The Harvest Clouds

In the quiet valleys of Eldermoor, the air sometimes shifts in a way that feels alive. Farmers and travelers alike whisper of clouds that shimmer with strange colors—violet, gold, green—and move faster than wind should allow. They appear without warning, rolling over fields, towns, and even highways, and anyone caught beneath them vanishes without a trace. Children dare each other to watch them from afar, but the elders warn that curiosity can be fatal. The clouds do not thunder or rain; they simply drift, and their strange light seems to pulse with a heartbeat of its own.

Witnesses describe an unnatural silence as the clouds approach, a sudden stillness in birds, insects, and even the wind. Farmers tell of sheep and cattle freezing mid-step, eyes wide with terror, as the shimmering veil passes over pastures. Some claim shadows flicker along the edges of the clouds, as if something within observes those below. It is not a storm, but a presence. Those who run report a sudden rush of wind that seems to push them forward, or pull them back, sometimes both at once. When the clouds retreat, the missing are gone, leaving only footprints that vanish into the disturbed soil.

The first recorded incident dates back decades, when a small farming family disappeared near the old mill. Neighbors reported a violet cloud rolling across the valley at dusk. By the next morning, the house was empty. Chairs sat in place, the hearth cold, and fields untouched. Dogs howled and refused to enter the yard. Investigators found no sign of struggle, no footprints beyond the threshold. Only a lingering shimmer in the sky hinted at what had happened. The story spread quickly, though many dismissed it as superstition, until the next cloud claimed more victims, proving that whatever traveled inside the colors was very real.

By the 1970s, reports multiplied. Highway patrols recorded vehicles abandoned on rural roads, each surrounded by a faintly glowing mist. Witnesses described seeing forms within the clouds: shadows that resembled human silhouettes, reaching down as if grasping. Farmers began locking gates, barricading homes, and keeping animals inside at twilight. Children were kept indoors when the clouds appeared on the horizon. One reporter described seeing golden-green clouds pass over a valley, the light reflecting on the river like liquid fire. He swore the shadows inside winked at him, beckoning, before the wind slammed him to the ground. He survived, but he never spoke publicly again.

Those who survived encounters with the clouds speak of strange hallucinations: whispers in voices they do not recognize, naming them by their full names and recounting memories no one else could know. Some claim the sky bends and twists as if folding onto itself. Metal objects hum or vibrate in the presence of the clouds, compasses spin wildly, and electronics fail. People report a metallic scent, like wet iron or ozone, hanging in the air for hours afterward. A sense of being watched lingers for days, and some say the clouds follow, waiting for another night to claim more.

Scientists attempted to study the phenomenon, launching balloons and drones to investigate the strange clouds. Most equipment malfunctioned within seconds. Cameras recorded nothing but swirling colors, distorted and changing shape too fast to comprehend. One drone vanished entirely, leaving no trace beyond a faint shimmer on radar. Meteorologists initially tried to explain it as rare auroras or atmospheric anomalies, but the pattern of disappearances made that impossible. Rural elders laughed at the scientists’ efforts, claiming knowledge passed down through generations: the clouds were alive, hunting for those who lingered too long under open skies, collecting souls for reasons no living person could understand.

Folklore says the clouds only appear during certain lunar phases, though eyewitnesses report them at any time of year. Some scholars believe the clouds are tied to ancient rituals or ley lines, though proof is absent. Travelers who approach valleys warn of strange tingling sensations on the skin, hair standing on end, and shadows flickering in peripheral vision. One hiker recounted that a violet streak passed over him so quickly he barely noticed—but when he blinked, his boots were filled with muddy impressions leading in every direction at once. He fled, but for weeks he could not sleep, haunted by whispers carried in the wind.

The shapes inside the clouds are said to vary. Some appear humanoid, elongated and twisting, while others resemble beasts with eyes that gleam like molten gold. Occasionally, witnesses claim to see familiar faces, lost friends or relatives, beckoning from the shimmering mist. Those who approach the forms too closely often vanish. One old farmer insisted the clouds “take those who think they can bargain,” claiming that even waving or shouting does not save anyone. Instead, the sky seems to swallow them whole, leaving nothing but a faint glow where they last stood.

Folktales describe a method to survive: never watch the clouds for more than a heartbeat. Look away, hide indoors, or seek cover beneath trees. Yet, those who ignore the warnings often find that the clouds can move beneath shelter too, slipping through cracks in doors or thin rooftops. People who survived report a sudden urge to run, a pull toward the clouds, as if something inside wants to drag them into the colors. Attempts to resist are described as exhausting, with the body moving against will. The sky seems to reach down with invisible hands, guiding or dragging the unlucky into its embrace.

By modern times, the clouds have inspired entire towns to change behavior. Farmers keep tractors indoors, schools cancel evening events, and traffic slows whenever the sky darkens unnaturally. Locals call them the “Harvest Clouds,” believing they select victims as one harvest selects grain. Some survivors say that, while the clouds are alive, they are neither evil nor cruel—they are neutral, collecting as a force of nature or fate. Still, the effect is terrifying: disappearances continue, whispers persist, and the metallic taste in the mouth of those who encounter the clouds leaves a lingering unease that cannot be shaken.

Urban explorers have attempted to document the phenomenon, climbing cliffs or flying drones to photograph the clouds. Many returned shaken, cameras melted, lenses warped, and footage indecipherable. One photographer claimed to have captured hundreds of eyes within a green-gold cloud, blinking in unison, yet no one believed him. Some say the clouds are intelligent, studying humans before selecting. Others insist they are remnants of some ancient cosmic event, a force left behind to collect souls. Each new account adds detail, but none explains why certain people vanish and others do not, leaving survivors to speculate endlessly.

Legends tell of people who try to chase the clouds. These fools are never seen again, leaving only equipment and personal belongings scattered in fields or forests. Those who approach too closely report the colors becoming almost hypnotic, voices forming into commands and names, urging them to step forward. Resistance is nearly impossible. Some witnesses describe feeling their bodies detach from their minds, as if pulled through layers of reality. When the clouds depart, all physical evidence disappears: no footprints, no vehicles, no signs of struggle—only the faint shimmer in the morning sky and an overwhelming emptiness where the missing once stood.

Ancient texts unearthed in Europe and Asia reference similar phenomena: “The Taking Clouds,” “The Breath of the Sky,” or “The Harvest of Colors.” Scholars debate whether these are separate events or the same entity migrating across continents. Rituals and warnings exist in almost every culture: never linger beneath a strange cloud, never follow its glow, and never acknowledge shapes within. Failure to obey, according to these texts, leads to inevitable disappearance. Modern researchers dismiss it as mythology, but locals remember the stories every time the sky shimmers in impossible hues.

Some survivors describe partial returns. One farmer vanished beneath a violet cloud and reappeared days later, trembling and mute. He claimed to have seen landscapes impossible to describe: sky rivers, mountains folding into themselves, and faces reaching through the clouds with infinite eyes. He spoke in cryptic phrases, warned against curiosity, and never left the house again. Others have returned only to be haunted: voices whispering their names, shadows lingering in hallways, and the sense of being watched whenever clouds appear. These experiences suggest the clouds may not just take—they may leave fragments of those they collect behind, feeding on fear and memory.

The phenomenon persists today, despite satellite monitoring, meteorology, and advanced technology. Pilots report seeing strange, glowing clouds over remote valleys, often evading radar or appearing and disappearing within minutes. Hikers continue to vanish in national parks, leaving only echoes of their last screams carried on the wind. Even city residents have glimpsed the clouds reflected in glass or puddles, shimmering in impossible colors. Warnings circulate online, but skeptics insist it is mass hysteria. Yet those who disappear are real, and the metallic taste, ozone scent, and vanishing footprints remain proof to those who have witnessed it firsthand.

The Harvest Clouds move without pattern, collecting those caught unaware. Travelers, farmers, hikers, and children remain at risk if they linger beneath the sky’s unnatural hues. Those who survive carry the memory like a curse: the whispers, the shadows, the tugging pull that threatens to reclaim them. No one knows why some are spared, why some vanish, or where the clouds take them. Only one truth remains—when the shimmering clouds appear, curiosity is fatal, and the sky itself hunts, patient and eternal, for the next soul. And in the quiet valleys, locals whisper warnings that no traveler can ever hear enough: never linger under the Harvest Clouds.