Let me tell you about the Ealsealf.
To an outsider they were just tall bundles of leftover crops that hadn't been caught up at harvest and had since gone to rot. They were mixed with mud and strong smelling herbs that were meant to keep cattle away from the motorways.
The fields were full of Ealsealf come late summer to early autumn and they stank like something long dead. Sometimes you could scarcely see the grass for all the Ealsealf gathered together and the wind rustling through them sounded like old men whispering.
In school we just called them Strawmen and knew they were more than they seemed.
Especially the ones that were propper up by thick sticks.
Everyone had seen one move at some point and we all knew when they were safe to be around. We even had names for the recurring ones, though our elders always said they were remade every year from rotting crops and couldn't possibly be alive.
What did they know?
They weren't around when Ethel fell into one and it swallowed her whole. They never saw it writhe and distort until rough straw became her crying face. They just said she ran away from a rough home and pretended that her face wasn't there every year after, always crying an always slowly moving towards the closest person.
It's been almost fifty years since then and without fail she's out there with all the other faces, who have all gone missing. In a dark moment I thought burning her would set her free but now her crying has been replaced with rage.
I'm careful but I know I'll slip up one day and join the Ealsealf.
I wonder if I'll replace Ethel.
To an outsider they were just tall bundles of leftover crops that hadn't been caught up at harvest and had since gone to rot. They were mixed with mud and strong smelling herbs that were meant to keep cattle away from the motorways.
The fields were full of Ealsealf come late summer to early autumn and they stank like something long dead. Sometimes you could scarcely see the grass for all the Ealsealf gathered together and the wind rustling through them sounded like old men whispering.
In school we just called them Strawmen and knew they were more than they seemed.
Especially the ones that were propper up by thick sticks.
Everyone had seen one move at some point and we all knew when they were safe to be around. We even had names for the recurring ones, though our elders always said they were remade every year from rotting crops and couldn't possibly be alive.
What did they know?
They weren't around when Ethel fell into one and it swallowed her whole. They never saw it writhe and distort until rough straw became her crying face. They just said she ran away from a rough home and pretended that her face wasn't there every year after, always crying an always slowly moving towards the closest person.
It's been almost fifty years since then and without fail she's out there with all the other faces, who have all gone missing. In a dark moment I thought burning her would set her free but now her crying has been replaced with rage.
I'm careful but I know I'll slip up one day and join the Ealsealf.
I wonder if I'll replace Ethel.
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