  The headaches were becoming more frequent since that day in the park. Apirin was a joke to them. It took away the stabbing of the pain, but left the dull agony like someone bashing his head with a lead pipe. There was nothing for it but sleep now. Sleep always made the pain go. He washed his face with cold water and brushed his teeth, but he moved to quickly standing up from the sink.
A throbbing began behind his eyes like a raging beast trying to escape the confines of his skull. He staggered from the blinding white out of it. Slowly he regained his composure and slid into his sheets. They were cold and inviting, just the way he liked them, but he could not enjoy their luxury. He closed his eyes and sleep pounced upon him. He was awake suddenly!
Images jumbled in his groggy consciousness. The moon full like tonight. A girl, fourteen maybe fifteen. A cornfield. The dark figure of a man. Oh, God!
What had he done to her! The tears welled up as his mind began to sort the collage of frightening images. He gagged at what he saw. Tonight's pizza began to seem like a mistake. The smell of sweet perfume, fruity in the midnight air. It mingled with the earthy scent of corn growing in a field.
He saw the breath of the figure silouetted against the moon. He stood over the girl like a promise of evil, and a smile crept across his face. The lurching in his stomache became uncontrollable as he emptied it on the floor. The screams! Oh, God, he retched again, but nothing was left. It felt like he would spew out his stomache to quiet the images.
The blood! He ran to the bathroom slipping on his own vomit. He lay prone in a puddle of his own internal juices and let the tears come. What kind of sick twisted bastard dreams that kind of thing! He could still smell the corn. He could feel her skin as the figure... Jesus!
The thoughts became incoherent again as he wept openly and uncontrollably. In the back of his mind a thought took form. He had felt what the figure felt. Arousal, pleasure. Oh, God. Meanwhile, as the moon looked down on Troy, Ohio, thirty miles from where Jason McKeever lay weeping, a dark figure slowly dug a hole just deep enough for a petite fourteen year old girl.
As he finished his job, he slowly raised his head to the moon, and in a rough voice whipsered, "The watcher has awoken. Too bad. " Methodically he went on with his task, and in a cornfield just ouside of Troy, terror had been born. 
