In a Cornfield at Midnight

Summer always makes me want to write B-movie sci-fi. Hope you enjoy it!

In a Cornfield at Midnight

The scream was an awful, wretched sound, primal and cutting. Nathan woke from a deep sleep, heart racing, and sweat trickling down his back. Looking out his bedroom window, he could see a sliver of moonlight casting a pale glow over the seemingly endless cornfields. He listened to the calm chirruping of crickets and the soft swish of the crops. By all accounts, it was a peaceful night. Had the cry been in his dream? Nathan couldn’t remember the last time he slept calmly enough for anything but nightmares.

The old house’s timbers creaked in the passing breeze, and he tensed, feeling his heart thump. He’d lived in the house for years, and despite all the mental tricks in the world, noises in the night still frightened him.

The scream came again this time forming a single word, clear as a bell. “HEEEEELLLLPP!”

Nathan was out of bed and across the room to his closet before the scream had finished. He fiddled with the combination lock on the gun safe and pulled out a rifle that was more an antique than anything else. It wasn’t for much more than scaring off predators, but it was going to have to do. His heart hammered as he shakily put rounds of ammunition into the rifle’s clip. Deep breaths, in and out. It was an old combat trick that didn’t do a damned thing.

Another scream came, this time unintelligible and mixed with a howl of pain.

Is that Bill? What the hell has he gotten himself into now.  Nathan didn’t have many neighbors, and most were far enough away that he didn’t have to deal with them, but Bill was the source of most problems. The cantankerous old man was the descendant of a wild west gang leader and had taken it upon himself to uphold that mantel. More often than not, Bill would scare people off with gunshots before resorting to words.

It wouldn’t be the first time Nathan had saved Bill from some trouble of his own making. He jammed the clip into the rifle. “I swear, if you’re stuck in one of your own damned bear traps again—"

“NAAAAAATHAN!”

The plea sounded almost too childlike to be Bill, but it had to be. There was no one else around. Nathan moved down the steps to the first floor of the house and crept through the main hall. Pictures of long dead family members with the vacant stares only career farmers could manage watched his progress.

The screaming outside grew to a fever pitch, becoming an unending wail, punctuated only by gasps for breath.

Nathan broke into a run, the old floorboards creaking wildly beneath his feet. He pulled on a pair of boots at the front door, not bothering with the laces and burst into the night air.

The sound stopped.

Nathan stood on his front porch, listening once again for the quiet sounds of the night. They didn’t come. The cornfield was silent. He licked his lips, tasting sweat. What’s happening? Everything felt on the verge of being a dream, not quite reality and not quite fantasy. Nathan raised a hand to his face, counting his fingers. In dreams, there were always more or less than there should have been. To Nathan’s dismay, he counted five.

A voice called out in a tense whisper from the cornfield. “Nathan?”

His spine went rigid. The world wavered as a fresh jolt of adrenaline shot through his veins. Don’t go into that cornfield. The thought was as salient as the scream had been. He didn’t know what was in the cornfield, but he was sure he didn’t want any part of it. Nathan raised the rifle to his shoulder and aimed. “Whoever you are, I am armed, and this is my property!”

Silence.

“You better leave now, or the consequences will be dire!” Despite the fear, Nathan felt shame at his own threats. He had never been one for threats.

“Nathan, help me.” The voice sounded sick and weak, but somehow carried over the field.

Nathan took a step forward, regretting the movement with every inch. From the moment the voice asked for help, he knew he was going into the cornfield. God damn you, dad. His father had tried to impart many lessons, but only two stuck: 1. Never miss curfew, 2. Help those in need. Nathan bore the scars from learning the former. Carefully, he moved off the porch and across the dry dirt to the tall stalks.

The crop wasn’t ready to be harvested, but the fields were still thick, with only small pathways for movement. Nathan walked along a narrow, dirt track that led toward the center of the field where the voice had come from. “Bill, you out there?” He listened.

No response.

“I’m coming out there to help you, Bill. I am armed, so if you’re planning on scaring me, don’t.” It was a childish thing to say, but necessary. Too many people had gotten shot trying to pull a prank on a friend that happened to be armed. There was a story about it every year.

The corn bent overhead, temporarily blocking the moon from view in quick strips. Nathan heard each footfall and the crunch of every dried stalk underfoot as he moved forward. The fields were hot from the baking sun of the previous day. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

“Nathan?” asked a quiet, pained voice.

Nathan spun to face it and found himself looking down the long dirt track toward the farmhouse. At the end, the front door hung open, swinging on its rusted hinges. The creak of its movement split the night air. Nathan winced. In the dull quiet, any noise was too loud.  

The fields remained silent.

Nathan could hear his own breathing. He tightened his grip on the rifle, waiting for any sign of movement.

“AAAAAAAGH!” The scream came again, renewed.

Nathan swung around, ready to fire.

“NO, NO, N—” The scream cut off, replaced by a thick, electric snap. A hum filled the field.

The corn parted and a black silhouette stepped onto the path. It looked at Nathan, cocking its head to the side. The edges of the figure were blurry and wrong, not quite coming into focus, despite the mere thirty feet between them. A soft clicking noise filled the air.

Nathan pulled the trigger before he had a chance to think about it.

In the same instant, the silhouette disappeared.

The shot echoed across the fields, blotting out any memory of what had come before. “What the fuck is happening?” Nathan racked the rifle, readying to fire again. “That was a warning!” The words wavered more than he would have liked. Nathan approached the spot where the figure had been. There’s no way in hell I didn’t hit it. The dirt path was unchanged, no sign of anyone being there for days. Even the dirt remained smooth.  

A crackling noise rose from the field.

Nathan turned his head. Smoke was rising from a spot in the field less than a hundred feet away. “Oh, no you don’t.” A fire could destroy his crops for the year and bankrupt the farm. Nathan ran through the fields, feeling the fear that at any moment, the silhouette could be right beside him again. It was a trick of the night, there ain’t nothing out here but some assholes trying to get a rise. He kept the rifle shouldered and wrapped his finger around the trigger. “This is your last chance, asshole. Get off my property!”

Nathan whipped through the corn, the uniform stalks obscuring distance and time. Every step was the same until it wasn’t. He broke through the green barrier and came upon a massive crater in the ground. A towering, rectangular, red-hot object was buried in the earth. It looked like God had dropped a brick. Nathan wondered briefly how he hadn’t seen it when leaving the house. Mounds of earth were spread out in a wide circle around the point of impact. A small patch of corn burned on the far side of the crater.

How the hell did I not hear that? Nathan was processing the scene when the smell hit. It had been impossible to live through the war without knowing the smell of burning flesh. Bill was hardly Bill anymore, but Nathan recognized the scraps of coveralls hanging around his scorched bones. From the waist up, Bill had been incinerated. His skeleton lay with arms outstretched, trying to move away from the strange object.

Nathan looked down at the body with a mixture of curiosity and terror. Bill’s legs were practically untouched. Whatever had torched him was neat and precise. “Oh shit.” Nathan lifted his head.

The figure stood across the crater from him, clearer than before. It stood just over six feet, walking on four, pointed legs. Chitinous shells moved past one another at a glacial pace and formed the bulk of the creature’s body. They gently collided with one another, creating a soft, maddening clicking noise. Only the creature’s face remained unobscured. Four, fleshy protrusions reached out from a smooth, slimy surface that had to be its head.

Nathan saw no eyes, but knew the creature was looking at him. Run, you idiot. Nathan’s feet wouldn’t budge. A cold weight settled over his body. The rifle shook in his hands. He tried to raise it again, but couldn’t budge an inch

The creature’s stalks moved, slow and steady, taking in the scene. Then, wordlessly, it raised a black object that could have only been a weapon.

This is not how you die. Nathan took a deep breath, steadied his arms, and raised the rifle to fire. The shot was deafening.

A black mass of shells and liquid spurted off the creature’s right shoulder and its four eyes recoiled.

Not waiting to see the result, Nathan turned and ran. His only goal was to get as far away from the strange structure as possible. There could have been ten more hiding in the smooth, black depths. Nathan visualized himself getting into his truck and speeding off into the night. If he could imagine it, he would get out alive. It was another old trick that had kept him safe through countless situations that should have killed him. His heart raced, but a calm sense of purpose took over. There was a goal, and he was going to make it.

A few steps into the field, he stumbled. The goddamned shoelaces. Why didn’t I tie the goddamned shoelaces? Only, he felt something else. Agony. He let out a sudden howl of pain and tried to leap away like something had bit him. He got me. Lucky shot. Despite all the training that said not to, Nathan looked down at the wound. Fire was spreading slowly outward from a ragged hole in his abdomen. The pain was immeasurable, but so sudden that he struggled to comprehend it. It was one lucky shot, get to the truck.  He tried to push his legs forward.

Nathan’s legs no longer worked. As he fell forward, he watched the muscle slowly burning away, leaving nothing but charred bone behind. In a matter of seconds, his stomach, lungs, and heart were gone. The feeling of pain had subsided to a resolute weirdness he couldn’t explain. Fire licked up his throat and to his chin. That was a bad thing, he was sure of it, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Thoughts came in ragged bursts. The shoelaces. Fire consuming his nose. I forgot to tie the god damned shoelaces.

Nathan stared at the corn, placid in the pale moonlight, and then he didn’t.