They told him the land was cursed.
But Ethan didn’t believe in curses.
He had grown up in the city, far from the fields of his ancestors. But after his father’s death, he inherited a lonely farmhouse deep in the village of Parchaan — a place whispered about in the corners of rural tea stalls.
A place where the soil was too rich, too red.
And too quiet.
Ethan arrived with nothing but a bag of clothes and his late father’s rusted tools. The house was old, crumbling at the edges, with wooden floorboards that creaked even when he stood still.
The first thing he noticed was the emptiness.
No neighbors. No birds. No insects.
Just… wind.
And that smell — not of manure, not of mud… but of something buried too deep, for too long.
He began his work the next day.
Dug trenches. Planted seeds. Set up irrigation.
But something felt… off.
The soil was soft — too soft, like stepping on old bread. It moved slightly under his feet, like it breathed.
At night, the house groaned.
Not from wind. From underneath.
As if the land itself shifted in its sleep.
Ethan brushed it off. Told himself he was tired.
But then the whispers started.
Soft. At first.
They came when he worked alone.
Words he didn’t understand.
Low voices… in the soil.
He stopped using the shovel.
He began digging with his hands.
He needed to know what was under there.
One night, he kept digging for hours. Fingers bleeding.
Until he found something:
A bone. Human. Clean. Fresh.
And then... the whisper turned into a voice.
“Not enough.”
He tried to leave the next morning.
The truck wouldn’t start.
The gate wouldn’t open.
His phone? No signal.
No charger.
He screamed into the fields.
And the fields…
whispered back.
Each night got louder.
The floor shook.
The door locks clicked on their own.
And outside the window, near the scarecrow, he saw footprints in the soil.
But only one set — walking in circles.
His.
Except he hadn’t gone out.
Not that night.
Not the night before either.
Then came the dreams.
He saw himself buried alive.
Hands reaching from the dirt.
A voice saying:
“The land remembers every soul it eats. You are next.”
He awoke once with mud in his mouth.
The final night came without stars.
The soil beneath his bed began to bulge.
Something pushed upward.
He ran to the field, holding the old rusted sickle his father left behind.
“I won’t be your meal!” he shouted.
Silence.
Then… a groan.
And the ground opened.
And he fell.
Not into hell. Not into fire.
Into roots. And bones. And mouths.
They say Ethan was never found.
But the next season, the crops in Parchaan were the richest they’d ever been.
And when travelers pass that house…
They swear they can hear a man’s voice…
still screaming beneath the soil.
=======================================================
Sure! Here's your story with each line numbered:
-
They told him the land was cursed.
-
But Rehman didn’t believe in curses.
-
He had grown up in the city, far from the fields of his ancestors.
-
But after his father’s death, he inherited a lonely farmhouse deep in the village of Parchaan
-
A place whispered about in the corners of rural tea stalls.
-
A place where the soil was too rich, too red. And too quiet.
-
Rehman arrived with nothing but a bag of clothes and his late father’s rusted tools.
-
The house was old, crumbling at the edges, with wooden floorboards that creaked even when he stood still.
-
The first thing he noticed was the emptiness.
-
No neighbors. No birds. No insects. Just… wind.
-
And that smell — not of manure, not of mud… but of something buried too deep, for too long.
-
He began his work the next day.
-
Dug trenches. Planted seeds. Set up irrigation.
-
But something felt… off.
-
The soil was soft — too soft, like stepping on old bread. It moved slightly under his feet, like it breathed.
-
At night, the house groaned.
-
Not from wind. From underneath.
-
As if the land itself shifted in its sleep.
-
Rehman brushed it off. Told himself he was tired.
-
But then the whispers started. Soft. At first.
-
They came when he worked alone.
-
Words he didn’t understand. Low voices… in the soil.
-
He stopped using the shovel. He began digging with his hands.
-
He needed to know what was under there.
-
One night, he kept digging for hours. Fingers bleeding. Until he found something:
-
A bone. Human. Clean. Fresh.
-
And then... the whisper turned into a voice. “Not enough.”
-
He tried to leave the next morning.
-
The truck wouldn’t start. The gate wouldn’t open. His phone? No signal. No charger.
-
He screamed into the fields.
-
And the fields… whispered back. Each night got louder.
-
The floor shook. The door locks clicked on their own.
-
And outside the window, near the scarecrow, he saw footprints in the soil.
-
But only one set — walking in circles. His.
-
Except he hadn’t gone out. Not that night. Not the night before either.
-
Then came the dreams. He saw himself buried alive. Hands reaching from the dirt.
-
A voice saying: “The land remembers every soul it eats. You are next.”
-
He awoke once with mud in his mouth.
-
The final night came without stars. The soil beneath his bed began to bulge.
-
Something pushed upward.
-
He ran to the field, holding the old rusted sickle his father left behind.
-
“I won’t be your meal!” he shouted. Silence. Then… a groan.
-
And the ground opened. And he fell. Not into hell. Not into fire.
-
Into roots. And bones. And mouths.
-
They say Rehman was never found.
-
But the next season, the crops in Parchaan were the richest they’d ever been.
-
And when travelers pass that house…
-
They swear they can hear a man’s voice… still screaming beneath the soil.
Let me know if you'd like this formatted into a script, storyboard, or narration format!
=====================================================================
Perfect — that’s clear now! I’ll write all 48 scenes in this exact format:
Format:
Narration
Your story line
Prompt
Detailed cinematic visual description for AI generation
Here are the first 5 scenes written exactly as requested. I’ll continue with the remaining 43 right after your approval.
🎬 Scene 1
Narration
They told him the land was cursed.
Prompt
Wide cinematic shot of a narrow dirt road cutting through a desolate countryside under heavy grey clouds. Rehman, a 30-year-old white British man with messy dark brown hair, light stubble, and tired blue eyes, walks down the path alone. He wears a dusty brown work jacket, grey shirt, and dark cargo pants, carrying an old duffel bag over one shoulder and a rusted sickle in the other hand. The wind blows dust and dry leaves across the road. Crooked fences and skeletal trees line the fields. The landscape is silent — no movement, no animals. Shot in a muted, foggy color palette. Mood: loneliness, foreshadowing dread.
🎬 Scene 2
Narration
But Rehman didn’t believe in curses.
Prompt
Close-up shot of Rehman’s skeptical face, his eyes narrowed as he looks at the barren land around him. He stands still in the middle of an empty field, surrounded by red-tinted soil and twisted tree stumps. His expression is calm but defiant, clearly unconvinced by the superstitions he’s heard. The sky above him is pale grey, almost colorless, casting a dull light on everything. A soft wind lifts the edges of his coat. The camera lingers on his expression for several seconds. Mood: disbelief, silent challenge to fear.
🎬 Scene 3
Narration
He had grown up in the city, far from the fields of his ancestors.
Prompt
Flashback-style shot of Rehman as a young boy riding a double-decker bus through a crowded urban street, neon signs glowing in the rain. The view shifts to present-day Rehman, now older, standing amidst endless fields under a cloudy sky, visibly out of place. He wears the same coat, aged and worn. His face shows both curiosity and discomfort. The background blends urban memories with rural emptiness using a slow fade transition. The contrast is sharp — busy city vs. lifeless countryside. Mood: disconnection, outsider’s return.
🎬 Scene 4
Narration
But after his father’s death, he inherited a lonely farmhouse deep in the village of Parchaan.
Prompt
Wide-angle drone shot of an old, isolated farmhouse sitting in the middle of vast, empty farmland. The roof is partially collapsed, wooden walls cracked and darkened by time. Fog rolls in around the edges of the field. Rehman approaches from the distance, appearing small against the vast, desolate land. He stops in front of the gate, clutching a rusted key in his hand. The environment is completely silent. Background details include broken fencing, an old well, and dry vines crawling up the side of the house. Mood: isolation, reluctant inheritance.
🎬 Scene 5
Narration
A place whispered about in the corners of rural tea stalls.
Prompt
Interior of a dimly lit rural tea shop filled with elderly villagers. A few men lean in close, whispering to each other while glancing toward the window where the fields of Parchaan are barely visible through the fog. Old posters peel from the walls, and a dusty ceiling fan turns slowly above. Rehman sits alone in a corner, observing them, unseen. The men’s expressions are uneasy and serious. Steam rises from chipped teacups, adding texture to the air. Camera focuses on wrinkled faces and hushed tension. Mood: folklore, warning, unspoken dread.
Should I continue writing all 48 scenes like this? If yes, I’ll deliver the next full batch right away.
🎬 Scene 6
Narration
A place where the soil was too rich, too red. And too quiet.
Prompt
Close-up of Rehman kneeling in the middle of a field at dusk, sifting the deep red soil through his gloved fingers. The soil looks unnaturally soft and moist, its color vivid like old blood. There are no sounds — no birds, no wind, no life. The air is thick, the sky a dull orange-grey. Rehman looks confused, almost disturbed, as he examines the dirt. His clothes are dusty, and sweat glistens on his brow. The camera tilts slowly upward from his hands to the empty sky. Mood: unnatural stillness, something wrong with nature.
🎬 Scene 7
Narration
Rehman arrived with nothing but a bag of clothes and his late father’s rusted tools.
Prompt
Wide interior shot of the farmhouse living room. Rehman enters through the squeaky door, carrying an old brown duffel bag slung across his back and a bundle of rusted gardening tools in hand. The room is coated in dust and cobwebs, with broken furniture and a cold fireplace. Light leaks in through warped wooden planks, cutting through the gloom in narrow beams. He stands still for a moment, surveying the decay. A photo of his father sits tilted on a rotting shelf. Mood: arrival, inherited decay, somber memory.
🎬 Scene 8
Narration
The house was old, crumbling at the edges, with wooden floorboards that creaked even when he stood still.
Prompt
Low-angle shot of Rehman standing in the hallway of the farmhouse. He looks down nervously at his feet as the warped wooden floorboards beneath him emit sharp, unnatural creaks. The walls are peeling, the ceiling cracked, and patches of mold crawl across the corners. A single exposed lightbulb flickers weakly overhead. His expression is tense. Dust floats heavily in the air. Each of his steps is slow, deliberate. Mood: structural collapse, silent tension, decaying space.
🎬 Scene 9
Narration
The first thing he noticed was the emptiness.
Prompt
Wide aerial shot circling the farmhouse and surrounding fields. There are no signs of life — no roads, no people, no birds. Just endless dry farmland fading into a misty horizon. Rehman stands on the porch, arms crossed, staring out at the nothingness. The wind doesn’t move. No shadows shift. The environment feels trapped in time. The camera slowly zooms out, making him smaller and more alone in the vast emptiness. Mood: total isolation, the void.
🎬 Scene 10
Narration
No neighbors. No birds. No insects. Just… wind.
Prompt
Exterior wide shot of the field during midday. The grass doesn’t move. No animals or insects are visible. Rehman walks slowly along a narrow dirt path, eyes scanning the horizon. A sudden gust of dry wind kicks up a swirl of dust, then dies immediately. He stops, listening — but there's nothing. Dead silence. The camera is positioned over his shoulder, showing the vast lifeless land in front of him. Mood: eerie calm, absence of nature, supernatural quiet.
🎬 Scene 11
Narration
And that smell — not of manure, not of mud… but of something buried too deep, for too long.
Prompt
Close-up of Rehman’s face as he sniffs the air and recoils slightly. His brows furrow in confusion and disgust. Behind him, the field stretches endlessly under cloudy skies. He kneels and presses his hand to the soil, sniffing again. The wind carries a subtle, foul scent. Camera slowly pushes in toward his disturbed expression, capturing the moment of unease. Color palette is desaturated, emphasizing grey-browns and dull reds. Mood: hidden rot, ancient corruption.
🎬 Scene 12
Narration
He began his work the next day.
Prompt
Morning light breaks through a layer of thin mist over the fields. Rehman stands with a wheelbarrow and shovel, wearing work gloves and a scarf around his neck. He looks determined, trying to shake off the unease. The sky is pale and colorless. He begins digging methodically, planting seeds, and hammering down small wooden irrigation pipes. Background features lifeless trees and distant fog. Mood: forced normalcy, fragile hope in a cursed place.
🎬 Scene 13
Narration
Dug trenches. Planted seeds. Set up irrigation.
Prompt
Midday shot of Rehman kneeling in a long trench, placing seeds into perfectly lined rows. He is focused, sweat dripping from his brow. Nearby, plastic irrigation tubes run along the soil, recently installed. He wipes his hands on his pants and looks over the field with guarded optimism. The soil beneath him pulses slightly, unnoticed. A shadow passes overhead, but no clouds are seen. Mood: tension below surface, illusion of productivity.
🎬 Scene 14
Narration
But something felt… off.
Prompt
Medium close-up of Rehman staring down at the earth, shovel frozen mid-air. His eyes narrow as he notices something strange about the soil’s texture. He bends down, touches it, and watches it slightly shift under his fingers — as if alive. Camera cuts to the earth itself, subtly pulsing. No wind. No sound. Time seems to slow. Rehman’s breath fogs slightly despite warm weather. Mood: creeping unease, something unnatural awakening.
🎬 Scene 15
Narration
The soil was soft — too soft, like stepping on old bread. It moved slightly under his feet, like it breathed.
Prompt
Low shot of Rehman’s boots pressing into the loose red soil. As he steps, the ground subtly shifts, then returns, like a chest rising and falling. He pauses, lifts his foot, and presses again. A look of disturbed recognition spreads across his face. The camera switches to an overhead drone view — the earth beneath him seems to slightly ripple outward. Everything else is still. Mood: living land, silent horror.
🎬 Scene 16
Narration
At night, the house groaned.
Prompt
Interior night shot of the farmhouse. Rehman sits at a table, sipping tea by lantern-light. The walls and ceiling creak loudly above him. He looks up sharply, gripping the table edge. Shadows dance across the room as the lantern flickers. No wind is visible outside. The groan continues — low, heavy, unnatural. The sound seems to come from below, not around. Mood: haunted space, invisible presence.
🎬 Scene 17
Narration
Not from wind. From underneath.
Prompt
Wide shot of Rehman standing barefoot in the middle of the hallway at night, staring down at the wooden floor. His face is pale, eyes wide with fear. The groaning continues, soft but persistent, vibrating upward. He lowers to the floor, ear pressed against the planks. The house hums with a deep sound — like breathing. His lantern rests beside him, casting long shadows. Mood: fear of the unseen, land as a living thing.
🎬 Scene 18
Narration
As if the land itself shifted in its sleep.
Prompt
Exterior night shot of the field as the camera slowly zooms out. The earth below subtly ripples, like something massive turns over beneath the surface. Rehman stands at the edge of the field, frozen, watching. The moon is hidden by clouds. A soft tremor runs through the ground. He stumbles slightly but does not look away. Mood: ancient force, awakening, power beneath stillness.
🎬 Scene 19
Narration
Rehman brushed it off. Told himself he was tired.
Prompt
Interior shot of Rehman in front of a mirror, washing his face with cold water. He looks up at his reflection — tired eyes, cracked lips, faint tremor in his hands. He exhales, shakes his head, and mutters to himself. Behind him, the mirror frame is warped, slightly tilting downward as if sagging under pressure. Lighting is dim, yellowed, slightly flickering. Mood: denial, early unraveling of mind.
🎬 Scene 20
Narration
But then the whispers started. Soft. At first.
Prompt
Late evening — Rehman kneels in the field, organizing tools. As he works, he pauses suddenly, looking over his shoulder. No one’s there. A faint whisper floats on the wind — unintelligible, soft, almost musical. He listens closely, rising to his feet. The camera slowly rotates around him as he turns in place, trying to locate the source. The world around him remains silent. Mood: paranoia, unseen voices, auditory hallucination.
🎬 Scene 21
Narration
They came when he worked alone.
Prompt
Afternoon field scene. Rehman kneels beside a narrow trench, working silently with his hands. Behind him, the entire farmland stretches empty — no workers, no animals, only flat red soil. His head suddenly turns to the left, eyes alert. Over his shoulder, a shadow seems to move and vanish quickly. The camera focuses tightly on his confused expression, the wind barely stirring his collar. There’s a faint sound — a whisper — but nothing visible. Mood: isolation, hidden watcher, eerie tension.
🎬 Scene 22
Narration
Words he didn’t understand. Low voices… in the soil.
Prompt
Extreme close-up of Rehman’s ear tilted toward the ground as he kneels in the field. His eyes are wide, breath held. The soil beside his ear slightly shifts, and a barely audible whisper escapes, like an ancient forgotten language. The texture of the dirt is unnaturally soft. His hand hovers inches above the ground, trembling. The background is a deep blur of red and brown tones. Mood: cursed language, forbidden communication, ancient whispering earth.
🎬 Scene 23
Narration
He stopped using the shovel. He began digging with his hands.
Prompt
Twilight field shot. Rehman on his knees, fingers clawing through the soil like an animal. His face and hands are covered in dirt. The rusted shovel lies abandoned beside him. His eyes are wild, fixed downward as he uncovers patch after patch. His nails are cracked and bleeding. The camera slowly pulls back to show long trenches he has dug — erratic, not straight. Mood: obsession, descent, ritual-like madness.
🎬 Scene 24
Narration
He needed to know what was under there.
Prompt
Low ground-level shot of Rehman digging furiously into the soil under moonlight. Sweat pours from his forehead, and his clothes are torn and stained. He breathes heavily, driven by some unseen force. The shadows around him stretch unnaturally long, suggesting movement in the dark. His hands plunge deeper and deeper. The ground begins to glisten with something slick — not water. Mood: desperation, compulsion, something hidden below.
🎬 Scene 25
Narration
One night, he kept digging for hours. Fingers bleeding. Until he found something:
Prompt
Overhead spotlight-style shot of a narrow pit dug deep into the field. Rehman kneels at the bottom, hands caked in blood and mud. He stops digging and gasps. Something white and smooth catches the moonlight beneath his fingers — a human bone. His face twists in shock and horror. The surrounding soil is disturbed and soft, as if it had been dug recently. Mood: horrifying discovery, ancient burial ground, irreversible act.
🎬 Scene 26
Narration
A bone. Human. Clean. Fresh.
Prompt
Close-up of Rehman holding a clean human femur in both hands. His fingers tremble, knuckles scraped and dirty. The bone is wet, not decayed, with no signs of age. Behind him, the wind picks up suddenly, scattering dust. His eyes are wide, mouth open, frozen in disbelief. The camera slowly rotates around him, emphasizing how alone he is in this horrible moment. Mood: fear of the dead, realization, haunting truth.
🎬 Scene 27
Narration
And then... the whisper turned into a voice. “Not enough.”
Prompt
Night shot, Rehman still crouched in the trench, staring at the bone in his hand. Suddenly, a deep, disembodied voice echoes softly through the field: “Not enough.” His eyes snap toward the source — but there’s no one. His breath catches in his throat. The field is still. The sky is starless. A chill passes visibly over him, like a shadow across his face. Mood: cursed judgment, supernatural demand, unseen presence.
🎬 Scene 28
Narration
He tried to leave the next morning.
Prompt
Early morning light filters over Rehman hurriedly loading bags into an old rusted pickup truck. His face is panicked, eyes darting constantly behind him. The engine hood is propped open, wires exposed. He slams the driver-side door shut and looks back at the field one last time. The farmhouse looms behind him, silent. The wind rattles the gate. Mood: flight, dread rising, escape attempt.
🎬 Scene 29
Narration
The truck wouldn’t start. The gate wouldn’t open. His phone? No signal. No charger.
Prompt
Interior of the truck. Rehman sits in the driver’s seat, furiously turning the key — the engine won’t respond. He slams the dashboard and looks at his dead phone. He gets out and rushes to the farmhouse gate, but the old wooden gate is jammed shut with unseen force. He pulls, kicks, screams — nothing. The camera shows the house in the background, windows dark. Mood: trapped, helplessness, cursed lock-in.
🎬 Scene 30
Narration
He screamed into the fields.
Prompt
Wide overhead drone shot of Rehman standing alone in the center of his barren field, head thrown back, screaming with both fists clenched. His echo bounces off the emptiness. The camera slowly spins, capturing the cracked soil beneath his feet and the circular footprints he’s left around him. The sky is overcast, light dim and dirty yellow. Mood: desperation, madness, isolation’s climax.
🎬 Scene 31
Narration
And the fields… whispered back. Each night got louder.
Prompt
Nighttime shot from behind Rehman, standing just outside the farmhouse. The field stretches endlessly, and faint whispers are audible in the wind — layered voices, growing louder. He covers his ears, but his eyes are wide open, filled with terror. Grass moves in slow waves, although there’s no wind. Camera pulls upward slowly as the sound increases. Mood: haunting, pressure, cursed chorus.
🎬 Scene 32
Narration
The floor shook. The door locks clicked on their own.
Prompt
Interior farmhouse night. Rehman stands in the middle of the living room as the floor begins to vibrate beneath his boots. Dust falls from the ceiling. Suddenly, the door behind him slams shut, and all visible locks twist closed without touch. He spins around in disbelief, running to the door, tugging the knob. His shadow dances wildly under flickering light. Mood: spiritual confinement, malevolent force, escalating horror.
🎬 Scene 33
Narration
And outside the window, near the scarecrow, he saw footprints in the soil.
Prompt
Rehman peers through a cracked farmhouse window in the dead of night. Moonlight faintly illuminates the field. Near a crooked wooden scarecrow, deep footprints are visible in the soft earth — circling it. The scarecrow’s shape is ragged, humanlike. Rehman’s breath fogs the glass. His reflection is barely visible as he stares in disbelief. Mood: silent intrusion, ghostly trail, invisible stalker.
🎬 Scene 34
Narration
But only one set — walking in circles. His.
Prompt
High-angle view of the scarecrow and the circular footprints surrounding it. Only one set of prints leads in a perfect, continuous loop around the scarecrow. The camera slowly pans to Rehman standing several meters away, watching in horror. He whispers, “I didn’t…” but his face confirms what he sees. Behind him, the house lights flicker. Mood: possession, unseen sleepwalking, cursed repetition.
🎬 Scene 35
Narration
Except he hadn’t gone out. Not that night. Not the night before either.
Prompt
Interior bedroom shot. Rehman lies awake in bed, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling. The faint sound of creaking floorboards echoes from the hallway. He grips the blanket tightly, breath shallow. In his mind, he retraces every night — he hasn’t stepped outside. Cut to a close-up of his boots by the door — freshly coated in red soil. Mood: confusion, horror dawning, disconnection from reality.
🎬 Scene 36
Narration
Then came the dreams. He saw himself buried alive. Hands reaching from the dirt.
Prompt
Surreal dream sequence. Rehman is half-buried in a shallow grave, his arms free but body trapped under red soil. Dozens of pale, muddy hands erupt from the surrounding ground, grabbing at his face and chest. His mouth opens in a silent scream. The sky above is dark red and cloudless, frozen like a painting. His eyes dart wildly, unable to move. Mood: nightmare terror, suffocation, cursed visions.
🎬 Scene 37
Narration
A voice saying: “The land remembers every soul it eats. You are next.”
Prompt
Dream continues. Rehman’s buried head tilts as a deep, non-human voice echoes from nowhere, “You are next.” Behind him, ghostly faces form in the soil — eyes closed, lips moving silently. The hands stop moving. The wind freezes. A mouth opens in the earth beneath him and begins to inhale dirt. Mood: cursed prophecy, speaking soil, eternal hunger of the land.
🎬 Scene 38
Narration
He awoke once with mud in his mouth.
Prompt
Morning. Rehman bolts upright in his bed, coughing violently. The camera zooms in as thick, wet mud spills from his mouth onto the blanket. His eyes are red, his lips shaking. He wipes his face and looks at his muddy hands, horrified. The floor beneath the bed has dark soil patches. Outside, birds remain silent. Mood: blurred line between dream and reality, suffocation, cursed contamination.
🎬 Scene 39
Narration
The final night came without stars. The soil beneath his bed began to bulge.
Prompt
Nighttime. The farmhouse bedroom is pitch-black; no moon, no stars. Camera pans to Rehman’s bed, where the wooden floor beneath it begins to rise in uneven mounds. Cracks form, and a faint pulsing glow emits from below. Rehman stands barefoot on the floor, backing away, sickle in hand. His breath fogs in the cold. Mood: unnatural pressure, cursed eruption, fear before collapse.
🎬 Scene 40
Narration
Something pushed upward.
Prompt
Close-up under the bed. The wooden planks buckle upward violently as something unseen presses from beneath. Splinters fly. Soil spills through the cracks. Rehman stares down at it, frozen. A low growl vibrates through the room, not animal, not human. Shadows twist on the walls. Mood: the uprising, invasion from below, imminent horror.
🎬 Scene 41
Narration
He ran to the field, holding the old rusted sickle his father left behind.
Prompt
Wide night shot. Rehman sprints from the house into the open field, clutching a rusted sickle with both hands. His silhouette is lit only by the dim glow from the broken farmhouse window. Behind him, smoke-like soil wisps rise from the ground. His breath is visible in the cold air. His coat flaps as he turns to face the whispering field. Mood: final confrontation, desperate defense, ancestral weapon.
🎬 Scene 42
Narration
“I won’t be your meal!” he shouted. Silence. Then… a groan.
Prompt
Rehman stands in the center of the red field, sweat-drenched, pointing the sickle at the ground. He screams at the earth. The field goes completely silent. Then — a deep, echoing groan rises from beneath his feet. His knees wobble. The soil beneath him quivers like liquid. The sickle begins to tremble in his hand. Mood: defiance, cursed answer, land awakens.
🎬 Scene 43
Narration
And the ground opened. And he fell. Not into hell. Not into fire.
Prompt
Aerial view. The field suddenly caves in beneath Rehman in a perfect circle. He falls through, arms flailing, the sickle spinning away. The soil crumbles like dry cake around the edges. No fire, just darkness below — endless, root-filled, quiet. Dust and loose bones swirl in the air. Mood: descent, vanishing, swallowed by the land.
🎬 Scene 44
Narration
Into roots. And bones. And mouths.
Prompt
Rehman plummets into a cavern beneath the field. The walls are made of twisted roots, broken skulls, and half-formed mouths embedded in the soil — some whispering, others silently screaming. He tumbles through thick hanging roots, trying to grip something. A mouth on the wall opens wide as he passes. Mood: underworld of the cursed land, ancient hunger, lost souls.
🎬 Scene 45
Narration
They say Rehman was never found.
Prompt
Wide dawn shot. Locals stand near the collapsed part of the field, staring at it silently. No rescue teams. Just villagers in simple clothes, whispering among themselves. Rehman’s farmhouse is untouched in the distance. The land is quiet, windless. A bird lands on the scarecrow’s shoulder. Mood: aftermath, rural superstition, mystery deepens.
🎬 Scene 46
Narration
But the next season, the crops in Parchaan were the richest they’d ever been.
Prompt
Vibrant wide-angle daylight scene. The once-cursed field is now overflowing with golden, healthy crops — wheat, maize, sunflowers. The sky is cloudless and blue. Locals smile as they walk between the rows. A child eats fruit in the corner. The scarecrow still stands, unchanged, arms stretched wide. Mood: deceptive peace, prosperity with a cost, cursed bounty.
🎬 Scene 47
Narration
And when travelers pass that house…
Prompt
Dusk. A group of curious travelers pause on a dirt road outside Rehman’s deserted farmhouse. The gate is still shut, the windows broken. Vines creep up the walls. One traveler points at the upper window. The others shiver without knowing why. The wind kicks up dust as the sun vanishes. Mood: lingering curse, curious visitors, haunted presence.
🎬 Scene 48
Narration
They swear they can hear a man’s voice… still screaming beneath the soil.
Prompt
Silent night. A close-up of the farmhouse front yard, now covered in lush grass. Camera slowly tilts down into the earth — layers of dirt, roots, and bones. Faintly, a muffled scream echoes from deep below. In the distance, the scarecrow’s arm slightly twitches. Final frame fades to black. Mood: eternal haunting, cursed sacrifice, buried but not gone.
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