Rotting Lights

Shhhhhh… can you hear the wind? Listen—how it creeps and moans in the night, trying to tell you something.
No, don’t light a candle… you’ll only attract its attention.
When the guardian turns on you—when serenity rots into hunger, something deep inside festers away.
The scarecrow turns from the crows to you, vines tightening around its frame.
It watches with glowing eyes as its head becomes enveloped in pumpkin matter.

The crows have one word for you, my dear… run.

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