The peasant leaned against the side of his wooden cart, brow furrowed, hand stroking his unkempt salt-and-pepper beard. Before him, sitting at the bottom of a shallow crater in his field, lay a black obelisk. It was a curious thing. It had appeared overnight without a sound; smooth and featureless, it cast no shadow despite the movements of the sun, and when he had worked up the courage to approach it he'd heard things. Whispers. The flapping of distant wings, perhaps. He'd thought to bring his neighbours from the farm down the road, but had decided against it. Instead he'd carried about his business, tending his fields and animals and occasionally stopping to watch the obelisk. Time seemed to slip away as he did, and he'd slowly become further and further behind on his work.
His wife was no help, of course. She'd seen the obelisk, muttered a prayer, and refused to speak of it since. Once he had suggested tying the thing to their ox and hauling it out of the field if it bothered her so, but she'd only glared angrily at him over their supper.
Sighing, the farmer turned away from the mysterious object and headed home, pulling the cart behind him. The sun beat down, and although the breeze was warm and dry it was refreshing nonetheless.
As he neared the farmhouse, he noticed that the same strange birds that had circled above for some time now still soared above. He thought that they might be crows, although something about them made him feel uneasy. Shrugging aside the feeling, he picked up his pace.
Inside, he hung his hat near the door and headed off to find his wife and ask her if she still needed help fixing the shutter for the back window. Reaching the bedroom door, he stopped. Something thick and black like pitch was oozing out from underneath the door. Knocking loudly, he asked, "Dear? Are ye alright in there?"
No reply. Knocking again more loudly, he repeated his question. Silence.
Grasping the handle firmly and pushing the door open, his jaw slowly went slack.
Shadows clung to every surface of the room, impossibly thick and pitch black. A multitude of white eyes turned to face him, and between and beneath the shadows he could see the body of a woman stretched across the bed.
The farmer slammed the door shut.
There wasn't a sound.
As he trudged away from the farmhouse carrying a pack stuffed full with food and supplies, he felt a shiver go down his spine despite the heat. Hesitating, he turned to look behind him.
A vast, thin shape of utter darkness reached into the sky above his house, watching him leave with wide, staring eyes. As he watched it in turn, the shadow hunched over and began to root about in the house with one long, gaunt limb, maintaining eye contact the whole while.
The peasant turned around and didn't look back.
Around him, the dirt road stretched off into the distance, grass waving slowly in the breeze to either side.
Idly, he tried to remember the last time the sun had set, and failed.