The Corn Maze

The sun beat down into your car from directly above, creating an atmosphere that was just hot enough to be unpleasant. Not for the first time on the trip you wished you had functioning AC. You kept your eyes focused on the winding road ahead of you, the silence in the car only broken by the occasional monotone input of the (dubiously helpful) GPS voice. The landscape stretched on in all directions—you were in one of those remarkably uninteresting parts of the country in which it seemed some great force had flattened the earth and with it any potential landmarks.

You were on your way to one of those family reunions no one seemed to care about and yet everyone seemed to attend. The drive was supposed to take about four hours—give or take—but here you were, four hours later, with nothing except the occasional scraggly roadside bush within sight. To make matters worse, because, of course, this would happen to you in the middle of god***n nowhere, your car began to slow and finally puttered to a complete stop. Noticing the flashing gas indicator for the first time, you uttered some choice words before getting out of the car to see if you could get cell service (you couldn’t).

You sighed heavily and leaned against the door before abruptly standing up again—was that a fair in the distance? It was just barely visible but unmistakably some sort of carnival. You briefly wondered why there was a fair of all things with nothing else for miles, but it didn’t really matter—it meant there were people, people who could hopefully help you get out of here and to your destination. With a sigh, you started walking down the dusty road toward the colorful spot in the distance.

After what felt like an hour but was probably not more than ten minutes, you came to the entrance of what was, indeed, a small county fair. As to be expected from your surroundings, it was not very busy—the largest attraction seemed to be the rather unimpressive corn maze, with a few other booths scattered around the dusty field. In retrospect, “fair” was perhaps a strong word. But there were people, and that was what mattered. You approached one of the booth owners, asking if they knew how to get hold of a tow company. They didn’t, but their brother had a truck, they said, and they could call him and ask him to come by if that would work for you? It did work for you, you were pleased to tell them, although it would take a couple of extra hours. You thanked the vendor and perused the stalls, looking for anything that might catch your eye. Eventually, after you’d been around to each stall twice and nothing had piqued your interest, you decided you might as well check out the corn maze. You had always liked mazes as a kid—something about having to find your own way out had thrilled you—and while this one looked a bit on the small side, it would likely still be fun. Not like there was much else to do, anyway. You approached the person at the entrance, handed them the two-dollar entry fee, and then you were in the maze.

Immediately, you realized that the corn was taller than it had seemed from the outside, and the maze itself much larger. You turned back to look the way you came and were startled to see it barely visible in the distance—you didn’t feel like you’d walked that far at all. You shrugged and kept going, turning when necessary. The old strategy of sticking to the right wall came back to you suddenly, and you decided to follow this instinct, running your hand along the side and feeling the papery leaves and stalks brush against your palm. It had been a dry year, and the rough plants scratched at your skin, not quite hard enough to bleed. The sun continued to beat down from above, but the tall stalks provided a welcome relief from the suffocating, breezeless heat.

The gentle sound of the corn rustling calmed you, and soon enough, your thoughts started to drift to more routine things, and you stopped paying attention to your surroundings—figuring as long as you kept your hand on the right side, you’d be fine. By the time you came to your senses, you realized you had no idea where the path was. You could see nothing but corn in all directions and wondered how long it had been since you had strayed. You were hungry, thirsty, and tired, and it felt like you’d been in the maze for hours. Looking up at the sun, you frowned—it had barely moved from its position in the middle of the sky. You shrugged and pushed on through the corn, thinking you might as well try to find your way back. Two minutes later, or at least what felt like two minutes later, the sky was tinged with orange as dusk began to fall over the world.

At one point, you thought you stumbled upon a path—the corn was trampled, and you thought you could even see human footprints. You followed it for a while. By the third time you passed the same bent stalk, you realized you had been going in circles. It was odd, you thought, because you didn’t remember turning.

The corn rustled, you realized all of a sudden. There was no wind, and the whole cornfield rustled. You walked on, uneasy now, footfalls making gentle thuds as you crushed the discarded husks underneath. It’s nearly sunrise now—wasn’t it just setting? You were hungry, so hungry. It felt like your stomach was trying to claw itself out from inside you. You reached up to grab a ripe cob to tide you over. You’d nearly finished it by the time you realized it provided neither taste nor sustenance.

You walk on. You aren’t sure how long it’s been, now. Sometimes it feels like just hours, sometimes days. You haven’t slept or eaten, but you’re still alive, so you reason that it can’t have been too long. Briefly, you wonder about your car—has the truck arrived yet?—but then you keep walking. What else can you do? It is night now. The corn isn’t rustling anymore. The stalks provide no relief from the merciless moon. You hear something behind you, just quiet enough to make you question if the sound was a figment of your imagination. You turn to look, and there is nothing there—you hope. You walk on. There’s so much corn. How is there so much corn? The only thing you can hear now is your own footsteps.

You wonder why you’re not tired anymore. Step.

You wonder how long you’ve been in the cornfield. Step.

You wonder why you entered the cornfield in the first place. Step.

You wonder what’s outside the cornfield. Step.

You wonder if the footsteps are your own. Step.

You wonder who you are. Step.

You wonder . . . Step.

Who are you? Step.

You wonder why it matters. Step. Step. Step. Silence.

The corn rustles. There is no wind, and the whole cornfield rustles. It is empty.