Argent light shone from the moon on a figure clad in plaid and gore. It shambled through the dried husks of corn that littered the ground of the maze. The fallen leaves on the ground let out dehydrated crackles as the mound of straw stumbled its way in worn leather boots. A rankness filled the air of the cool Autumn night. The dampness of the oncoming dew was ripe with the smell of rotting flesh and wet hay. A torn piece of the flannel the figure wore slid down the thing’s right shoulder as it moved mindlessly in search of a victim. Entrails tailed behind the moving horror. Crimson stains marked the path of where it had been. 

Whatever this thing was, it had no face. It had no nose, no ears, no mouth. The expressionless beast stalked through the fairground attraction with remarkable quickness for something with no eyes, something that shouldn’t be able to see. 

A ragged breath came from somewhere inside the rows of corn. Dark eyes flashed with fear as a man crouched near the ground studied the creature in excruciating curiosity. No matter how hard he tried, the man could not take his eyes away from the beast in front of him. 

The man unconsciously shifted his weight ever so slightly to view the thing more clearly. A bone chilling crunch resounded through the air and the man froze as he  moved his weight from his right foot to his left. But it was too late. The scarecrow had heard him, and it turned its sightless face toward the man’s shaking figure.

Somber clouds, gray with coming rain, drifted in the sky. The horizon was an ombre of pinks and yellows and oranges as the sun glittered its way down past the edge of the horizon. A crowd of solitary figures stood huddled in the center of a field filled with headstones. Light was captured by the black velvet attire all of them had felt the need to wear. It was only right, was it not? It was only right to honor the dead with garbs made up of droll shades of black and pristine collars. 

If the crowd was honest with themselves, they could barely remember the name of the woman that had passed. Had it not been for the headstone in front of them the crowd would’ve been at a complete loss for words. They had shown up, not out of respect, but rather the feeling that they had to. For what would the neighbors think of them otherwise?

From inside a heavy cover of mist a woman sat on the ground weeping. She was not dressed like the others. Her clothes were a living swirl of vibrancy that would have left spots in someone’s eyes if they stared too long. Her youthful face was a mask of beauty without a hint of makeup. Yet still she wept. 

A man with a kind smile stood over the back of the woman. He was dressed in a sweater and jeans that reflected the fall that was now in full swing, though he wore no shoes.

The woman cried out at the people surrounding her. The people she had tried to instill with joy for all her life. Yet on the day of her wake, none of them smiled. None of them laughed. None of them wore the vibrant colors she so desperately loved. So she wept. And the man behind her waited.