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

“Something like that,” Bip said, turning back to watch the continuous orgy below us. “But that wouldn’t be enough. Did something happen to you?”

I raked a hand through my hair, “I don’t know…I think I was in a car accident right before I woke up here.”

Bip snapped his little fingers, “That explains it!”

“What do you mean?”

Bip chuckled, “I think you’re almost dead.”


Bip groaned, “Stop yelling. You’re not dead or you would have gone to your assigned afterlife since you’re from one of the big four.”

“But you said-”

Bip held up a finger, “I said you’re almost dead. Your soul was pulled here because it doesn’t know where to go right now. You’re in-between. And since you’ve had Cog 7 pulling at your mind your whole life, you woke up here. For now.”

“How do you KNOW where I’m from?” I practically screamed.

Bip signed patiently, “Because we’ve had another from your world end up here, a long time ago. He looked like you. Except he didn’t have a dumb name like Jack.”

“And you remember that?! Just how old are you?”

Bip sniffed, “Old? You mean how many Harvests am I? Seventy-six.”

My jaw dropped.

“Look,” Bip continued, “This is all very unimportant right now. Just sit back and watch the show. You’ll either wake up in your world soon or your soul will be sent along to where it’s supposed to go, ok?”

I felt madness crash into my skull like falling trees, each one more thunderous than the last, bringing with them cracks in my psyche. How could any of this be possible? How could reality ripple so broadly beyond the one I knew? And yet here I was, watching thousands of corn people fornicate beneath a machine sun.

I collected myself as best I could, shuffling reason and order back into their respective slots, and turning my eyes back to the Crow. It was disappearing into the horizon, leaving in its wake a trail of squirming, squirting, seizing sex slaves.

As the procession continued, I watched with upsetting fascination as the corn people began to jerk and shudder, their bodies suddenly bloating. They pulled themselves off one another and lay down side by side in the dirt, clasping hands.

“Baby time,” Bip giggled, rubbing his chunky hands together.

The corn people continued to bloat, like balloons filling with air, and then from between their legs, something began to emerge. Against my better judgment, I shaded my eyes and looked closer at one of the couples, and what they were birthing.

It was a piece of corn, protruding from a swollen orifice just below their genitalia. The bloating traveled through the canal and I saw a head of corn attached to a motionless child, just a little smaller than Bip. I couldn’t believe they could pass through without ripping something, but none the less, shoulders slipped through, then arms, then legs, finally to flop out of their parents to lay unmoving on the ground.


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

More From Thought Catalog

blog comments powered by Disqus