The sugarcane field was older than memory. It stretched for miles, a rustling green sea that whispered even when the wind was dead.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Locals said the soil was cursed—too rich, too dark, too wet. Crops grew fast, too fast. The cane stalks were thick as wrists, and the air always smelled faintly of molasses and something else. Something sour.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Jesse had come back to the farm after his brother disappeared.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;One minute, Caleb was texting about the harvest. The next, nothing. No calls. No sightings. Just his truck parked at the edge of the field, door open, keys dangling.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;That was three days ago.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Now Jesse stood at the same edge, machete in hand, sweat slicking his back despite the cool dusk. The cane loomed in front of him like a wall. He stepped in.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The stalks closed behind him.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;At first, it was just the usual unease. The field distorted sound. His boots crunched on dry leaves, but the noise felt distant, like it belonged to someone else. The cane was too tall. Too thick. It blocked the sky. Jesse kept walking, slashing a path, calling his brother’s name.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“Caleb!”&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Nothing.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Then the smell changed.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;It was still sweet, but cloying now. Like syrup left out too long. Like something fermenting.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Jesse paused. The air shimmered. A low hum vibrated through the stalks—not wind, not insects. Something deeper. Subsonic.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;He turned.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;There was movement. Not cane. Not wind. Something else.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Jesse ran.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;He didn’t know why. Instinct. The kind that bypasses thought. He hacked through the cane, lungs burning, heart hammering. The stalks blurred. The hum grew louder. It was inside his skull now, rattling his teeth.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Then he saw it.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;A clearing.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;He burst into it, panting, and froze. The ground was wrong. It pulsed.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The soil was slick and veined, like muscle. The cane here was twisted, blackened, oozing sap that steamed in the air. And in the center—&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Caleb.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Or what was left.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;He was fused to a stalk, arms outstretched, eyes wide and milky. His chest was split open, ribs peeled back like petals. Something moved inside. Something wet.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Jesse screamed.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The cane screamed back.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;It erupted from the stalks. Tall. Thin. Wrong. Its limbs bent the wrong way. Its skin was translucent, veined with glowing blue fluid. Its face was a mess of tendrils and wet clicking mandibles. It didn’t walk. It flowed.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Jesse ran again. The field shifted. Paths closed.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Stalks bent toward him, grabbing, slashing. He tripped, rolled, scrambled. The hum was deafening now. It wasn’t sound. It was thought. Pressure. A message: You are food.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;He found the old irrigation trench by accident. It was shallow, half-collapsed, but it gave him cover. He crawled through it, gagging on the smell—rot, blood, something metallic. The hum faded slightly. The creature didn’t follow.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Not yet.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Jesse clutched his machete. His hands shook. He thought of Caleb. Of the way his chest had opened like a flower. Of the thing inside.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;He had to get out.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;But the field didn’t want that. Hours passed. Or minutes. Time bent in the cane.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Jesse found a patch of burned stalks. Blackened. Dead. The air was clearer here. He collapsed, gasping, and saw something glinting in the dirt.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;A camera.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Caleb’s.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;He flipped it on. The last video was timestamped two days ago.&nbsp;&nbsp;It showed Caleb walking through the field, laughing, talking about the harvest. Then the hum started. The camera shook. Caleb screamed. The lens caught a glimpse of the creature—just a blur, a shimmer, a wet clicking sound.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Then static. Then a voice. Not Caleb’s.Not human: We grow in sweetness. We bloom in rot.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Jesse dropped the camera.&nbsp;&nbsp;The creature found him again at dawn. It didn’t make noise. It didn’t need to.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The cane bent toward it, welcoming. Jesse ran, but the field betrayed him. Paths twisted. Stalks lashed. He slashed wildly, screaming, until he stumbled into another clearing.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;This one was worse.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Bodies.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Dozens.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Fused to cane. Split open. Blooming. The creature stepped into the clearing. Jesse turned to fight. It didn’t flinch. It moved too fast.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The machete hit its arm and sank in—but the flesh closed around it, absorbing the blade. Jesse screamed. The creature grabbed him.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Its tendrils wrapped around his skull. The hum became a scream.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;He woke in the dirt.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Alone.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The creature was gone. The cane was quiet. Jesse stood, shaking, and realized something was wrong.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;His hands. They were veined with blue. His skin shimmered. He felt… sweet.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;He ran. He didn’t know where. The field shifted again, but he found the edge. The truck. The road. He collapsed on the gravel, sobbing.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;A farmer found him hours later.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Jesse didn’t speak. He just stared at the cane.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;At the way it rustled. At the way it whispered.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;They burned the field a week later. The fire turned the stalks to ash, but the soil remained. Wet. Veined. Sweet.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Jesse never recovered. He stopped eating. Stopped sleeping. He said the sweetness was inside him now. That it was growing. That it wanted to bloom.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;They found him in his bathtub. Split open. Ribs peeled back. Smiling.&nbsp;&nbsp;The cane grew back the next spring, faster than ever. Sweeter than ever. And deep in the stalks, something clicked. Something hummed. Something bloomed.

SOMETHING OUT THERE

L_Christopher_Hennessy

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SOMETHING OUT THERE

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Luke Christopher Hennessy

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