A Harvest Moon Visit

A figment appeared from out of the shadows and drifted over to the urban home on a quiet street, before rapping softly at the bedroom window. It had a face for you to place.

Nameless, but for a hooded figure. Faceless, with blazing white eyes beneath a clocked garment.

Let  me  in, it whispered, softly at first. The sound of rustling leaves on pavement and a cool autumn breeze signaled the approach of winter. In this garden, the light of the moon through the bare branches of the oak tree near its centre outlined the figure standing over the window.

The curtains of the large window in the bedroom swayed left, suddenly, as if to mock gravity itself. Then, as if obeying the wraith's command, they remained fixed in place, forcing the other curtains adjacent to submit to its unseen request.

I was never from this place, this world. This is your doing...

The wraith whispered again in a tone that is now more of a rasp. With the curtains thus aside, a streetlight from some ways pierced through the window and illuminated a spot on the wall by the bed. The hooded figure moved within this spot, invisible.

Just as soon, the lever at the bottom of the awning window creaked and then it snapped to the right. The window promptly burst open, and the howl of the wind outside whirled in. At the far end of the yard, a gate flung shut and rattled within the latch. The echo travelled down the alleyway. A single leaf —  caught up by the renewed force of the wind — blew through the window's opening and rested on a dresser on the opposite end of the bedroom. It rotated in its place, slowly clockwise, as the wind continued to howl outside.

Then a loud thump followed — as though the hardcover of a book had just been slammed on a dresser — and it shook the entire house as well as the floorboards beneath the bed; and the leaf, once contorted and revealing a fair bit of character, was at once flattened and smashed into pieces. The room went silent, and the wind ceased abruptly. All was still and quiet. The man, feeble with age, moaned and drew the quilt up to his chin.

The cloaked figure remerged inside, suddenly. His outline silhouetted through the light of the glowing moon. The eyes within the hood, flickering white, gazed down onto the bed.

Why? The bedridden man started.

The harvest... for the Harvest. Surely, you must know that your time here is up?

Slowly, it raised its ghastly arms to the hood of its cloak and pulled it back. A horse neighed in the far distance as the eyes blazed all the more through a translucent skull.

With a raised skeletal index finger, it pointed at its prey lying in surrender.

Your soul will meet with the others, who have fled for their lives. You will forever wander the circles of damnation.

It motioned forward, and a scythe materialized in its left hand. A blade the length matching the width of the dresser reflected the moonlight into the surroundings. Then, he raised his head slightly and lurched forward just as the bedroom door burst open. A lone ranger, hand on his scabbard, drew his sword at the foot of the bed — and the scythe met its match.

The wraith, taken aback, turned to the ranger and seethed as it spoke, 'How dare you interrupt my collection, you utter fool. I'll see you perish alongside this waste who took the coward's road."

The ranger, holding the drawn blade erect and unflinchingly, spoke in an alien tongue, of which the wraith recognized immediately.

This soul is mine, however, the ranger finished. Releasing the bind, he executed a strike with the silver sword and lopped the head clean off the wraith's shoulders. The blazing eyes extinguished abruptly, and the cloak fell to the floor in a mist.

The neigh of the horse drew near. The gate rattled in the wind once more. The ranger rose and leaned up against his sword, Old man, he said. Do you know what I'm here to do with you? You will ride once more... get up. Your oath is to be fulfilled.