The Wheatman

Mark was making his rounds as he always did since he signed up as security for the Jango farm. But it is the large family house on the farm that Mark was employed to secure.

He had his large black sweater on that dark cold night. The one that said “SECURITY” on the back. He held his Maglite torch in his left hand. He liked this torch because it could serve as light and baton at once.

But Mark thought the torch’s glare was too small to see through the darkness on the farm, especially on the wheat field left of the farmhouse. During the day, it was an eternal stretch of brown grasses, but at night, the grasses seemed to grow taller, and they always waved even on still nights.

Surprisingly, he was the only one who ever noticed they waved. Jango had said the field of wheat was alive. He’d meant it as a joke but Mark felt it was true. Sometimes, he would feel eyes staring at him among the grasses, and when he flashed his torch to see, he would find nothing but wheat stalks dancing on a still night.

As he walked past the kitchen, he saw Mrs. Jango. The woman’s eyes always looked at him with such pity. As though she’d seen a future grave and dreary for him. She looked at him again as she did the dishes; her gray eyes sallow above bags of wrinkled skin and ringed by blackness. Mark nodded at her and walked on.

He reached the edge of the wheat field and flashed his torch over the expanse. There was nothing, just the usual grass… and then there was something.

There was a man far in the field. A man in a wide-brim hat.

Mark flashed his torch, but it always seemed to malfunction when he pointed at the man. “Hey, who is there?” he yelled.

There was no answer from the figure.

Suddenly, he felt a hand as cold and hard as a bag of ice clasp on his shoulder. He swirled around but breathed in relief when he saw it was Jango.

“What are you staring at?”

Mark cocked head in the man’s direction.

“Oh,” Jango waved in dismissal. “That is Jimmy. He comes around occasionally, but he’s no bother. Let him be. Go on, patrol somewhere else.”

Mark nodded and walked away from the farm. An hour later, he was making his rounds when he noticed the man with a hat was still on the wheat farm, among the grasses, and at the same spot as earlier.

“Hey, who is there?”

But he got no answer from the man in a wide-brimmed hat. So, he stepped into the wheat field, walked over to the man in the middle of the farm, and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Hey, I am talking to you.”

When the man turned, Mark saw that he had empty eye sockets, lipless teeth, and a hollow nose.

The next morning, there was a new scarecrow on the farm. It wore a large black sweater that said “SECURITY” on the back.