Sundews of Autumn

Sundews are plants that trap prey in sticky hairs on their leaves. Long tentacles protrude from their leaves, each with a sticky gland at the tip. The droplets look like dew glistening in the sun. The glands produce powerful adhesives to trap and enzymes to digest their prey.

Autumn will forever haunt my memory, should I live long enough. Though the days grew shorter and the evenings brought a chill to the air, it was neither the encroaching winter nor the solitude of the countryside that unsettled my spirit.

It is what happened four days ago in the remote valley below Virginia City, which has left an indelible mark on my soul. In the heart of that desolate landscape, where the rolling hills seem cloaked in a perpetual shroud of mist, there is a pasture known to the locals as a place of peculiar happenings.

A rancher spoke in hushed tones of strange occurrences and inexplicable phenomena, but in my naive arrogance, I dismissed his tale as mere superstition. With this mindset, I ventured into the valley one blustery morning, determined to prove the old legends false.

The wind howled through the trees, sending leaves skittering across the ground like restless spirits. As I made my way to the pasture, a sense of unease settled over me, though I stubbornly pressed on.

What I witnessed that day defied all logic and reason, plunging me into a nightmare I failed to awaken from. I must now recount the horrors I endured in the hope that someone might understand the gravity of my plight.

And so, I write this letter as a man confined not by walls but by dread. It has been four days since I last stepped outside, and I fear I may never do so again. The creature that awaits me—a thing of leaves—has claimed my freedom, and I am helpless against it.

It began when I ventured into the pasture despite the wind tugging insistently at my coat. I saw the flock of sheep grazing peacefully below, their shepherd guiding them with care. The valley seemed untouched by the strange force stirring the air. But then, I noticed a carpet of leaves rolling in the distance, caught in an unnatural current.

As I watched, the leaves lifted from the earth and spiraled upward, transforming into a cyclone of color. It grew taller, more menacing, and descended upon the shepherd and his flock. The vortex swallowed the man and his scream, consuming half the sheep, with the rest fleeing in a terrified stampede.

The sight rooted me in place, my heart pounding in my chest. But when the leaves began moving toward me—toward the hillside where I stood—I found the strength to run. I ran faster than ever back to the safety of my home, slamming and bolting the door behind me.

The creature did not follow me inside but made its presence known. All night, I heard the leaves scratching at my door, scraping against the windows, circling the house as if testing for weakness. When I dared to peek outside, the yard held leaves of vibrant reds, oranges, and yellows, an impossibility since my yard is treeless.

Since then, I have remained trapped. Each time I glance through the window, it is there—a shifting, writhing mass of leaves waiting for me to make a mistake. My food is running low, but hunger is nothing compared to the terror of stepping outside.

What the thing wants or why it has chosen me, I have not a clue, but I feel its malice, its intent to devour. I am writing this, hoping that someone will understand what has happened, though I cannot expect anyone to believe me.

There is a monster here, and it will not let me leave. If I am never again seen, know I did not go of my own accord.