The moon showed palely through the darkest clouds of English land, sleeping, was the Yorks  village in chilling silence, which was frequently disturbed by the growling of the lightning strokes.

A wind started blowing waking the sleeping cornfields. The Geogen trees lept their bough and

touched the wet grassy land. From nowhere came, he riding on his horrible dark horse hanging

a blood-wet sack, carrying his bloody one...