The Thicket

by Noelle West Ihli

  There’s another loud scream, this one definitely from within the maze itself. The sound pierces the quiet again as the wind cuts out for a moment.

  The noise stops abruptly. Like before.

  Charlie stands up, wincing as his heels protest with a sensation that’s a little like stepping on broken shards of glass.

  “Sonofabitch,” he mutters, shaking his head and trudging into the darkness of the maze. He’ll never understand why they make the damn thing so big every year. Supposes it’s for the press. It’s a whole campaign every year. “Best Corn Mazes in the US.” “Best Haunted Houses in the US.” They up the ante a little every time.

  He kicks at a full ear of corn lying on the ground in front of him. Some little jerk stuck a row of them tip-down in the mud.

  As if there weren’t enough hazards in the dark.

  After a few minutes, Charlie parts the corn to get to the outer maze. Then he stops, listening. When he’s pretty sure he’s close to the spot the scream came from, he steps back into the main maze, disoriented for a few seconds until he spins in a slow circle, studying the high walls of corn.

  There are really only two main arteries that thread through the maze—and about a hundred dead-ends in between. You can tell the arteries from the dead-ends by the subtle way the corn is bent. Out and back, instead of sideways. The arteries are made with a dozer, not a mini Cat.

  He thinks for a moment, propping the ball of one foot against the other to take some of the pressure off his heel.

  As he stands still, he hears it: a couple of short snaps, then a flurry of footsteps, coming from the dead-end he just passed.

  Charlie turns slowly. Then he hears the low moan. And the laugh.

  He rolls his eyes and walks toward the sound.

  Bingo.

  But before he’s even rounded the corner to the dead-end, he slows down.

  Somehow, he knows with sudden clarity that he hasn’t found the kids.

  He can’t say why. It’s something about the base note in the sound, maybe.

  And he’s right.

  The person standing in the shadows of the dead-end is alone.

  At first, Charlie can’t quite take in what he’s seeing. But yes, the dark figure is wearing a mask.

  It’s a black, rubber mask with a wide, thick curved beak. The eyeholes are two voids.

  The cornstalks behind the man are broken, flattened in some places and leaning at an angle in others.

  Charlie puts a hand on the radio at his hip, hoping that when he speaks his voice doesn’t break. “Sonofabitch. Stay right there and hand over the mask. Now. You can toss it to me. And then you’re coming with me. Do you think you’re some kind of funny—”

  It doesn’t register at first, why the words have suddenly stopped coming out of his mouth.

  The man in the shadows has darted forward with surprising speed.

  At first, Charlie thought the man was trying to run past him into the main artery of the maze.

  But no. He sees the arm lift, then fall, then lift again in quick succession.

  The pain in his throat hits on a delay.

  And when it does, the searing, ripping agony lasts only a moment.

  CHAPTER 40

  When Taylor hears her phone chime, she scrambles to pull it out of her hoodie pouch.

  It will be Maren or Jamie. nonchalant and hinting at how many bases they’ve just rounded somewhere inside the maze. They’ll tell her to meet by the mini-donut stand, or the entrance as soon as posible, because they’re hungry again.

  Instead, it’s her dad.

  Hey kiddo. Going to bed soon. Drive safe, go slow.

  Taylor bites her lip and buries the phone back inside the pocket of her hoodie, relief curdling into the first inklings of despair.

  It’s been forty-five minutes since she saw Maren or Jamie. And it’s been twenty since they talked to the guard sitting at the entrance. Her voice is getting hoarse. So is Ben’s. And her phone is down to twenty percent.

  Maren hasn’t texted her back. Neither has Jamie. Neither has Aaron or Tyson—or even the freckle-faced kid whose name Taylor can’t remember anymore. She wishes, for the millionth time, that they’d never met the boys. That they’d gone to Maisie’s stupid party after all. Jamie would be making out with Russ right now—or arguing with him about Angel Girl. Maren would be slipping the vodka into some Hawaiian Punch or leaning over a kitchen counter to make her boobs look bigger, while she flirted with seniors. And Taylor would be tucked into some corner of the living room, fending off comments about the zombie costume. But they would be together. They wouldn’t be here.

  It’s getting colder out. The mud still slips beneath their feet at a few low points on the ground, but everyone’s breath is visible now. Small puffs as they walk deeper into the maze.

  Norah doesn’t call for anyone. She walks ahead, methodically checking every dead-end and artery they come to, while Taylor or Ben wait at the intersections, so no one else gets lost.

  Taylor isn’t sure why Norah is helping them look. Why she volunteered—especially after what happened earlier. The expression on her face when she walked up to the guard was both terrifying and awe-inspiring.

  Taylor tried a little small talk—after she apologized. But any questions she managed to come up with felt either audacious or silly—given the circumstances. How have you been? Since we stopped talking in middle school. What have you been up to? While you’ve been out of school after your brother’s murder. How are you handling all this? No, no, and no.

  The path they’re walking on veers slightly to the right, and Taylor wonders if they’ve reached the far edge of the maze. She can’t be sure, but it looks like the stalks aren’t quite as dense along this wall. Tiny slivers of dusky blue peep through some of the stalks, instead of a dense wall of black.

  She can’t remember the last time she’s ever actually completed a corn maze—let alone this one. But they’ve got to be approaching the far side. As Norah walks further ahead, Taylor tentatively parts the corn, trying to see through the stalks. She squints, pushing her way into the corn just a little as she tries to get a better idea of their position in the maze.

  Taylor lets the stalks fall back in place and steps back, walking faster to catch up with Ben and Norah, who are almost out of sight.

  She swallows, trying to soothe her burning throat, before calling out again into the darkness. The wind whisks the sound away almost as soon as the words leave her lips, tangling the stalks in a raspy patter. No matter how loudly she screams, the wind seems to carry her voice down into the stalks, instead of across the maze. She waits for the breeze to die, then tries calling again.

  A few steps ahead of her, Ben turns back with a tight-lipped smile and waits, offering his hand when she gets close enough. She could tell by his expression earlier that the confrontation with the guard had embarrassed him a lot. He’d wanted to meet up with Freckle Face—Ryan?—in the plaza, then wait for the others to text.

  When Norah had come stomping toward them from the Baby Maze, Ben’s jaw had visibly dropped.

  All things considered—including the fact Taylor met him two hours ago—Ben has been a pretty good sport. He hasn’t come right out and said they should stop combing through the maze, anyway. Maybe she’ll give him her number after all when this is over.

  Suddenly remembering her dad’s text, Taylor lets go of Ben’s hand to pull her phone back out of her pocket. The blue light momentarily makes her squint.

  She considers telling her dad the truth. That she is at the far end (hopefully) of a dark maze with two virtual strangers, searching in vain to find Maren and Jamie. That she wants him to pick her up. That she needs him to help find her friends. That she is scared.

  She starts to type it. Then backspaces. He’s already in bed. And he’ll only worry. She does her best to spare him that whenever possible. And he does his best to pretend he doesn’t worry.

  Sweet dreams! Be home in a while! xoxo

  Taylo
r closes the thread and looks at the last group text she sent to Maren and Jamie.

  Pls just txt back so I know ur ok?

  She scrunches up her nose and reads the text she sent before it.

  Srsly where ru guys?

  And the text before.

  Getting cold. Can we go? Where ru?

  She’s pretty sure either Maren or Jamie would have texted back if they’d seen any of the messages.

  This means either they haven’t seen the texts—or there’s something wrong.

  She shivers, tucking her chin into her sweater and walking faster to catch up with Ben. As she tucks the phone back into her pocket, she feels for the switch on the side—again—to make sure that the ringer is on.

  When she reaches Ben, she takes his hand again. If they don’t find Maren and Jamie in ten more minutes, they’ll head back to the plaza. Find a different guard. Someone who will listen.

  She’s about to open her mouth to call Maren’s name again when she sees that Norah has suddenly stopped walking a few yards ahead.

  Ben sees it too. He casts Taylor a helpless glance and shuffles from one foot to the other, trying to stay warm. She can see that he’s not even annoyed anymore. Just really, really over this whole night.

  Taylor opens her mouth to ask what Norah is doing, hoping it won’t come out sounding whiny. Or annoyed.

  And that’s when she hears it.

  The low-pitched moan.

  At first, she can’t tell why the sound is different from the rest of the distant cacophony.

  It’s soft enough to be just audible when she is still. When the wind takes a breath.

  While she can’t be sure, Taylor is somehow positive that the sound is not coming from the direction of the plaza.

  And it isn’t coming from within the maze, either. She’s certain now, from the shape of the maze, that they’ve hit the back wall.

  It sounds like the moaning sound is coming from close by.

  Norah takes a step closer to the dark wall of corn and pushes a thick stand of stalks aside. Like Taylor did earlier.

  But instead of peering through the stalks, Norah pushes forward, into the opening she’s created.

  “What are you—” Ben begins.

  Norah whirls around. “Shut up,” she hisses. Then she parts the corn again, deeper this time, and disappears.

  There’s rustling. Then a few soggy pops.

  Suddenly, Taylor can’t see or hear Norah anymore at all. She looks at Ben, who shakes his head as he walks over to the spot where Norah just disappeared. “It’s just another trail,” he whispers, parting the corn and peering through.

  Taylor’s chest gets tighter as she imagines walking back through the maze. Again. They should go back for the guard. Call her dad. Or—

  “Hold on. Look at this.”

  She looks up just in time to see Ben disappear through the stalks.

  “Come on.” His voice sounds excited.

  She hurries to catch up with him, parting the scratchy, damp stalks and tensing as the spidery tassels brush against her face when she squeezes through the dense stalks of corn.

  On the other side is another narrow trail, flanked by stalks of corn on both sides. This part of the maze is still walled off from the rest of the world, but there don’t appear to be any other arteries branching off.

  What’s more, the wall of corn running along the other side of them isn’t a dense partition anymore.

  It’s more of a blind. Just a few stalks thick. The night beyond filters through in muted shades of navy and a pattern of shadowy silhouettes in the distance.

  “I think Norah went through there.” Ben points to the thin wall of corn in front of them. He is still whispering.

  The moan comes again. Low. Muted. Just a fragment, before it’s inaudible.

  It sounded so close.

  Ben hears it this time too. He takes a step toward the thin wall of corn. “Did you hear that? Is Norah—”

  And then, suddenly, a pair of hands—and then Norah herself—pushes back through the corn.

  For the first time, she looks unsure. “Is this part of the Thicket?” she whispers, parting the thin blind of corn so they can see through to the other side.

  Taylor peers into the darkness, trying to make sense of the shadows.

  There’s a narrow dirt path on the other side, beyond the maze.

  She sees what appear to be the hulking shapes of farming equipment, parked in the weeds. A narrow irrigation ditch. Some sprinklers. The dark shape of a trailer parked on the fringes of yet another field.

  There is also the dark outline of a structure, set back from the road along the field.

  Taylor’s mouth feels dry. She can’t hear the moan anymore over the roar of blood in her ears and the chatter of the stalks. “No,” she whispers haltingly. “I-I don’t think so anyway. Is that where the—”

  But Norah is already walking.

  So is Ben.

  And then, because she doesn’t want to be left alone slightly more than she doesn’t want to walk into the darkness past the maze, she follows.

  CHAPTER 41

  This wasn’t part of the plan.

  The radio on the dead guard’s belt sparks to life, spitting static for a few moments until someone’s voice breaks through. “Charlie, copy.”

  The radio is too loud.

  He reaches for it, to turn the switch to off.

  The voice comes again. “What’s your twenty?”

  He can easily disappear back into the maze and out the front entrance. He doesn’t want to. But he’s learned when to back away.

  While you’re ahead.

  Part of the guard’s throat is flapping open. A dark hole at his sternum.

  The blood is already starting to pool and clot in the breeze, a dark, sticky waterfall that will thicken, slow, then stop altogether in the deepening cold.

  He sits back on his heels to think.

  The body is lying at an angle, in a flattened patch of cornstalks between the inner and the outer maze.

  If it were daylight, the struggle—and the subsequent destruction of the corn just a hair’s breadth beyond the passageways of the maze—would be impossible to conceal.

  That much blood is hard to hide.

  But not in the dark.

  He rises from his crouched position, feeling the stalks stroke his coat like gentle fingers. He was smart to check the guard post one more time.

  But too much time has passed during this detour, and he is bothered by the distance between himself and the dark mill halfway across the maze. He’s lost at least twenty minutes, he guesses.

  The radio sputters to life again.

  “Copy, Charlie.”

  And again, he reaches to turn the radio off.

  But as he touches the rubber buttons, tacky beneath his latex gloves, he suddenly understands that he is still ahead.

  He holds the two-way radio for a moment, studying it. The screen is neon green, and the channel is set to twenty-two.

  He presses call.

  The voice on the other end speaks again. “Hey, Charlie.”

  The voice is impatient. Distracted. The inflection drops on the last syllable. It’s not a question. Just a greeting.

  He looks at the guard’s face. Eyes half-open, lids heavy with wrinkles and moles. Mouth still set in a drooping line, a partial grimace. He thinks of the man’s shuffling steps. Then he clears his throat and speaks. Low and just quiet enough. “Hey. Some kids being rowdy. On my way back out.”

  The static fills the void again, and the same voice responds right away. “Ok. Just checking in.”

  He waits a few seconds before he lifts his finger off the call button. Then he slips the radio into his coat pocket next to the still-warm, slightly sticky knife.

  He crouches beside the dead man in the dark. The bottom half of his silver badge winks softly in the moonlight. The top half of the badge is obscured by blood.

  The text at the bottom reads “Declo Peace Office
r.”

  He smiles and plucks the badge from where it’s clipped onto Charlie’s breast pocket, then uses the guard’s own untucked shirttail to wipe the blood away.

  As he stands, he also picks up the wide-brim hat that is lying in the middle of the path a few yards away.

  CHAPTER 42

  As Norah pushes open the door to the ramshackle building, she can hear the moans without pausing to listen, even with the rustle of Taylor and the boy— Ben, apparently—behind her.

  Her fingers feel suddenly clumsy and cold, like they’re not really part of her body anymore. The rough surface of the crumbling wood door registers, but barely. Her heart is sucking up all the blood, she thinks, feeling it pound still harder.

  When the door swings fully open, the quiet moans stop.

  The windowless room is too dark to see much of anything.

  As Taylor fumbles for her cell phone’s flashlight in the sudden stillness, she can feel some part of herself bracing—and also hoping—for the moment where she shines the light and sees that she is crazy. That this is a prank. That the weed Aaron gave her is making her paranoid. That there is a reasonable explanation for the soft, strangled moans coming from inside this tall, dark building.

  As the phone screen’s dim blue light cuts the darkness immediately in front of her, the moans start again.

  Her throat constricts, and she takes another step into the room.

  Taylor and Ben are behind her now, so close they’re brushing the back of her hoodie. As the muted sounds take on a new, higher pitch, Taylor shrinks against her.

  Norah can’t find the flashlight app. She’s used it a thousand times. She knows where it is. But she can’t think. Not with the sounds in her ears, insisting that she act right now and not a second later.

  “Here,” Ben rasps from behind her, thrusting his own lit cell phone into her hand.

  He doesn’t want to be the one to shine the light.

  So she does, swinging the beam in front of her, catching dim brown floorboards, sawdust, a bench tipped on its side, and then—

  The body, limbs splayed and heavy across the dusty ground, is completely still. It’s positioned in such a way that Norah knows it is either fake—or dead.