by Daniel Reneau

Created on: September 06, 2009

I was driving through the farmland of northwest Ohio, on the narrow highways of neglect. It was in this forsaken land that I came to an old building standing two stories high. This building stood on the corner of Wetzel and Rumble. The windows had been boarded up some time before and multiple pad locks guarded the door from entry. An instant obsession took hold of me as I gazed at the elder structure. I could feel a pull on my consciousness from within the brick walls.

So it was that I had stared mesmerized upon the farmer's construction. A sinking feeling of dread began to permeate the structure and the surrounding area. In fear I returned to my car and drove off for the nearest town. I came into Van Wert and struck a conversation with a young man at the filling station. I had asked him if he knew of the building on the corner of Wetzel and Rumble, he said he knew of it and what the old men whisper of. He told me of the shadowy rites of the farmers. How they had brought some of the things from pagan Europe and kept them locked up under the building. "When things stir in the moonlight, that no man can spy, we forget what we saw; in fear of what we seen."

I departed and found a room in a local hotel. I could feel the undertow of some ancient blaspheme tugging on my mind. I could not sleep, and found solace gazing upon the full moon. The night past by and morning came over the horizon to greet my weary face.

The denizens of the area were of the old German, Dutch, Scott, and Irish stock. Myths from the old world had died out with the elders, but in some clandestine fashion something had survived and was sealed up in the farmland. I had decided to drive back out of the town and to the old building. When I reached the place I noticed a farmer harvesting his crop. I called for the old man, and he ceased his work. I asked him of the building, and a burning stare came from his eyes. "What would a city boy like you want to know about that old place?" he asked in a stern voice. Without time to answer he continued "You best leave before some of the others catch wind of your snooping around." I decided to leave the old man to his toil.

I had decided to return after dark, a patch of woods stood tall over the land to the west. I could hide and watch from the safety of the trees. When night fell I drove my auto into the woods and partially covered it with fallen limbs. I stood watch at the eastern edge with my scope. I observed, in the moonlight, farmers gathering at the old building. I could not observe them entering the building due to the door was on the east facing side. Soon all was still under the harvest moon and silence echoed over the flat land. I decided to venture over to the building and listen for any knowledge of what was sealed within. I made my way across the field and creeped up to the building; echoes from inside told of some alien rite from some far land. I could not make-out the words spoken by the bucolic practitioners inside. I produced my knife and cut away at one of the boards covering the windows. I removed enough to see in, but I wish I could forget what I saw.

Some things should stay unknown, especially those done under the moon of November Eve. I dare not tell what had met my gaze through the window, but I recognized it from the Utenrikssakerbok of the Scandinavian occultist Ketill of Helseggen. I fear what the harvest moon brings to the lands of toil. Places that would not produce crops can with the guidance of those things. If it ever got out, woe to the world.

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