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the gate. “Mr MacFarlane,” he whispered. The darkness was absolute and there didn’t seem to be anyone there. “Mr MacFarlane,” he whispered again, louder this time. Still no one.
    The wood of the gate felt rough under his hands and he wondered frantically what to do. If he shouted, he’d scare the people off and yet he couldn’t tackle them on his own. Maybe Mr MacFarlane had gone into the farmhouse …
    Neil was halfway over the gate when the moon appeared from among the clouds, lighting the cornfield in its silvery gleam. He froze and, moving slowly so as not to attract attention, turned to see if he could see how many people were in the field; for the swishing, swooshing noise was now quite distinct.
    As his eyes scanned the scene, he choked back a gasp of surprise for as far as he could see, there was no one there at all. The moonlight lit the field quite clearly and from his perch on the gate, he could see over its entire expanse. And it was scary; for although there was no one there, the wheat was alive with movement, swaying gently in places as though involved in some elaborate dance. It moved and dipped and flattened itself with no one there to touch it — no one that he could see, at any rate. Neil’s mouth went dry as the corn beside the gate started to move and form fantastic shapes …
    And there are no witches, he thought, suddenly. There are no witches. I’m wearing my firestone and I’d see them if there were. This is magic …
    Hastily he clambered over the top of the gate and ran to the farmhouse. To his relief, he met the farmer coming out of the door.
    “What’s up, Neil? Is there someone in the field?”
    Neil shook his head. “There’s no one in the field,” he whispered , his voice shaking with excitement. “The crop’s moving on its own …”
    Jimmy MacFarlane heard the alarm in Neil’s voice and grasped him reassuringly by the arm. “Calm down, laddie,” he whispered. “Let’s go and see.”
    As they approached the gate, however, the moon sailed behind the clouds once more and the blackness of night covered the field.
    “If you come into the field you can see where the crop’s been flattened,” Neil whispered urgently, for he didn’t want Jimmy MacFarlane to think him a silly town kid, afraid of the dark.
    “I can do better than that, Neil,” came the grim answer. “Just wait here.”
    MacFarlane turned to the huge bulk of the combine harvester  that sat by the gate and, climbing into the cab, turned the engine on. The sound shattered the night and all the men in the surrounding fields looked up at the noise of it. They knew immediately what it was.
    Neil had almost had a heart attack at the sudden roar of the engine. Then there was a blaze of light that lit up the whole area. Of course, thought Neil as the farmer jumped down, they need lights so that they can work at night.
    He rushed to the gate and clambered up, standing to get a good view over the field. MacFarlane climbed up beside him and gasped as he realized that the boy hadn’t been imagining things at all. The whole field was moving, and moving with a purpose. He could see patterns taking shape before his eyes without a soul being there to form them.
    Neil was conscious of the rest of the farm workers rushing up in a straggling crowd and heard their cries of amazement as they, too, watched the designs weave themselves among the stalks of the wheat.
    “Look!” Neil shouted in sudden horror. “Look!” he pointed down the field to where the trees verged on the road. “Robbie’s going into the field!”
    Robbie, fascinated by the movement of the wheat, had moved from the shelter of the trees into the crop itself. Gripped by a fearful sense of dread, they watched him as he walked here and there, grasping at the stalks of wheat as they whipped themselves into sweeping curves or flattened themselves to the earth.
    “Get him out of there, Jimmy,” John MacLean said urgently, pushing his way through the