Forget Everything You’ve Heard About Near Death Experiences, What Happened To Me Is So Much More Upsetting

The kid suddenly got a smug look in his eyes, “I guess you need my help, huh?”

I nodded, “Yes, please, something happened to me. I don’t think I’m supposed to be here.”

The kid snorted and crossed his little arms over his bare chest, “Ob-vi-ously.”

I suddenly felt inexplicably irritated at this weird little corn boy and so I reached out and pinched his fat cheek, “Hey don’t get smart with me you little weirdo.”

“OW!” The kid cried, jerking his head away, an exaggerated display of pain shocking his face. He rubbed his cheek with stubby fingers and glared at me, “Don’t do that!”

I started to laugh, the shock and bizarre shift in realities flooding my mind with confused and panicked madness. And so I laughed, unable to help myself.

“Oh man,” I said, wiping a tear from my eye, “I’m sorry kid…really. This is just…well…really weird for me.”

The kid was still massaging his pizza dough cheek, “You’re really weird. You don’t even have any stalks on you.”

I stared down at my bare arms, “What are they? What are the stalks? What are you people?”

The kid sniffed, and turned his almost too-big head away from me, “Hmph!”

I suddenly flapped my thumb against my pointer finger in a pinching motion, “Hey, don’t make me squeeze your fat little cheek again.”

The kid turned back to me, stomping his foot, “I’m not FAT!”

“Here it comes,” I said, floating my fingers closer.

The kid suddenly burst out laughing, giving in, “Ok. OK!”

I lowered my hand.

The kid pointed at himself, “My name’s Bip.”

I bit my lip, trying not to explode with laughter, “Bip…?”

The kid picked up on my mocking tone, “Oh yeah? What’s your dumb name?”

I fought to regain control of myself and managed to get out my name, “I’m Jack.”

The kid, Bip, sneered at me, “What a stoooooopid name.”

I felt like slapping his squished, tiny fat face, but instead jerked a thumb over my shoulder, “And what’s all this? Where am I? Who are all those corn people?”

Bip sighed, “Those are all my parents and that big one turning the sun is Molzroth. He keeps the sun alive so the world doesn’t die before Harvest.”

“Harvest?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow.

The kid nodded, taking on an authoritative tone, probably mimicking how he thought adults talked, “Yeah, when I grow big enough I’ll be planted down there with the rest of them. And then the Crow will come and feed us.”

I held up a hand, “Hold on kid, you’re losing me.”

Bip waved a little hand at me, “The Crows spray us for the Harvest. That’s how we know it’s time. After that, all those parents down there-,” he leaned in now, motioning for me to come closer, his voice dropping to a whisper, “-they all have sex.”

I blinked, “What?”

Elias Witherow

Elias is a prolific author of horror fiction. His books include The Third Parent, The Black Farm, Return to the Black Farm,and The Worst Kind of Monsters.

“Growing up reading the works of King, admiring the art of Geiger, and knowing fiends like Pinhead left me as a pretty jaded horror fan today. It takes a lot to get the breath to hitch in my throat and the hair on the back of my neck to stand on end.. My fiance is quite similar, so when he eagerly begged me to let him read me a short story about The Black Farm by Elias Witherow, I knew it had to be good... And I was not dissapointed. Elias has a way of painting a picture that you can feel with all your senses and plays the tunes of terror created when our world meets one much more dark and forces you to keep turning the pages hungry for more.” —C. Houser

Death had other plans for us.

The Farm is in ruins. The Pig has vanished. Everything Nick loves hangs in the balance unless he can find a way to make things right. But at what cost?

Plunge into the darkness with Return To The Black Farm, a new book by prolific horror author, Elias Witherow. Published by Thought Catalog Books.

Read The Book

More From Thought Catalog