Popcorn Thief

by Cutter, Leah

  Franklin pounded on the window, but the sow didn’t even look up. He debated opening it, sticking his head out and yelling at her, but he doubted that would do any good either.

  Why was she destroying his crop? Was it because he’d slaughtered her that spring? Or was there some other reason?

  “Morning, Mama,” Franklin said as he came in the kitchen. Mama paced in front of the stove, agitated. She’d been fine the night before. What was going on? He still didn’t know what she wanted from him, or why she’d been gone. Mostly, just impatient and angrier than usual.

  Was it something to do with the creature? She sure was acting different.

  Franklin knew Mama was worried about him, about what the thing was intending on doing to him. But she couldn’t help and she didn’t have any ideas how to stop it. He supposed that could agitate a body.

  But somehow, it felt bigger. Like something more was occurring.

  “Mama, I need to make breakfast,” Franklin said when he approached the stove with his egg.

  Mama kept pacing right in front of it: Two steps, turn, then two steps.

  Franklin couldn’t get near the stove without running into her, or maybe even through her, and he did not want to go through that again.

  With a sigh, Franklin put away his eggs and just got out bread and peanut butter instead. It wouldn’t be as satisfying without the egg, and without being fried, but it’d have to do. Since he’d been able to take a bath that morning (it had been so good—like proof that God still loved him) he didn’t have a lot of time.

  Mama didn’t stop her pacing when Franklin stood next to the stove, at the sink, washing off his plate. He kept a close eye on her, ready to move out of the way if she came too close.

  Gloria was nowhere to be seen. Franklin figured he’d run into her later that day. He was gonna have to go back to Karl’s place, see if he could take a look at Karl’s fields, find out what the creature was so interested in.

  For the first time in over a week, Franklin got out his bicycle. He checked the chain, making sure the gears still spun, before he climbed on and rode out the driveway.

  Before Franklin had reached the end of the lane and gotten to the road, he was already panting. Maybe the really hot bath that morning hadn’t been smart. He was tired and perspiring through both his undershirt and his shirt. It was like all the heat he’d absorbed that morning was now pouring back out his skin.

  By the time Franklin reached the church, he wanted to turn around and just ride back home. His back ached from where his shirt stuck to his skin, his arms were on fire from supporting his weight on the handles, and he felt like an old man, out of breath and strength.

  May peeled away from the group she’d been standing with and made a beeline toward Franklin. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she demanded. She wore a sleeveless white blouse with a red skirt that would have been more appropriate for a Friday night than a Sunday morning.

  “Going to church?” Franklin asked. What else was he supposed to be doing?

  “We went by to pick you up,” May said. “But you weren’t there. Nothing was broken inside, but I had no idea where you’d gotten to.”

  “I’m okay,” Franklin said, realizing that May had been scared that the creature had gotten him. “Really. It’s okay.”

  “That’s good, ’cause I’m about to take a wooden cooking spoon and beat your backside,” May said, glaring.

  “Could I get a ride home?” Franklin asked softly.

  “We’ll see,” she said firmly. But she did take him by an uninjured part of his arm and tugged him along. “Let’s get you inside, at least. You didn’t pull any of your stitches, now, did you?”

  “No, no, I’m fine,” Franklin assured her. He gratefully stepped into the air conditioning of the church, letting the coolness bless his skin.

  “So how was Miss Julie?” May asked with grin.

  “Now wouldn’t you like to know?” Franklin teased.

  “I know nothing happened,” May said. “You’re too much of a school-boy, and the pair of you had just gone to a prayer meeting. So tell me about that.”

  Franklin wasn’t sure what he could tell anyone about the meeting. “We met at this real nice lady’s house, stood in a circle, held hands, and said prayers.” That was the truth, at any rate.

  “I thought she was taking you to a witch’s coven, or something,” May said, disappointed. “I know it weren’t no God-fearing group.”

  “Wait, you knew?” Franklin asked.

  “Gottcha!” May said triumphantly. “I didn’t know, not for sure,” May admitted. “I knew Lexine had a group like that. I just bet it was the same one. So what was it like?”

  Franklin shrugged. “Different. Nice. Those folks loved Lexine, and they were mourning her, in their own way.”

  “I miss her,” May admitted.

  “So do I,” Franklin said. Lexine would never have shown up for church—once she’d come of an age when she didn’t have to go, she’d stopped. But she’d show up afterward, over at Aunt Jasmine’s house, to have dinner with them all, play with the kids, and hang out late into the night, talking.

  “Has she found a better place?” May asked seriously.

  “She ain’t haunting me, if that’s what you’re asking,” Franklin said.

  “You remember that businessman? His company is now trying to get Ma to sell Lexine’s land to them.”

  “Does Aunt Jasmine own that land, now?” Franklin asked as he followed May to a pew.

  “She’s going to,” May said. “You remember Lexine had a will, right? You and Darryl missed the reading of it.” May gave him a glare. “It was just a plain one, the kind you do over the internet. But it’s legal, signed, and witnessed. Everything goes to Ma.”

  “That’s good,” Franklin said. Better that it all went to his aunt than the state.

  “Ma don’t want that place,” May said. “None of us do, either. Do you want it?”

  “Me? No,” Franklin said. He remembered so long ago thinking about moving out there once. “No good fields for growing popcorn.”

  “You and your popcorn,” May said with a sigh. “Any chance you gonna win the prize this year?”

  “Yes,” Franklin said. “My corn’s coming in a bit earlier than Karl’s,” he said quietly. “More time to experiment, get it dried just right.”

  “What, you going for the tasting contest again? I figured you’d just enter the decorative one this year,” May teased.

  “I’m gonna win,” Franklin told her firmly. “And the taste contest, not the ‘make-a-pretty-display-of-corn’ one.” He was losing stalks, but so was Karl.

  “You know we wish you all the luck,” May said gently.

  “I know. And I’ll make you proud,” Franklin declared.

  And he would, too: not just of his corn-growing abilities, but how he got rid of the damn spirit as well, protecting his family.

  * * *

  The sermon was all about casting out the log in your own eye, instead of worrying about the speck of dust in God or your neighbor’s eye. Franklin wasn’t sure what it all meant. Eddie had been a lot more straightforward in her prayers, asking for healing and an open heart.

  Even if it was to a goddess and not to God.

  Franklin stood in line to shake the preacher’s hand as he left the church.

  “It was good to see you,” the reverend said. He held onto Franklin’s hand for another long moment. “You’re looking better.”

  “I’m fine, reverend,” Franklin said. “Really. It wasn’t permanent.”

  “I’ll come calling on you and your family later on this afternoon,” the preacher announced. “Make sure your aunt’s doing okay, after such a tragic loss.”

  “I’m sure she’ll like that,” Franklin said. He was planning on being gone early, getting May to drop him off near Karl’s farm.

  Maybe Franklin would be lucky and Karl would be gone, so he’d be able to just walk into Karl’s field.


  And maybe Sweet Bess would grow wings and fly above his field someday.

  * * *

  Despite how hot the afternoon had turned, Franklin found he couldn’t stay inside the house with everyone: It was too crowded, too noisy, too full of memories and grief. Aunt Jasmine had set up a table in the living room, underneath the big picture window facing the street, and filled the top of the table with pictures of Lexine and things that had been hers, both as a child and as an adult. It was like a shrine, or an altar, and it made Franklin nervous, like it was gonna attract the wrong kind of attention.

  So Franklin sat out on the back steps, alone this time, watching May’s boys throw a Frisbee back and forth.

  Darryl came out to join Franklin after a bit. “How you holding up?” He’d taken off his good shirt and just wore his undershirt and good pants, his feet bare.

  “Tired,” Franklin admitted.

  “I feel ya,” Darryl said. He stretched his bandaged arms out. “I would’ve thought a few days off, around the house, would have been relaxing, but not with our kids.”

  “I keep wondering. How did that thing get into your truck?” Franklin asked, confused. “It just passed through when you tried to ram it.”

  “Haven’t a clue. One minute I’m driving down the road, the next minute there’s this whirling mass that’s lashing out at me.” Darryl shook his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever moved so fast, getting out of my truck.”

  “Which road were you on?” Franklin asked.

  “Sixty-two. Out past the Vanguards.”

  “Were you next to Karl’s fields?” Franklin asked. It hadn’t occurred to him before, but if Darryl was out on the highway…

  “I may have been,” Darryl said slowly. “You think there’s a connection between him and the thing?”

  Franklin nodded slowly.

  “He’s not controlling it, or something, is he? I’ll kill him myself if he is,” Darryl fumed.

  “No, I think he’s a victim, too,” Franklin said quickly, trying to ward Darryl off.

  “What, you telling me that redneck is special too?” Darryl asked, disbelieving.

  “Naw, I don’t think so. I think there’s something in his field that’s special, that the creature has been going after. Remember—it didn’t attack Karl after he shot it—it came to find me,” Franklin said.

  “What the hell is in his fields?” Darryl asked.

  “I don’t know. But I intend to find out.”

  * * *

  May refused to drop Franklin off at Karl’s place. “You need to go home and rest,” she insisted. “You got black circles under your eyes, like you been up all night.”

  “I’m feeling better,” Franklin assured May, though he had to admit he was still tired. “I promise to rest later this afternoon.”

  “You’re going back to work tomorrow, ain’t you?” May fumed.

  “I don’t have any more vacation,” Franklin said. He really couldn’t afford another day off. He was probably going to have to work six-day weeks for a while, and volunteer for overtime, to make up the money being out had cost him.

  “Don’t you end up working yourself into a grave, like your mama,” May warned. “You got that pretty Julie now. Make sure you call her.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Franklin said, rolling his eyes. Mama had worked hard all her life. Franklin, too. He didn’t know any other way.

  As soon as May pulled out, Franklin got back on his bike and rode up to the four-lane highway and through town. He turned before he got to route sixty-two. Could he get through the back way to Karl’s fields again? Using the route that Gloria had showed him the first time?

  But there were kids playing in the yard of one of the houses, and Franklin didn’t see another way. He hoped maybe Gloria would show up, show him the way, but she didn’t.

  So Franklin went back to the main road, then huffed his way out of town, back up route sixty-two, to Karl’s place.

  The tall gray house felt deserted. Karl’s old Chevy still sat in the driveway, with the hood up. Loud cicadas cycled through their call in the fields. Franklin walked up the porch steps, his shoes echoing on the wood, then rang the doorbell.

  No one answered.

  Franklin knocked on the door, but still, no one came.

  Maybe Karl was at the vegetable stand. Or maybe he was out back, working in his fields, and Franklin just couldn’t see him from the house or the road. Or maybe the creature had him.

  Franklin was pretty sure it wasn’t the last one, or else Gloria would have been on Franklin’s tail until he’d done something about it.

  But where was Gloria? Franklin hadn’t seen her since the night the creature had passed through him. Mama was back, and Franklin knew better than to start thinking maybe Gloria had just passed on and was no longer gonna bother him.

  Franklin didn’t want to go around the house, go into Karl’s field uninvited. But maybe he could use the excuse of the creature to Sheriff Thompson, that Franklin was worried about Karl, worried for his safety.

  As Franklin followed the well-laid brick walkway around the house into the back, Gloria appeared. She stared at Franklin, then walked away, through the thick, healthy tomatoes and squash plants, then disappeared into the rows of corn.

  Franklin didn’t want to trespass any more than he had been. But he knew he was going to have to follow her. He sighed, looking at all the bounty of Karl’s fields, shaking his head. That man could grow anything. Then he squared his shoulders and followed Gloria into the field. He had his own duty to do.

  Stalks of corn reached above Franklin’s head. The air smelled dry and dusty. Green leaves curled gracefully from strong stems. Golden silks hung on the ends of the cobs. They were almost ready to harvest.

  Franklin walked straight back. He knew how easy it was to get lost in a field: he couldn’t see anything but the corn stalks around him and the blue sky above.

  Gloria appeared again after Franklin walked through three more rows. He jumped, spooked.

  She merely glared at him and pointed him off in a diagonal, closer to the road.

  Franklin wished there was some way to better track where he was in the field, but these weren’t his fields, wasn’t his crop.

  He was gonna get lost for sure.

  Still, Franklin went off the direction Gloria pointed. She corrected him a couple more times.

  Franklin was sweating again. The baked earth held in the heat, and no breeze stirred the leaves. It seemed like there was no end in sight, just tall stalks of corn, marching to the ends of the earth.

  Suddenly, the rows opened up onto a flattened area. It looked like a mini-twister had hit the earth, swirling the corn in a big circle, then lifted away.

  “What the hell?” Franklin asked, as he walked around it. It must have been the creature that had scattered the corn this way, that tell-tale cyclone.

  Gloria appeared, her arms pulled tight against her ample chest. She didn’t look angry for once. Instead, she looked worried. She looked down at her feet, then back up at Franklin and disappeared again.

  Franklin walked over to where Gloria had been standing. A piece of twisted, thorny vine lay on the ground. It looked like a dried raspberry vine, covered in both large and small spikes.

  Gingerly, Franklin picked it up. It twisted in his hand, startling him, making him cry out as he dropped it.

  It lay still on the ground at his feet.

  Was this where Karl had shot the creature? Blown off part of one of its whips? Is that what had caused this explosion?

  Franklin squatted down and looked more closely at the ground. The stalks had been twisted out of the ground, shredded by the wind. But it looked like it had happened a long time ago, not just days ago. What had happened here? Was it an explosion?

  Or had this been its nest?

  “All right. Stand up slowly. And put your hands where I can see ’em,”

  Karl. Shit.

  Franklin raised his hands over his head before he turned around to fa
ce Karl. “What happened here?” Franklin asked calmly, though Karl held a twelve-gauge double-barrel shotgun aimed right at his face.

  “Hell. I should have known it was you, sneaking around here,” Karl said. He didn’t move the gun an inch away, though, or relax his stance.

  “Is this where you shot at something on Tuesday night?” Franklin asked. “Maybe filled it with rock salt?”

  “I’m not telling you nothing,” Karl declared. “Now move your ass. Back to the house. I’m calling the cops. Reporting you for trespassing.”

  “Karl, you know I ain’t been stealing your crops. And I sure never made such a hole in your field,” Franklin complained as he walked along the rows of corn.

  Karl didn’t reply, just prodded him with the barrel of his gun when Franklin slowed down to look over his shoulder.

  Not even Gloria was there to help.

  Inside the old house, Franklin found not only cobs of corn, but stalks, too, that had been rooted up and placed next to the dining room table. The wall of blue ribbons mocked him. Karl was gonna win this year too. Particularly if Franklin was stuck in jail.

  His heart beat hard in his chest, but he wasn’t about to run. That made no sense. But Karl wasn’t really going to go through with turning him in, was he? He waited patiently while Karl called the cops.

  “There’s something about your fields, Karl,” Franklin said when Karl hung up, trying to stay calm. “Something that’s attracting the creature.”

  “Just shut up,” Karl said.

  At least Karl put the gun down. But he stood in the wide archway between the front hall and the living room, his muscled arms across his skinny chest, his chin stuck out as belligerent as an ox.

  “I ain’t gonna try to run,” Franklin told Karl.

  “Like you could,” Karl said disdainfully.

  “But I needed to see what had happened. You know that Gloria led me to that place. I couldn’t have found it on my own. What happened there?” Franklin asked.

  Karl pressed his lips together stubbornly.

  “You know that thing came and attacked me, after you shot it, right? It was a good thing you sent the sheriff out my way. I might’ve died, if he hadn’t gotten me to the hospital.”