Taylor had squeezed Ben’s hand back and let the tension evaporate into the cold, cloudless night. Then she laughed along with Jamie, exclaiming over the fake blood spurting from severed latex limbs in the next cabin. There was no use dwelling on the faint pattern on the walls in the cabin, or picturing Norah’s crumpled face.
As they loiter near the exit to the cabin trails, Taylor studies the faces of the kids who emerge. They range from exhilarated to disappointed. Most of the kids are still talking about the constellations on the cabin wall. Whether they saw the blood or, in most cases, didn’t see it. Whether it was so much blood or less blood than they’d imagined after all the hype. Whether it looked like the Thicket had tried to sand down the log walls. How much blood had been in the bathtub they’d removed from the room. Who got their black light taken away.
Taylor lets her gaze trail over each group, scanning beyond the exit to the hay wall bordering the plaza. She realizes she’s still keeping an eye out for Norah. Did she go back home? Get back in line? Complain to the security guard? Is she crying in the parking lot now? There’s no sign of her on this side of the plaza.
Taylor notices that her fingers, which are still laced in Ben’s, are starting to feel clammy. She pushes the image of Norah’s face away to focus on what Maren is saying.
“I mean, it would have been a little cool—if we saw the blood too.” Maren turns and casts a pointed look at Taylor and Ben, leaning on Aaron’s flannel chest. Aaron grins, his teeth flashing white against the black paint around his mouth. He grabs Maren’s waist with one hand, letting his other arm dangle heavily across her chest.
Tyson glances at Aaron sideways. Then, his sparse blond mustache glimmering faintly in the strobe lights, he drapes his arm around Jamie.
Jamie grins and reaches into her coat pockets. Then she frowns. “Mare, do you still have my phone? I’m okay now.” She looks up at Tyson while she says it, running her hands over his leather bomber jacket.
Maren smiles, still looking up at Aaron. “Nah. You two make a very cute couple, but you are not sending a selfie to Russ right now. Don’t think about him again yet.”
Jamie’s mouth turns down in a mock pout, and Maren shakes her head. “You’ll make Tyson feel bad.” Maren turns toward Taylor, out of Jamie’s line of sight. She flicks her finger along her upper lip, miming a mustache.
Tyson, who clearly does not feel bad—or sense that his mustache is being mocked—smiles and pulls Jamie against him. Jamie giggles and snuggles into him.
Ben clears his throat and shifts on his feet, squeezing Taylor’s clammy hand tightly. “So, uh, what should we do now?” He nods toward the other end of the plaza. “You guys want more food?”
“Sure, we could—” Taylor begins. She’s interrupted by Maren, who is already shaking her head.
“I’m still full. Let’s do the corn maze next,” Maren exclaims loudly. She spins around so she’s facing Aaron.
Taylor tries not to look at Ben and keeps a neutral expression on her face. Maren has basically just announced that she wants to make out with Aaron in the corn.
Behind her, Ryan’s freckle face looks pained. However, he’s pretending to be absorbed with the task of propping up one of the “If you see something, say something” signs that has been kicked over just outside the exit to the cabins. Taylor feels a little bad for him. It’s painfully obvious that he’s the odd man out. Although that hasn’t stopped him from sneaking obvious glances at Jamie and Maren’s boobs every few minutes. “The corn maze is lame. It’s not even haunted,” he whines, abandoning the fallen sign. “Plus it’s shaped like a candy corn or something stupid this year.”
Maren laughs.“God that’s lame. But who cares what it’s shaped like? It’s not like you can tell what shape it is while you’re in the maze, anyway. It’ll be fun.” She twists her fingers through one of Aaron’s belt loops and pulls him toward the other side of the plaza, motioning for everyone else to follow. “C’mon.”
With a glance between them, Jamie and Tyson follow.
Ryan sighs and looks at Taylor and Ben. “Jesus. Are you guys going too?”
Taylor can feel her cheeks burning beneath the dried greasepaint and zombie blood. She looks at Ben for her cue, but he’s already tugging gently on their clasped hands. “Come on, it’ll be fine.” He grins and punches Ryan in the shoulder. “We have to do the corn maze. To get our money’s worth for the tickets.”
Ryan ignores him, studying Taylor. “Okay, but you do realize I’m the third wheel in your little tricycle, right?”
Taylor laughs, enjoying pretending that she and Ben are a couple. But honestly, she’s glad that Ryan is coming too. “Come on Ryan. Safety in numbers.”
Ryan mumbles something else under his breath, but he follows them anyway as they move toward the other end of the plaza. Beyond the DJ booth and the strobing lights, Taylor can just see the dark silhouette of the massive cornfields, barely visible in relief against the deep navy sky.
CHAPTER 31
He doesn’t have to wait long for them to emerge.
Through the smoky light cast by the ring of fire barrels at the trail exit, he watches as the teenagers grin at each other, exclaiming over what they saw—and didn’t see—in the cabins.
They jostle against each other, all eagerness and anticipation for whatever else the night might bring.
The group lingers for a few moments then moves with purpose away from the congested trail exit. They walk past the last of the food stands, past the kiddie maze, past the forlorn tire swings and sandboxes filled with dried corn. Then they head toward the far inner wall of the plaza.
He feels the rightness of it as he follows them at a distance. When they reach the entrance to the corn maze, he stops and waits.
A bored-looking guard with a tan hat, black coat, curly gray hair, and deep crow’s feet—he’s surely too old to be a rent-a-cop—is sitting on a hay bale. All around him, the corn stalks are cut and trampled to form a wide entrance into the maze.
The old guy doesn’t look up as the teens enter the maze through one of the three narrow passages.
A wooden sign is staked in the ground:
No throwing corn.
No eating corn.
No urinating in the corn.
The plague doctor looks back at the frenetic beams of lights cutting through the dark plaza, making him blink when they suddenly flash in this direction. He waits a few moments longer. Then he walks past the old man in uniform and into the maze, feeling his pupils dilate as the darkness swallows him whole.
CHAPTER 32
Norah studies the monsters while she waits in line—for the second time.
The line for the cabin trails has nearly doubled in size in the time it took her to walk across the plaza and back. The staff have cordoned off more switchbacks with rusty metal chains, making the entrance appear much closer than it actually is at any given time.
A few new scarers have been dispatched to keep the crowds from growing too restless in the long waits. And to her surprise, Norah finds that they provide the perfect distraction to keep her from hearing too much chatter while she stands in line, hunched deep into her hoodie.
The scarers work as a pack. One creature—Norah isn’t really sure what it’s supposed to be—approaches a group of kids, crawling on its belly over the now-frosty grass toward a fire barrel.
There’s blood matted in the hair on the animal’s muzzle, deep red against the long, curly white fur. On the top of its head are two horns that curl downward, extending nearly to its back. Maybe it’s a goat, Norah thinks. Whatever it is, the animal begins to bellow when it reaches the line. Kids sandwiched deep in the switchbacks crane their necks to see, and kids near the fire barrel spin around to exclaim over how ugly it is.
Then, from the back of the line—where no one is looking except for the recently arrived newcomers who watch with glee—a man dressed in all black creeps forward. He’s wearing a short red wig, and his face is painted in mottled red
and white. His eyes are swallowed up by dark black patches. But it’s his mouth that takes the cake. Norah can’t tell if it’s a mask or some kind of demented mouthguard. Dozens of long, wicked-looking needles protrude from his lips and down his chin, sending swaths of blood cascading down his mouth and onto his exposed throat.
Needle Mouth is carrying a chainsaw. And as the kids collectively turn to gawk at the goat creature making a ruckus on one side of the line, Needle Mouth creeps in closer, closer. Then he lifts the chainsaw over his head, turning the machine on and screaming.
The entire line erupts in shrieks and screams. Despite herself, Norah feels the barest smile creep across her face and an unexpected rush of tenderness. There’s some gawky kid inside that mask. She can tell by the lanky set of his arms and the way he stands. Maybe he knew the staffer who died the same night as Brandon.
She swallows and looks back at the goat thing, which has nearly been swallowed up by the dark plaza as it scuttles away.
As the line shuffles forward a few feet, Norah’s gaze moves back in the direction of the food trucks, the concessions stands, and the white canvas tent. She can’t see anything from here. But that doesn’t stop her from looking.
Nothing has happened, of course. No SWAT team. No flurry of security. The man in the army jacket and beard hasn’t reappeared. And she feels certain that the only person Dave—head of security—might be watching out for is a teenage girl wearing enormous sweatpants and tiny naked mole eyes. Her ears burn as she imagines the awkward conversation he and Officer Willis must have had. Respectful. Pitying. Poor Norah.
Norah’s mom had texted her again, right as she took her place at the end of the long line for the second time. She had almost gotten out of line—again. It would be another hour, at least, until she made it to the front. But Norah stays where she is, watching for approaching monsters. She’s grateful when they elicit the screams that stop the chatter about the cabins and the blood and the two people who died there.
She pulls out her phone and sends her mom a text. “Out. Home in a while.” She watches the text bubbles pop up almost immediately after she sends it. They disappear, then pop up, then disappear again. Her phone informs her that she has 20 percent battery life. She ignores it, watching the text bubbles until they stop for good.
Norah feels a prickle of guilt as she pockets the phone. Her parents are good people. They’re going through hell. They deserve better. But if what you got was what you deserved, Norah wouldn’t be standing in line at the Thicket right now.
Another monster, a woman this time, staggers toward the line. She’s dressed in torn scrubs covered with blood and entrails. One of her hands is full of enormous hypodermic needles. There’s a stringy gray tangle of intestines hanging out of the elastic waistband of her pants, and her bare arms are covered in shiny red blood. “Does somebody need a doctor?” she shrieks, sending a portion of the line scrambling against the ropes. “Who needs a doctor?”
Me, Norah thinks. Me.
The line inches forward, and Norah balls her hands harder into her pockets until the sting of her fingernails on her palms helps her take a few more steps.
CHAPTER 33
This is where the real ghosts are, Taylor thinks as they round the first corner of the maze and the darkness envelops them.
The corn maze isn’t quiet, exactly. The dry corn stalks rasp in the breeze, a constant chatter. And when the wind picks up, rushing through the mostly empty arteries of the maze, the stalks clash together in a loud rattle.
When the wind lets up, Taylor can hear crunching footsteps, giggles, and faint screams coming from further inside the maze. There’s also the music from the DJ booth—along with the familiar, competing bass of “Thriller” thumping steadily through the night air. However, for the first time since they arrived, the crowds have basically disappeared.
Taylor glances over her shoulder for a last glimpse at the security guard stationed on some stacked hay bales just inside the entrance to the corn maze.
He’s older than most of the other security guards she’s seen. Late sixties, maybe. She wonders whether the corn maze is the coveted position or the bum job at the Thicket. There’s not much to do here, sitting on the outskirts of the plaza in the dark. She tries to recall the expression on the man’s face. He barely glanced up from the radio set in his hand. He’d looked a little bored but not necessarily unhappy.
Maren and Jamie—arm candy in tow—are leading the way through the corn maze. The girls are walking faster than before, still slurring their words even though Taylor’s buzz is all but gone. She wonders how long it will be before the couples disappear down dead-ends.
“If we take every left turn, we won’t get lost,” Ryan calls helpfully from behind them, swearing softly when one of his shoes gets stuck in the mud—again.
The ground is uneven, strewn with half-broken stalks and partially empty ears of corn. The trail is thick with copious amounts of mud, despite the frigid temperatures and the spitting snow. The mess of leaves and cornstalks underfoot must be the reason. Every few minutes, there is a soupy, sucking sound and a laughing curse as someone steps into a hidden mud puddle.
Maren slows down and turns to look at Ryan with a sultry smile. In the darkness, her deep purple lips are stark in her pale face. She holds the smile for a moment then flicks her gaze to Aaron and darts into the maze, to the right.
Jamie giggles and tugs Peach Fuzz to the left.
Ryan swears again under his breath but keeps going, moving faster to keep up as Maren and Aaron disappear.
When Taylor and Ben reach the fork in the maze, they hear voices. A girl wearing a long red cape and hood suddenly appears, holding the hem of her garment up around her waist to keep it clean. “This is gross. And it’s not even scary,” she says to the boy beside her, pointing at her muddy red shoes in disgust. “I can’t believe you left me back there. I was yelling your name.”
The boy shrugs. “I couldn’t hear you. It’s freaking loud in here with the wind.”
The girl in the red cape wrinkles her nose and flicks a glance at Taylor. “Fair warning: The maze is not worth it.”
The boy, who has his face painted like a wolf, sighs loudly. “It’s not that muddy once you get past the part everyone’s been trampling over.”
The couple’s voices fade quickly as they continue walking, and Taylor hears Ben laugh softly beside her. “Wimps. I like it out here. It’s kind of peaceful.” She can feel him looking at her and is glad—again—that she’s wearing face paint.
Just ahead of them, Ryan reappears in the darkness. “Are they both gone?” he mutters. Taylor squints into the maze and suddenly realizes that she can no longer see either Maren or Jamie—or anyone else—ahead of them.
Ryan groans and stops walking, using half a corn cob to wipe at the mud on his shoes without success. “I’m going back to the plaza, okay? You guys just … go do your thing. I’ll go to the fortune teller’s booth or something,” he says half-heartedly.
Ben lets go of Taylor’s hand and strides over to where Ryan is standing, looking miserable with the muddy corn cob in his hand. “Look, man. I didn’t want to say anything in front of the others, but me and Taylor were kind of hoping …” Ben runs one finger suggestively down Ryan’s jacket.
Taylor lets out a snort as Ryan shrieks and bats Ben’s hand away. “That’s freaking disgusting.” One side of his mouth lifts in a reluctant grin as he glances at Taylor. “I mean, not because of you, Taylor. Just him.” He shakes the corn cob at Ben. “Find me when you’re done bumping and grinding, okay?” He shakes his head and walks past them, tossing the corn cob down a dead-end and peering in the direction they just came from. It can’t be more than a five-minute walk through the maze until he reaches the plaza.
Ben laughs and takes Taylor’s hand as Ryan disappears into the darkness and the whipping stalks that absorb the sound of his footsteps.
Taylor’s pulse speeds up as she and Ben continue walking. What happens next?
When the wind dies for just a moment, she hears someone scream—then laugh. It might have been Jamie.
Taylor listens intently as the wind picks up again, but it’s impossible to tell which direction the screams came from. She takes a few steps toward the next turn, avoiding looking at Ben, although she’s still holding his hand. Ironically, now that the threesome has dissolved, she feels suddenly shy again, her heartbeat thumping hard in her ears.
Ben gently tugs on her hand, pulling her toward him along a wall of corn. His face looms dangerously close to her own. She can just see the dark pinpricks of stubble on his chin.
Trying for a flirtatious giggle—which comes out as a whinny—Taylor flashes a smile at him, unlaces her hand from his, and then sprints around the next bend in the maze. She hopes the gesture came off as playful. But she is suddenly worried she might pass out. What if he has bad breath? What if she has bad breath? She remembers the French fries she ate earlier and runs her tongue along her teeth. As she stops running, she notices absently that the boy they saw earlier was right. The mud really isn’t as bad out here, with the ground less torn up from so many boot and sneaker prints.
“Hey,” Ben calls softly behind her as he hurries to catch up.
Taylor hesitates as she stares into the darkness of the forking paths in front of her. Somewhere in the maze, someone screams again. This scream lasts longer. It’s loud enough to cut through the rasping sound of the wind through the stalks, and it sounds further away.
“We can just go back if you want,” Ben adds after a few seconds when she doesn’t respond or turn around. “I’m kind of hungry anyway.”
She can hear the disappointment in his voice—instead of the annoyance she expected. It endears him to her in a way she doesn’t expect. She finds herself smiling, her pulse slowing a little. She can’t feel the buzz from the alcohol anymore, but the fact that she drank it at all earlier in the evening still makes her feel reckless.
Keeping one eye on the fork in the maze in case Maren or Jamie appear, Taylor takes his hand again. Making out with Ben has to be better than standing around in the plaza with Ryan, waiting for Jamie and Maren to come out arm-in-arm with Tyson and Aaron. She already knows that the ride home will be spent in a play-by-play of the corn maze—not the cabins, or the flash of black light after all.
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