Excerpt:

Jimmy and Grandpa Tom slowly walked out to the cornfield, trying not to lose sight of the orange glow, but the cornstalks were too high. The closer to the edge of the field they got, the harder it was for them to see. They soon lost track of the glow as it now only appeared between the stalks swaying in the cool breeze. They meandered slowly through the field, creeping gently, sure-footed, one step at a time. Tom felt, once and for all, he was going to catch whoever was pulling these pranks.

"Keep close, Jimmy," Tom said while pulling on Jimmy's shirt collar.

Not fifteen feet in, Jimmy stepped in something really disgusting. The smell was enough to gag you or make anyone vomit. It was a dead raccoon, split wide open as if it were pinned to a table for a science project for dissecting. Flies were already consuming the carcass as blood and guts oozed out in all directions. Then there was another, minus a head. Over to the left was an opossum, dead of course, torn to shreds; you know how tough those critters are. Everywhere they stepped, everywhere they looked, was another animal, found totally unrecognizable, obliterated. It was like a killing field and the stench was getting a bit unbearable.

"Jimmy, you better get back to the house!" Grandpa said in a muffled tone, with his hand covering his mouth and nose with his shirt collar.

"I don't think so, Grandpa. I'm not leaving you all alone," Jimmy mumbled back, mimicking Grandpa to a T.

They both got chills up their spines, a sensation of someone watching, someone following them as if they were prey themselves, about to be taken. They were being stalked by someone or something; like a lion stalking its prey. Except they weren't in Africa on safari, they were in a cornfield in Corunna, Michigan. Every once in a while, they would get a quick glimpse at the yellow-orange glow just ahead, and then beside them to the left, then to the right. Almost like there were more than one. The glow always disappeared right before they could reach it. Tom and Jimmy were a good four hundred yards into the field now and still constantly tripping over and stepping on, in and around dead animals.

©. 2005