The fields had always been a sight to behold. Golden wheat sprawled across acres, waving and dancing in the breeze. Harvest was near and soon the barns would overflow with grains. The storm clouds were gathering together, and the sky merged its evening hues with deep grey.

Wandering through the field was a boy of fifteen years, with hair the color of the crops before him. His long-sleeved shirt irritated his skin, making him scratch the rashes on his forearm. As he squinted to look at the setting sun, lightning flashed in the heavens above.

The light of the sunset made the landscape look beautiful and soft, like a distant memory, fading into a blissful blur.

"Caleb?!" He called out for his twin, his adolescent voice cracking into a squeal.

The boy walked faster and looked up towards the sky. He cursed as his reflexes responded to thunder with a jump. It wasn't long before he felt cool drops wetting his face and hair.

"Caleb, come out this instant! Gabriel will skin us alive if he finds us outside during a storm."

Another golden head poked out at a distance, followed by a brown one. A boy's voice rang back,

"She said that she wanted to see the evening star."

"What is wrong with the both of you?! It's raining and the entire sky is dark. How do you expect to see stars now?"

The other boy quietly observed the sky through the telescope he had brought with him. The girl looked up, smiled sheepishly and said, "It's okay, Caleb. I'll come tomorrow. Barry's right. The weather seems to be quite bad, and I better get home."

"Wait, I found it! Look here Madeleine, it's–"

She kissed him on his cheek and walked off, brown hair whipping against the wind. Her skirt hindered her movement through the mud, and she held up a hand to shield herself from the rain.

Caleb scowled at Barry when he tried to help him with his telescope. The boy backed off and waited.

"Great job Bartholomew, now you've told her to stay away."

"I just told her to go home."

"You never really liked her anyway. Always, every single time she comes over to see me, you manage to mess it up!"

"There is no need to make a mountain out of a molehill, Caleb."

"You're a. . . fine then! When I grow up, I'll marry her and become a world-famous scientist, like Herr Einstein. What will you do about us then, huh? Throw a tantrum? Rat us out to Gabriel?"

"Nothing, actually. She'll probably marry the count's son, or some blueblood."

"I love her, you idiot! There is nothi–"

"How many times do I have to tell you? Dreaming and philosophy will not fill your stomach. And neither would love. If you had actually worked instead of lazing around, we would've been closer to not starving to death in winter."

Caleb huffed and lifted his telescope, careful not to damage it. He waded past Barry into the field and towards the farm house. Barry just stood there, glaring at the wheat.

He could almost hear his mother's voice over the music of the rain, chiding him for losing his temper. The iron ring on his finger felt tighter as he thought about her last days. He twisted and turned it around the red-marked skin; just the way his mother had struggled on her bed while she tried to push baby Maria out into the hands of her first born, Gabriel. The white sheets had turned a murky maroon with the blood seeping into the mattress like rainwater through soil.

He dragged his teeth over his upper lip, and licked the dry skin. His tear glands wished to empty themselves over his burning cheeks. He closed his eyes, and saw the thin woman hanging out their clothes to dry on a line.

She looked over her shoulder, and smiled at him. She was in a better place now. A place free of pain and hunger.

Just why couldn't he remembered her face better?

He felt the rain increase in power and heard a voice behind him; it was Caleb, calling his name from afar.

"Look who's dreaming now! Come on, Barry, it's supper time. I won't wait for you."

He broke into a grin seeing the stupid smile on his twin's face.

"You'll regret saying that. I'll race you to-"

Something caught his eye, and he stopped to look. He noticed a man standing in the wheat field not far away from him, looking at him intently.

The man's trench coat stood at odds with his unkempt hair. His sisters would've proceeded to comb it into obedience if they ever saw that.

"This is private property and trespassers will be prosecuted. Haven't you read the board, you idiot?"

The man's forehead creased as he looked around. Barry bit his tongue when he replayed his words in his mind; his mother had always told him to respect soldiers.

"Excuse me, sir, why don't you come with me? You must be hungry. Come on, the rain's getting heavier."

His lack of response prompted him to move towards the man.

Suddenly, the hair on Barry's body stood upright as the air went cold. The temperature drop was sharp enough for goosebumps to prickle his skin. He saw something lurking behind the tall leaf blades of the crop and disappearing into the shadows with barely a trace. Probably a wolf or a rabid dog, his mind assured him. He had been warned several times against staying out after twilight by both his father and his stepmother.

The wheat leaves cut against the fabric as he hurried forward.

A faint smell wafted through the field, the putrid stench that followed made Barry retch and cough.

That of burning tar.

The man's expression was frustratingly inscrutable as his lips parted to talk. A tug at the bottom of Barry's chest warned him against staying there for longer. He repeated his invitation once more, and steadied his legs for the long sprint home.

A shadow darted in his periphery, and blended into the stalks again, with a gentle brush, that of skin against leaf.

Without further delay, he tore through the field, hoping with all his heart that the man was following him. The wind howled in his ears and the rain felt like glass shards crashing against his skin.

At a distance, he saw a woman standing in the wheat field armed with a whip, whose leather cut through the rain on movement, sound clearly audible even in the heavy downpour. He stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide.

Looking back, he saw the man frozen to his spot. He screamed something, but the wind drowned his voice.

With every crack of the woman's whip, lightning lashed across the grey sky. In the light that blazed the heavens, her figure became clear. It was deathly pale skin all over, with a torso that seemed to be coated in a black substance, laced with liquid fire.

Tar, he realised, burning tar.

Her flowing hair was bushy and long, defying gravity in their erect waving. Another flash of lightning revealed that the lush mane wasn't hair. The locks were one thick cluster of rye, stalks braided together, matured and ready for reaping.

Barry stifled a scream. He had been warned of her, but he wasn't the one to believe in fairytales about evil spirits.

A Roggenfrau.

A Rye Dame.

What was she doing in a wheat field?

He was answered by the sound of a whip cracking, and his legs responded by changing their course, carrying him across as fast as they could, hoping to get out in time. The lady screamed in an unearthly language, the syllables distorted and harsh in every word.

Barry felt his feet slowing down.

He couldn't move; his feet wouldn't budge through the crops. He struggled through the golden ring that moved along with him, legs being held by plants as he progressed, their stems interlocking with his feet, their roots grounding him firmly.

Looking around and far away, he saw a man swinging his lantern, illuminating the field as he screamed his name, voice hoarse in the rain,

"Barry?"

"Gabriel!" He cried. The voice didn't leave his throat, as if it too were paralyzed with fear. The light of the lantern blazed for one last time, till it dimmed and faded into the thick fog that robbed his vision.

His ears compensated and picked up each noise that punctuated the eerie silence. He heard the rustling of a thousand leafblades, and the rattle of a thousand grains.

The boy felt his lungs being seared by the stench of burning flesh and new asphalt.

He heard the crack of a whip and saw a flash of light, one that burned through his eye sockets.

His lips went silent and so did his heart.