknown secrets of the universe was glowing red…the colour of blood. John took little notice of this as he made his final steps out of the hall to be greeted by the fresh sense of air flowing in and out of his lungs. Unlike the musty sweating fumes coming from his army inside the church.
John closed his eyes to focus his vision and looked around at his town, nothing, the streets where empty as the sky…fear had taken this town by storm, bending it’s normal life style and twisting it’s layout. Only now had John realised that not just the people of this towns lives where important…but also where way of life…the simple way of life. And with that John took of into the blackness of the town followed many metres behind by his crew of sexual deprived predators (lack of men time at home had made them a little horny). The crowd tried to battle there way towards the front of John and stand by him proud but his Volunteers had been ordered to hold them back in hope that it may lower their ego level and make them...again more level headed.
The time had come…war was upon this town it had been but now it was official John sent all the warriors home to find their weapons of choice and return at dusk…the ultimate battle was about to begin with this small simple way of life town as the battlefield.
Next Chapter: War
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