What dost ye thinketh of thy excerpt of a Halloween tale?

Question

It's too long to fit on this page, but i believe it should be okay.

:)

I don't know what is wrong with the effing paragraph thing, but it's starting to tick me off.
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Outside, wading beneath the whipping grasses, the wind tousling her auburn hair and the sun pleasantly pecking at her exposed skin, Sarah listened. She could hear them, whispering her name, beckoning for her to come forward, to join them, to explore the fields with them. She listened to their musical voices, almost inaudible at first, seeming to glide with the wind, and then they spoke louder, still surfing on the cool breezes, enticing her to come forward, to play with them, to hear them sing. Sarah inhaled the fresh, invigorating aroma of what seemed like the scent of freshly baked bread, floating from somewhere in the distance. The scent sparked a new curiosity in her, and those voices, childlike, faint and pleasantly musical, drifted toward her again. She stood up, the wheat kissing her scabby knees as they drifted past her, and she followed.

“God damn it!” Lawrence said harshly under his breath, wiping his hands on the front of his tattered jeans. There was blood on his fingers; it oozed from several openings on his hands in quick-running streams. He winced at the pain. “Dad, what did you do this time?” Anne-Marie stooped low to examine her father’s wounds. She clicked her tongue when she saw the damage, and asked, more sternly this time, what he had done. “It’s none of your damned business, woman!” he snapped. “Now get me a towel and some warm water before I bleed to death!” Sighing, she stepped over the shards of broken glass and the clear, foul-smelling puddle of vinegar on the floor, to the kitchen, where she brought out a large wooden basin from under the cabinets. She filled it with warm water from the faucet, grabbed two dishtowels from the side cupboard, and proceeded out to the foyer area to tend to Lawrence’s injuries, who was now cursing audibly in spite of the pain.

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“Sarahsarahsarahsarahsarahsaaaarrraaaaah… The voices continued, all around her now, calling, beckoning. Sarah only listened, stopped dead now, her eyes closed, listening to the musical voice of a child, a boy perhaps, chanting her name, the wind kissing her cheeks, her arms, her neck. “SarahcomeexplorewithusSarahcomeexplorew… Yes, she thought to herself. Yes, I want to explore….I want to….I want to….I want…. She opened her eyes, and there he was. There they were, standing in a circle, surrounding her. “Hello, Sarah,” the boy said, his voice pleasantly drifting along with the breeze. He was smiling, a wide, bright grin with almost perfect teeth. “Do you want to come explore with us? The field is ours. It’s all ours.” He grinned wider, waving his arm in a deep arc, signaling the fields around him. The others smiled, and nodded their heads slowly in agreement. Sarah turned all the way around, glancing at them, with their finely scrubbed faces and well-groomed hair, whipping in the wind. She turned back to the boy. His hand was outstretched; a gesture of welcoming. “Come on, Sarah. Don’t be afraid. We are all safe here, beneath the soft, sweeping grasses.” The others agreed, saying yes, breathing the word, still grinning broadly. Sarah had no choice; she adored their smiles, their well groomed faces, but most of all she adored the fields, the billowing golden-brown wheat, the warm sun, the wind. And she wanted more than ever to explore. She grinned like the rest of them, and took the boy’s hand in hers. Then they were walking, hand in hand, the barley kissing their waists, then their chests, and the last thing Sarah knew of before they allowed her to explore, was the high, sweeping grasses, and the faint, but pleasant, aroma of bread.

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