The smell of rotting sickly pumpkin on the autumn breeze is a warning to all, as the infested go unharvested or worse, used as the heads of scarecrows. The writhing infesting vines, wind their way through the makeshift puppet’s stuffed body, animating it. Skittering on all fours through the cornfields, they delight in catching crows, grinding and popping their hollow bones with glee. In time the infested will bloat, dropping their fattened tendrils into the earth. These twisting and lashing roots burrowing deep to mature and wait for the tilling of the fields. Uprooted they take hold in the new harvest and start a new cycle. If disturbed the infested scarecrow will stalk and hunt intruders, keeping it’s territory free of any life, the kills dragged around, soaking the fields in blood. All the better to grow fat little tendrils in.
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