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A lost horror film holds the key to terrifying secrets.
The legends have persisted for decades of a lost horror film starring Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi that was never released. Rumor has it that, for reasons long forgotten, powerful forces suppressed the film and burned all known prints. Nobody now living has seen the finished film. But that might no longer be true…
Film researcher Sandy Allan is invited to a screening of a newly-discovered sole-surviving print, but then the film disappears and the real horror begins. Sandy’s search for the film leads her to Redfield, a rural community known its rich soil, fertilized by blood from an ancient massacre. But Redfield guards its secrets closely, with good reason. During every step of her search, Sandy is watched, shadowed by strange figures. Is it paranoia, or is someone—or something—determined to keep the lost film and the secrets it reveals buried forever?
which she could see nothing intruding on the view of lake and grassy slopes except her car, and then she examined the sketch. She hadn't realized he had finished it. Was it meant to show a mass of vegetation in the shape of a face? If so, what kind of face? All she could identify was the tongue that bulged thirstily from the jagged mouth, unless the tongue was a swollen root, and the stalks that curled upward from the eyes to form horns above the low forehead. She couldn't bring herself to ask
feeding. "He knows our place." His quiet pride sounded like a warning to her to be careful what she said. She emptied her glass and lifted her suitcase. "You just carry on the way you're going," the woman said, opening the porch door for her, "and you'll see Redfield before you know." Sandy made herself as comfortable as possible in the driver's seat and eased the car onto the road. A wind shook the dormant windscreen wipers; the fields surged at her like a wheaten sea. Ripples hundreds of
missed the roof above her, and fell. She saw him fall into the beam of light. His hair blazed like a silver halo. His mouth was gaping, silenced perhaps by the wind of his fall, and yet she thought he saw her and, despite his terror, managed to look unbearably apologetic, as if he wanted her to know that it wasn't her fault she hadn't been in time to reach him. That moment seemed so unreal and so prolonged that she was almost able to believe the light had arrested him somehow, like a frame of
to sense her, they couldn't hear her thoughts. Suddenly the cans of film were flung onto the road behind the car. The echoing crash made her draw a painful breath which she seemed unable to expel while the scarecrow figure blocked her way, its head turning slightly from side to side, its grassy mane waving in the wind, greenish blotches trembling on its cheeks and in one eye. It leaped, and she shrank back, even when she realized it was darting past the car. As she clutched the ignition key she
raised mist from the fields. The dawn itself was muffled, but at least it allowed her to dare to glance around her. As far as she could see, she wasn't being followed, though there was no telling with the fields of wheat around her. Her head throbbed with reaction to all that she'd been through, a throbbing that spread through her body, threatening worse if she relaxed. She couldn't, she hadn't time. The sun rose through the mist, turning the fields red, and she was nearly in sight of