Baked Scribe Flashback : Jenglot

 

They looked like fingers.

It was the only thought that ran through Braidon’s head as he bent down to examine the objects protruding up out of the ground, centered perfectly between two rows of corn. They weren’t any kind of weed or root that he had ever seen, nothing growing around them, or any sign that anything had been buried there recently. It looked like four fingertips, just breaking the surface of the ground, as if something was clawing its way out from underneath.

Whatever they were, he couldn’t leave them just sitting there, having no idea what they were doing to the soil quality. He dug down around the thing with his hand, grabbed it, and pulled.

He wasn’t even aware of falling down onto the ground from the shock of seeing the thing that crawled up, out of the ground. It was like a demonic garden gnome, the tiny hand was held tightly in his grip as it struggled to free itself. It screamed out, a high pitched sound that made his ears pop, and suddenly its other hand swept up and raked sharp claws across his arm. Braidon yelled out and released the thing. It tumbled to the ground, somehow landing on its feet, and he finally got a good look at what he had just extracted from his field.

It stood about two feet tall, with wild tufts of graying hair sprouting out of its head like some kind of rotting troll doll. The skin was pale and translucent, like brittle paper. Where the eyes should have been, there were black, empty sockets. He was still trying to wrap his mind around the sight of the thing when, from somewhere inside its ragged clothing, it produced a long dagger and charged.

Without giving himself time to think, Braidon kicked the thing like it was a football, lofting it about a dozen feet across the field where it crashed through some thick corn stalks and landed. It had managed to keep hold of the dagger but seemed disoriented from the impact. Braidon turned to run back to the house, already picturing the shotgun which hung over the fireplace. Before he could get more than a few feet, something grabbed his leg. He tripped, falling forward and bit down onto his tongue, causing stars to explode in front of him. He shook his head to look back at what was holding him.

More of the tiny hands were bursting up out of the ground, grabbing at him and clawing through his clothes. He yelled, trying to stand, and tripped again. As he fell, four more of the things leapt up onto him, daggers poised to strike. He tried to kick them off of him, but his legs stopped responding and he was left there, lying flat on his back, looking out over his own field under the repeated thrusts of child-like daggers.