This is for the Daily Post prompt.
The wheat field stretched forever. Before me, its golden mass trembled in the light breeze like the thick fur of a sleeping animal, lying in the sun. Behind, my shadow cast a long, dark smear and where it ended, the mists began. No sound disturbed the silence. I strained my ears and heard only the rattling of ripe grains and the faint brushing of the whiskery heads. No birds sang; no rodents scuttled unseen among the stalks.
I took a step forward, and my shadow followed, dragging the mists behind it. Although I hated the idea of crushing the ripe wheat, the oppression of the misty wall at my back left me no choice. I strode out, confidence rising as the sound of cracking stalks broke the silence. I hummed a tune, my eyes fixed on the bright horizon, until another sound insinuated itself between the vibrating notes of the tune and the crunching underfoot. The tune faltered and died.
Low at first, but gaining in volume, the mist was growling. The golden light dimmed and tendrils of smoke were curling around my shadow, pulling it into the swirling obscurity and the arms of the sinister forms taking shape within.