The small farmhouse sat alone in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by empty fields that had once been fertile. Now, the crops were long gone, replaced by an eerie silence. It wasn't the kind of place where anyone came by unless they had to. Or, in the case of Derek, someone who had nowhere else to go.
He hadn't planned on being here, but after his last job fell through, the only thing he could think of was the old house his grandparents had left him. It wasn't much, but it was enough to get away from everything. He'd come for peace, for a break, something that didn't seem to be in the cards lately.
The house smelled of damp wood and dust, a stale scent that clung to every surface. The wallpaper peeled away in places, and the floor creaked with every step. Derek had no illusions about the place. It wasn't a home, just a shell. A shell full of memories that he didn't want to deal with. He had moved his things in, tossed some blankets on the couch, and thought he could rest. He had no idea that the land had its own plans for him.
The first sign came with the potatoes.
Derek had barely unpacked his stuff when he noticed them. A pile of them, sitting on the kitchen counter. They weren't from a store, and he didn't remember buying them. He chalked it up to his grandparents leaving things behind, though he hadn't seen them in years. Maybe they had kept them in case of a bad harvest.
He tried not to think too much about it, but when the sun set and the wind howled through the cracks in the walls, the thought of those potatoes crept into his mind. Something about them made him uncomfortable. Their rough skins, their odd shapes, their eyes staring at him. But it was just potatoes, right?
That night, as Derek tried to sleep on the old couch, he heard something. The sound wasn't loud, but it was distinct—scraping. It came from the kitchen. He sat up, trying to shake off the unease. Probably just a rat, he thought. Or maybe the wind. He went to the kitchen, but there was nothing out of place. The potatoes still sat there on the counter, untouched.
He didn't know why, but he moved them into the pantry, away from sight. Out of sight, out of mind.
The next morning, as Derek made his coffee, he heard the sound again. Scraping. The pantry door rattled like something was inside. He froze, staring at the door. Then it stopped. But the air in the house felt thicker, somehow.
He opened the pantry, and there they were—the potatoes. They had moved. They weren't in a neat pile anymore. Some had rolled to the floor, and others had twisted on the shelf, their skins cracked open like they were... alive.
A chill ran through Derek's spine. This wasn't normal. He picked them up, one by one, and threw them out the back door. He thought that would be the end of it.
But it wasn't.
That night, he heard the scraping again. Louder now, coming from outside. The kitchen light flickered, and his heart began to race. He went to the window and saw movement in the yard. Something was crawling through the dirt, dragging itself across the ground. He squinted, trying to make it out, but whatever it was didn't belong.
Then he saw the shape.
It was low to the ground, something that moved like a lizard, but its body was distorted, covered in bumps and grooves. It had the rough texture of a potato. A massive potato lizard. It moved with a jerky motion, dragging itself through the dirt, its long, crooked limbs scraping against the earth.
Derek's mouth went dry. This wasn't possible. Potatoes didn't come to life. They didn't crawl. But this thing was real. It was here.
He backed away from the window, his mind racing for any logical explanation, but none came. He grabbed a flashlight, his hands shaking as he tried to find something, anything, to defend himself with. He needed to leave, to get away from this nightmare. But he knew he couldn't outrun it. Not with what he had seen.
The next morning, he found more potatoes in the yard. Not just a few, but dozens. They were scattered across the ground, all moving slowly, dragging themselves through the dirt with a sickening slowness. Some had grown small limbs, others had formed tiny, twisted mouths that chomped at the dirt as they pulled themselves forward.
Derek had no idea what was happening, but he knew he had to get out. He packed a bag, grabbed his keys, and rushed out the door. But the potatoes had other plans.
As he made it to the car, he saw something moving behind him. The lizard. Its body was now bigger, its scales rougher, its eyes glowing with a pale yellow light. It had grown since last night, its limbs now fully formed, the size of a large dog. It crawled toward him, and Derek froze.
It opened its mouth, a gaping hole lined with tiny potato eyes that seemed to watch him, judging him.
Then it hissed.
Derek ran. He didn't look back, didn't care where he was going. He just ran, his feet slapping the dirt, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The creature was fast, faster than anything that should've been able to move like that. It hissed again, a sound that rattled his bones, and the ground beneath him seemed to tremble.
He turned a corner and slammed into something soft. He didn't know what it was at first. It was a potato, but it wasn't like the others. This one was bigger. It had legs, arms, and a twisted head that seemed to twitch as it looked at him. It didn't move, but its eyes followed him as he tried to back away.
Suddenly, the others appeared—hundreds of them. Potatoes, lizards, all crawling toward him. His heart pounded in his chest as he scrambled to his feet, but it was no use. They were everywhere.
The potato lizard that had been chasing him was now at the front, its mouth wide open, its potato eyes staring at him with an unsettling calm. It wasn't hungry. It wasn't angry. It was something worse. It was judging him.
He backed away, but there was nowhere to go. They were closing in on him, the air heavy with the sound of scraping limbs against the earth. They circled him like a pack of animals, but they weren't animals. They were something else. They were the result of something darker.
Derek had no chance. He screamed, but the creatures didn't care. They simply moved closer, their mouths opening, their tiny potato eyes boring into his soul. He felt something sharp dig into his chest, and before he knew it, his body was being pulled apart, piece by piece, consumed by the very thing he had tried to escape.
The last thing he saw was the potato lizard staring at him, its mouth slowly closing, its eyes empty of everything but hunger.