Maize

Author's Note:

This is my submission to the Halloween Story Contest 2023. It includes brief excerpts of lyrics from "At Last," written by Mack Gordon and Harry Warren and popularized by Etta James' 1960 rendition. My sincere thanks to Demosthenes384bc for reading an earlier draft of this story. Content warning: contains brief scenes of violence.

*******

July 1994

Sarpy County, Nebraska

He remembered his father's hand, firm and heavy on his shoulder, shaking him into consciousness.

"Wake up, buddy. C'mon. We have to go."

His father was smiling, but Andy heard the urgency in his rushed words and spotted the fear flickering behind his eyes. Something was wrong.

"Go? Where? What time is—"

"Here we go. That-a-boy," his father said, throwing back his dinosaur comforter and pulling him to his feet.

Andy glanced at his digital clock, but its display was dark. A small circle of light darted and bounced across the carpet. He traced its source to his mother. She was holding a flashlight. Her hand was shaking.

"Dad? Where are we—"

"Storm shelter. C'mon."

"Now?"

"Yes. Right now."

That's when he heard it: a rushing sound, growing steadily louder.

They flew down the steps and burst through the front door. The sky was coal black. He could see nothing, not even the outline of the corn in the field or the trees on the horizon.

The sound was much louder outside. Andy wanted to run back upstairs, dive under the warm covers, and pull the pillow tightly over his ears to block out the noise. But his father dragged him onward, his fingers clamped like a vice around Andy's wrist.

Panic surged through him. For the first time in Andy's eight years on earth, he understood that he was going to die. Not when he was old. Not on some uncertain date in the future. Today. Right now.

The wind whipped through his hair and tried to peel his pajamas from his skin. He stumbled to his knees. His father's strong arm hoisted him off the ground and dragged him forward. His bare toes skipped and skimmed across the hard-packed dirt until he regained his footing.

Andy had seen videos of tornadoes, but they'd all been recorded during the day. At night, the monster was invisible, lurking somewhere in the darkness. Maybe right next to him. Andy pictured it emerging mere feet away, finally revealing its terrible form only when it was too late to escape.

He imagined his dad's hand being yanked from his own and his parents being pulled into oblivion while he watched, his hand stretched skyward, tears streaming down his face. He pictured himself standing alone at night in a quiet field, and somehow the thought scared him far more than the idea of the monster taking them all.

Impossibly, the sound grew louder.

"It's coming!" he screamed into the blackness, unable to make out the sound of his own voice. "It's coming for us!"

Wind laced with dirt stung his face. Their dash to the shelter—a quarter-inch-thick steel rectangle bolted to a concrete slab on the side of the farmhouse—was fewer than fifty feet. It felt like fifty miles.

His father swung the heavy handle into place, securing the door, then pulled Andy and his mother into a tight embrace. Andy clamped his eyes shut and buried his face in the soft fabric of his mother's nightgown.

They waited and listened. His mother prayed the rosary. The roar outside dulled, then eventually faded completely.

Andy didn't want to leave. He pleaded with his parents to stay in the shelter until morning, but his dad gently pried his hands from his mother's nightgown.

"It's okay, buddy. We're safe. It's gone."

"It'll come back. I know it. Please!"

His dad opened the door. The night was quiet. Their house was still standing. It was as if nothing had happened.

In the light of morning, they learned the tornado had passed just ninety yards west of the house, cut a swath through their cornfield for about a quarter mile, then vanished.

Andy walked the zigzagging path through the corn, shuddering at the randomness with which some stalks had been flattened or ripped from the ground, while others had been left completely untouched. The path ended abruptly in a large circle, a dark brown thumbprint in the middle of a sea of green. He stared at the matted leaves and tassels under his feet.

It had been right here. In this very spot. He was separated from it now only by a thin veneer of time.

His parents said it was a miracle. They'd been spared by the grace of God.

It didn't feel that way to Andy at all.

To Andy, it felt as though something horrible inside those winds had been searching for him, scouring the earth below where his feet now stood and swatting aside the corn in its frustration.

It had failed. This time.

But Andy knew something, felt it in his gut with a grim certainty that spread like ice through his veins: it would be back one day to finish the job.

*****

October 2018

Butler County, Pennsylvania

Andy sat on the porch swing watching the storm clouds approach. It wouldn't be long now. An hour. Maybe less.

He turned the old pocketknife in his hands, studying its sleek curves. The front door swung open. He cupped the knife in his left hand and pressed it flat against the arm of the swing.

Laura spotted him on the swing and sighed. "You been out here all night?"

He shook his head. "Just the past hour or so."

He knew Laura saw through the lie, but she didn't question it. She glanced at the swing.

"Mind if I sit?"

"Aren't you gonna be late?" He checked his watch. Her shift at the hospital started in forty minutes.

"I have time." She waved her hand. "Scoot."

He slid to his left. The swing dipped as the springs lengthened under her weight.

They watched together in silence as lightning flashed in the distance, followed by the rumble of thunder.

"You trying to scare off those clouds by staring?" she asked.

"Just like watching is all."

She reached for his right hand and laced her fingers through his.

"You don't always have to protect us, you know. That's not your job."

"It is. My most important job."

"This isn't tornado alley." Laura pointed toward the horizon. "Those clouds? They'll roll in. And then they'll roll out. Same as always."

He grunted.

"And we'll still be here when they're gone," she continued. "Same as always. Whether you stay up all night watching or not."

"You think I'm crazy. But I'm not."

"I don't think you're crazy. I think you suffered a trauma."

He shook his head.

"Yes, a childhood trauma," Laura continued. "And I think if you would just talk about it with someone, then maybe―"

"You're gonna be late."

She removed her hand from his. "So I'm dismissed? That it?"

She started to rise from the swing, but he gave her hand a gentle tug and pulled her back. "Sorry." He placed his palm on her belly. "Any better this morning?"

"Don't you try making nice with me." Her tone sounded angry, but a smile played at the corner of her mouth. She placed her hand over his. "She's a stinker. I can't keep anything down."

He patted her stomach. "Don't blame her. I can't keep down your cooking either."

She smacked his shoulder. The force of the blow jostled his arm and knocked the knife from his hand. It clattered to the floor.

"What's that?" she asked, nodding toward the ground.

Andy stared at it for a moment. "Pocketknife."

"Yes, I can see that. Where'd it come from?"

"Corn maze."

"Seriously? We run a family festival. Dozens of kids go through that maze every day and some asshole goes and leaves a knife lying around?" She extended an open palm. "Give it here."

"Why?"

"'Cause I'm gonna put it in Lost and Found. Then, when the owner shows up to claim it, I'm gonna stab him in the balls."

"How'd you know a man dropped it?"

"Because men are idiots."

"That so?"

"Yes." She leaned forward and planted a firm kiss on his lips. "Stubborn, mule-headed idiots."

Andy nodded. "I'll take care of it."

"Which one? Putting it in Lost and Found or stabbing the owner in the balls?"

"Both."

"Good." The swing drew upward on its springs as Laura rose to her feet. She started toward the truck in the gravel driveway.

"How 'bout I drive you in today?" he called.

"I'm pregnant, Andy, not paralyzed. Besides, you have enough to do." She opened the driver-side door. "You get that other tractor running for the hayrides to the pumpkin patch?"

He nodded.

"'Course you did. You can fix anything." Laura climbed in. As she pulled away, she stuck her head out the window. "Remind the face painters to get here on time today."

"Eyes on the road!" he scolded.

"Love you too!"

Andy watched the truck disappear over a hill, then picked up the knife and snapped it open. He traced his thumb along the cool blade and over the jigged bone handle.

He thought about what Laura had said. It wasn't true. He could fix a lot of things. Farm equipment. Horse pens. Trucks.

But not everything.

Some things couldn't be fixed.

*******

September 2006

Sarpy County, Nebraska

Gripping the ladder with one hand to steady himself, Andy plucked an apple from a branch and slipped it into the bag strapped to his chest. Volunteering to help in Jim Elliott's orchard on weekends was more than just a chance to earn some extra money. It was an opportunity to help a longtime family friend who was still limping after a bad fall down icy steps last winter.

Below him, a group of seasonal college workers stood in a loose circle, laughing and talking. Most of them had long ago stopped trying to engage Andy in conversation, and for that he was grateful.

He didn't like talking. People used too many words to say simple things. And after they'd said what needed to be said, most of them kept right on talking.

Whenever one of the college students asked Andy a question, he always answered politely but briefly. He rarely asked questions in return because the things he overheard them talking about—drunken frat parties, studying abroad, casual hookups—weren't part of his world. Although he was only a year or two older than his coworkers, it sometimes felt like a decade.

Most of the others seemed to interpret his silence as indifference or rudeness. A few chalked it up to stupidity. Almost all of them now kept their distance.

Except Laura.

She never took his curt answers as a personal affront. He got the sense she viewed him as a challenge. A puzzle to unlock.

Every morning she'd flash him a bright smile and ask how his week had been.

"Good," he'd say. He wanted to say more, wanted to ask about her week, but he always froze. Talking was hard enough; talking to a woman you had a crush on was impossible.

Last week, after repeating the same one-word answer he always gave, Laura shook her head and sighed. "Honestly, Andy. It's so hard talking to you."

His stomach sank. Laura raised her arms in exasperation. "I can't get a word in edgewise!"

Her mouth curled into a smile. Andy smiled too, then chuckled. Laura started to giggle. Soon, they were both laughing.

The others stared at them like they were crazy. Andy could feel the jealousy radiating from the college boys, especially Reuben, a burly fellow with close-cropped black hair who had been trying for weeks to flirt with Laura. What's so special about that dumb hayseed, his look said.

He smiled at the memory, topped off his bag with another apple, then climbed down the ladder.

He spotted Laura standing between two rows of trees. She was unloading her bag into one of the large wooden crates in the center of their work area. As she bent over to place the apples in the crate, the bag's weight pulled her shirt away from her body. Standing across from her, Reuben leered at her chest.

Laura straightened and glared at him. "Quit it."

Reuben held out his hands, palms facing skyward. "Quit what?"

"Staring. It's gross."

"I'm just admiring your apples." He leaned forward and plucked one from her bag. "Perfect size. Nice and ripe too."

She snatched the apple from his hand and threw it into the crate. "Drop dead."

"Easy! You gotta handle them with care." He reached again for her bag. "Let me show you."

Laura turned her back on him. She walked to another crate and resumed unloading the apples.

"Gotta say, the view's just as nice from back here," Reuben said, crossing his arms and staring at the denim hugging Laura's bum.

Andy untied his bag and laid it by his feet. A moment later, an apple zipped through the air and caught Reuben flush on the back of the head.

"Fuck!" Reuben yelped. He whirled around, his brow knitted in confusion. He scooped an apple from the ground and stretched it toward Andy. "You throw this at me, dummy?"

"Nope."

"Well, look at that. It speaks!" A few of the others laughed. Reuben strode forward until they were face to face. "You sure about that?"

Andy bent down and grabbed an apple from his bag. "Yep."

"Guess it just fell from the tree."

"Guess so."

"Funny. Same thing happened to Isaac Newton. You make it far enough in school to know who he is?"

"Yep."

"Good. Then you know Sir Isaac had a realization after an apple bonked him on the head. And damned if I didn't have one too. Know what I realized, Andy?"

"Nope."

Reuben grinned. "I realized you need to get your ass kicked."

Andy brought the apple to his mouth. His teeth crunched through the skin. He chewed slowly, studying Reuben's eyes. Andy had been in a lot of fights during his time in school. When you were the quiet, weird kid, it came with the territory.

He'd learned you could tell a lot from a person's eyes. Big, wide eyes usually meant the person hadn't been in many scraps. Their bravado was mere posturing; they were looking for a way out. Narrow eyes meant determination. Those eyes had already decided to fight. Andy had seen plenty of both.

But the look in Reuben's eyes was something he'd never seen before. His eyes looked almost ... gleeful. There was a genuine hunger for violence behind those eyes. It was unsettling.

"What do you say?" Reuben prompted. "Wanna get your ass kicked?"

Andy finished chewing and swallowed. He tossed the rest of the apple to the ground. "Sure."

Reuben didn't hesitate. He faked with his left hand, then launched a wild haymaker with his right. Andy ducked and drove a solid jab into Reuben's midsection, just above his stomach. It connected exactly where he'd hoped, forcing the air from Reuben's chest and sending his diaphragm into spasms.

Reuben doubled over, trying in vain to fill his lungs with air. Andy planted Reuben's chest into the ground and twisted his arm behind his back. He positioned himself atop Reuben's arm, applying just enough pressure to keep him from struggling.

He waited a moment for Reuben's breath to return. "Tell her you're sorry."

Reuben remained silent.

Andy grabbed an apple from the bag beside him and smashed it into the side of Reuben's head. Reuben thrashed against the dirt, wet chunks of apple clinging to his hair. Andy held tight.

"Say you're sorry."

"Fuck you," Reuben wheezed.

"Look at that," Andy said. "It speaks." He grabbed another apple and crushed it against Reuben's skull. "Say sorry."

Reuben's breath came in ragged gasps. "I'm gonna ... fucking ... kill you."

As Andy reached for another apple, one of Reuben's friends crashed into his chest. It had taken longer for someone to come to Reuben's aid than Andy expected. He used the momentum of the attack to roll on top of his new opponent, whom he recognized as Jim, one of Reuben's fraternity brothers. Andy delivered a quick headbutt to Jim's nose and heard a satisfying crunch.

He leapt to his feet, preparing for the next attacker, but everyone was standing still, watching him. When he turned to his right, he understood why. Dave McIntyre, one of the field supervisors, was sitting astride a six-wheel Gator.

"The fuck is going on here?" Dave bellowed.

"Andy went berserk," said Trevor, another friend of Reuben's. "Just ... started fucking attacking everybody."

"My ass he did." Dave had known Andy for years. He'd worked on Andy's parents' farm before taking his current job at the Elliott orchard.

Dave nodded toward Jim, who was now sitting on the ground with both hands cupped around his nose. Blood trickled between his fingers.

"You break that boy's nose, Andy?"

"Yes, sir," Andy said.

Dave nodded and sighed. "Godammit. Okay, then." He jabbed a finger at Reuben, Andy, and Jim. "You three. Pack up your shit and get out. You're fired. We'll pay you for the day."

By the time Andy had packed up and made his way to the parking lot, Laura was waiting for him. Her straw-colored hair, usually pulled back in a tight ponytail, cascaded over her shoulders in gentle waves. Her bright blue eyes found his.

"Thanks," she said. "For back there."

He smiled. "No problem."

"You got fired. I'd call that a problem."

He shook his head. "I was only helping Mr. Elliott through harvest season. He'll be okay. He's got good people who'll pick up the slack." He paused. "Like you."

"Wait, you're worried about Mr. Elliott? I didn't mean it was a problem for him. I meant for you."

"Oh. I'll be fine."

"Good." Laura traced a line in the gravel with the toe of her boot. "You know anything about that Fall Fest going on in town?"

He shrugged. "Been there a couple times."

"What'd you think?"

"It's okay."

A strand of hair fluttered against Laura's freckled cheek. She tucked it behind her ear. "I was thinking of going."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Her eyes held his. "You going this year?"

"I don't know." His mouth felt dry. "Hadn't given it much thought."

Laura stared at him, waiting. "You're not very good at this, are you?"

His palms felt sweaty. He wiped them against his jeans. "You want to go? Together?"

She laughed. "I literally thought you'd never ask."

*******

"Oh! I love kettle corn!"

Laura grabbed Andy's arm and dragged him toward a small food stand tucked between the Duck Pond and Pumpkin Ring Toss games. She extended a bill toward a young man in a scarecrow costume. "Two, please."

Andy reached for his wallet. "I can—"

"Hush. You're unemployed. I like helping the less fortunate."

Andy grinned. "I'll return the favor one day. Once I'm back on my feet and all."

They munched on the sticky-sweet snack while they strolled the grounds. The night was clear, the air crisp. If it weren't for the festival lights, the sky would have been overflowing with stars. The scent of apple cider wafted from a nearby stand.

Andy felt a sharp tug on his pant leg. He turned to see a young, raven-haired girl clutching a book under her left arm.

"Hello there, miss," he said, crouching to eye level. "You lost?"

The girl fixed him with an intense stare, as if she had a secret she was bursting to tell. "Why did the zombie skip school?" she asked.

Andy glanced up at Laura, who stifled a laugh.

"Hmm... you got me. Why'd the zombie skip school?"

The girl giggled. "He felt rotten."

"Emily!" A harried woman with long black hair and large glasses dashed toward them and grabbed the girl's hand. "What did we talk about?"

The woman gave Andy an apologetic look. "I'm so sorry." She nodded at the book under the girl's arm. "Joke book. From the library."

"No need to apologize for a good joke," Andy said, standing up. He met Emily's eyes. "You know any more?"

The girl nodded eagerly.

"Come on," the woman said, dragging away her daughter by the arm. "Let's leave this nice couple alone."