The Harvest Lord

The full Harvest Moon illuminated the fields stretched before me, wheat glistening gold in the amber glow. This night though, was for the harvest of souls, not grain. The moonlight made something else shine bright; the scythe I weilded. The simple farmer's tool, a most ordinary implement. And yet it was so much more in my hand.
There was no warmth, in fact a fell breeze heralded my arrival. For this was my night, and I was the Harvest Lord. Once, so long ago that I did not remember, and only legends did, I had been a farmer myself. I had sown and reaped year after year, taking great care in my work. And then my fields and barns were burned. Burned by jealous competitors, taking the presence of the harvest moon as their signal to undo me.
And they had. For a full year. The fall to nothing but my last leftover, half forgotten bag of seeds had been enough to ruin my mind. Even that would not be enough to feed the small family I had. And so, I'd sent them away. Away from me, away from the cruelty of the village that we had so kindly provided for for so long. They had turned their back to us, a collection of traitors and fools. Where I'd sent my family, they'd never know suffering again, no cruelty at the hands of two-faced fiends.
With nothing left to hinder me then, I'd waited for the amber moon once more. I'd sharpened my scythe nearly every day in anticipation; the edge as sharp as my focus on revenge. The last warm rays of summer never touched my palid skin on those last days, they said. I was simply sitting, waiting. And then, the bracing breeze came, the leaves quaked as they shrivled, and at long last, the ghastly glow rose into the sky, its cold beams filling me with new life.
I'd stepped out, breathing in the acrid stentch of my still raised fields. I hadn't even bothered to ever clear the last fetid stalks from the land, letting them be reclaimed. The smell fueld my hated now. At first I'd not been able to look out without rage, but rage was not the emotion of a level headed man. No no. I'd practiced to calm and taper that rage to a razor edge of hate.
I'd started to hum, "The Farmer's Boy" the words intoned in my mind. "The sun went down beyond yon hill, across the dreary moor... I'd walked down the dirt path past my once proserpous fields, still humming Weary and lame a boy there came up to the farmer's door but setting my sights on the dwindling last lights of the town. They would all pay that night. They'd destroyed me, my family, all of them. No one had cared, so why should I care for a single one of them? And yet I did; I cared to end them. It was an all consuming hatred, a need before I could join my wife in whatever afterlife we were given.
Centuries passed, and here again the night played the same acts as it did every year. I swore each year I saw my wife's beautiful face in that glowing moon, saddness bearing down with those cold beams of light. I never got to join her. For my revenge I'd been changed into an entity attached to this mortal realm. But only by the barest tendrils, and only when the Harvest Moon rose once more was I allowed back to my fields and home. Now I harvested those foolish enough to cause mischeif beyond that of fun, the troublemakers with no thought for those they might harm.
This night was full of them, those fools whooping and howling as they brought misfortune to so many that showed them so much kindness. And they did it all in my name, to see if the legends were true, or to evoke me for their own unholy ends. I smiled now, the ghoulish pale lips cracking across my face. I dropped my scythe to the bear earth at my feet, dragging it behind me as I went to search for my due harvest. They were asking for me after all. And it fed me. Nourished me. Just as my hate had in my life.
To reap and sow... to plough and mow... the stark wind carried my voice, the rasp of a long inhuman throat, to the village where more lights quickly snuffed at my approach To be a farmer's boy... to be a farmer's boy.... The breeze helped a few street lamps on their way to enveloping the village in darkness. "The boy that was, now farmer is.. he smiles and thinks with joy... the edge of my scythe glinted as I raised it, eager to reap our first soul this season. Gravity pulled it wickedly fast, and a sickening thunk into his back was heavy enough that I knew without looking the life-light was quickly leaving his eyes. The tools of an arsonist fell from his hands, and I smiled. My favorite to reap. And then I moved on, intoning once more as I walked on my long night's way. "That lucky day he came that way to be a farmer's boy, to be a farmer's.. boy..." Sic. Thud.