by R. L. Stine
We were all sitting around the cozy den having bowls of popcorn and tall glasses of hot apple cider. A fire crackled in the brick fireplace against the wall.
“Farms can be scary,” Uncle Jake said, setting his glass down on the arm of his chair. “Even an empty cornfield can be frightening if you’re not familiar with it.”
“I guess,” I said.
I didn’t want to talk about how frightened I was out there in the field. But I did want to talk about the whispers I’d heard.
Skipper and Mila swore they weren’t the whisperers. And I kind of believed them. But then, how do you explain those eerie, soft voices?
Thinking about it made me shiver.
“Todd, why are you shaking?” Aunt Clara asked. “Are you cold? Isn’t that cider warming you up? Do you want to move away from the window?” She patted the couch cushion beside her. “Here. Come sit by the fire.”
“No. I’m okay,” I said. I took a long sip of cider. “It’s just that … well … something weird happened out in the cornfield. I … uh—”
“We didn’t always plant corn in that field,” Uncle Jake said. “We started out with soybeans. But it wasn’t the moneymaker we thought it would be.”
“We love having the corn all summer,” Mila added. “This was the first year we grilled it instead of boiling it. And it was awesome.”
Skipper shoved a handful of popcorn into his mouth. He was staring hard at me. I couldn’t figure out what he was thinking.
“Well …” I tried again. “While I was waiting for Mila to find me, I heard these strange whispers. I—”
“Mila wants you to meet her friend tomorrow,” Aunt Clara interrupted. “Shameka lives on the closest farm to here.”
“But wait till you see it,” Mila said. “Their farm is totally modern. It’s like sci-fi.”
I saw what they were doing. They were deliberately interrupting me. They didn’t want to talk about the whispers in the cornfield.
I pulled out my harmonica. I slid it from side to side across my lips. “Would anyone like to hear some blues?” I asked.
“We heard you from upstairs,” Skipper said.
Uncle Jake climbed to his feet. “Maybe some other time,” he said. He carried his empty popcorn bowl to the kitchen.
Mila yawned. “Yeah. Some other time. It’s getting late,” she said.
“I can take a hint,” I murmured. I tucked the harmonica back into my pocket and made my way upstairs to my attic room.
My suitcase stood open on the floor. I hadn’t finished unpacking. I didn’t feel sleepy. I think I was still wired from my adventure in the cornfield.
“Guess I’ll unpack,” I muttered.
The radiator in the corner hissed to life. A burst of wind made the windowpane shake. I glanced out the window. The full moon had faded to yellow and floated high in the sky.
I reached into the suitcase and pulled out the stack of scary books I had brought to read. Remembering the whispers in the cornfield made me shiver. “I don’t think I’ll be needing these,” I said. I shoved the books back into the suitcase and lifted out some sweaters.
My suitcase was nearly empty when I heard the shouts downstairs. I tossed some socks into a dresser drawer and stopped to listen.
An argument? Mila and Skipper were yelling angrily at each other.
What was the argument about? Their voices were muffled behind a closed door. I couldn’t make out the words.
I moved closer to the stairs and leaned over the railing, trying to hear better.
I heard Mila call Skipper an idiot.
Then I heard Skipper shout, “You don’t know everything. You don’t know anything!”
“You’ve got to stop! You’ve got to stop it now!” Mila cried.
More shouting. Something slammed against a wall. Then silence.
The argument had ended. I waited by the stairs to see if it really was over. My brain was spinning. What were they fighting about? It didn’t seem like a typical brother-sister argument. They both seemed to be so angry.
Shaking my head, I returned to my room. I pulled more socks from my suitcase and emptied them into a dresser drawer. All unpacked.
I latched the suitcase and dragged it into a corner. Then I stepped over to the dresser to get my pajamas.
I stopped when I realized I wasn’t alone.
I turned and blinked when I saw Skipper. He leaned a shoulder against one side of my bedroom doorway. He was so tall, his head came up nearly to the top of the door frame.
He stood there without speaking. Watching me. His eyes narrowed, his expression blank. Just watching me.
“Skipper,” I said finally, breaking the silence. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
Skipper took a few steps into my room. His eyes moved to the window, then back to me.
“What is it?” I repeated. My muscles tensed. Did he come up here to argue with me, too?
He shoved his hands into his pants pockets. “Mila sent me up here to apologize,” he muttered.
“Apologize? Wh-why?” I stammered. “Because it was you who whispered to me in the cornfield?”
He shook his head. “No. I wasn’t there, Todd. I didn’t whisper anything to you.”
I studied his face. He seemed to be telling the truth. I waited for him to continue.
“Mila told me to apologize for scaring you so much,” Skipper said. His cheeks suddenly darkened to red. “All my jokes and teasing … well … they made you think the farm is a scary place.”
The radiator hissed behind me. I dropped down onto the edge of my bed and looked up at Skipper.
“You imagined the whispering,” he said. “Because I put you in a scary mood. I made you think everything here is strange and frightening.”
He turned his gaze to the window. His cheeks were still blushing bright red. “I’m really sorry, Todd. I was just having some fun.”
“But the whispers were real!” I exclaimed. “It wasn’t my imagination, Skipper. I know what I heard.”
“It was the wind through the cornstalks,” he said. “The same thing happens to my friends and me. It was just the wind, whistling and whispering.”
“But—but—” I sputtered.
“The farm is fun,” he said. “Don’t be afraid.” He picked up my grandfather’s plastic lighter from my nightstand and twirled it between his fingers. Then he set it back down.
“There’s no one around to be scared of,” he said. “I mean, the nearest farm is five miles away. So you can just chill and relax, dude.”
“Well—” I started.
His eyes flashed. “Have you seen my electric bike? It’s seriously awesome. I’ll let you ride it. I’ll show you how. It’s really simple.”
“Nice,” I said. I stood up. “Thanks for the apology, Skipper.”
He nodded and didn’t reply. He turned and walked back downstairs.
Well, that was awkward! I told myself.
Nice of him to apologize, I guess. But I don’t really believe him.
I changed into my pajamas, turned out the lamp, and climbed under the covers. My head was filled with questions. What were Mila and Skipper fighting about downstairs? Whether or not he should apologize to me? Did she force him to come up to my room? Why?
Minutes dragged on. I couldn’t fall asleep.
I picked up the plastic lighter and spun it in my hand for a while. Sometimes it helps to calm me down. But not tonight.
After about an hour, I kicked off the covers and crossed to the window. A white mist had formed around the moon, giving it a ghostly glow. Silvery light washed down over the cornfield.
I pressed my forehead against the glass and gazed down at the swaying stalks. They tilted slowly from side to side, as if moving to music.
I started to yawn. I began to feel hypnotized by the bending corn.
“Oh, wow.” I blinked myself alert when I saw something move at the front of the field.
I squinted into the pale light. Someone out there? Som
eone bent over, crawling?
Yes.
I held my breath—and watched someone crawling out from under the corn.
I pressed my forehead against the window glass and stared down. Someone was crawling on hands and knees. Head down.
I blinked several times. Was I dreaming this? Was it just a rabbit or a farm creature? Shadows played over the ground. I squinted harder, but I couldn’t see anything clearly.
I started to the stairs. I had to run outside and see who or what it was.
I stopped at my doorway. I didn’t want to wake everyone. I didn’t want to give them something else to tease me about.
I spun back to my window. I leaned my head out and saw a tree branch. A fat tree branch on an old tree a foot or so to the side of my window.
I opened the window all the way and hoisted myself onto the windowsill. Then I reached out both hands and wrapped them around the limb. I took a deep breath to gather my courage—and pushed myself onto it.
What was I thinking?
I’m a city kid. I’ve never climbed a tree in my life!
And now here I was, hunkered on the rough branch, struggling to keep my balance. My pajama shirt flapped in the chilly breeze. I shivered. The bark felt rough and cold beneath my bare feet.
Slowly, hugging the scratchy trunk tightly, I lowered myself to the ground. My feet landed on wet grass, and I shivered again, and waited for my breathing to slow to normal.
An eerie green light washed over the cornfield. The full moon was now blanketed in a thick curtain of cloud.
I gasped when I heard a groan. And then scratches. Soft thuds of footsteps. The crunch of dirt being pushed away.
Hugging myself to stop my shivers, I took a step forward. And then another.
And squinted into the strange light, locking my eyes on the edge of the field, on the bottoms of the swaying stalks.
“Oh nooo.” I ducked into the shadows, pressed my back against the tree trunk, and watched figures crawling out, stumbling out, staggering from behind the corn.
Ragged people. Heads down. Hands scrabbling the dirt. One crawled along the side of the field. Another stood up slowly, body bent, hands outstretched, grabbing at the air, reaching … reaching for I don’t know what.
Was I dreaming it? If so, I’d never had a nightmare this frightening, this chilling, and this real.
I clutched the tree trunk and held on as I watched more people stumble out from the field. Dragging their legs, leaning and lurching into the wind, they groaned and grunted as if in pain.
Faces. I couldn’t see their faces. They were so bent and half hidden in shadow … like an old horror movie in black and white.
I forced myself to breathe. I could feel my heart doing flip-flops in my chest. My throat tightened. I struggled to keep my dinner down.
How many were there? I counted at least a dozen. Their heads bobbing as they stumbled out from the stalks. They moved along the field in a single line. Their deep-throated groans rang out over the whir of the cold gusts of wind.
My mouth dropped open in a gasp as they twisted and stumbled into a bright shaft of moonlight. I saw their faces.
And I saw that they were KIDS!
Haha. Don’t you just love it?
Weird kids crawling around in a cornfield in the middle of the night?
That gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling. Farm life can be so heartwarming. Haha.
Do you think Todd should be scared? Do you?
Of course, he should be scared! Did you forget this is a horror story?
Do you think Todd should bring them cookies and hot chocolate?
I don’t think so!
No spoilers here from your wonderful storyteller—me. But I think Todd’s problems may just be starting!
Too frightened to move, I hugged the tree tightly and tried to stand perfectly still. I held my breath as long as I could and ignored the shivers that rolled down my back.
The wind blew against my pajama shirt. My nose started to itch. I pinched it tightly with my fingers and forced myself not to sneeze.
I watched the strange kids crawl out from the stalks. Rise unsteadily to their feet. Stagger in a strange, painful march along the edge of the field.
Their arms and legs moved stiffly. Their heads bobbed and shook on their shoulders as they made their way, lurching and stumbling.
I waited there, frozen in silent fright, until the last of them disappeared from view. Then I shoved myself away from the tree trunk and went screaming into the house.
“Help! Wake up! Wake up! Hurry! Hellllllp!”
The words roared from deep in my throat. I didn’t even hear myself. I only knew I had to tell the family what I had seen.
Skipper and Mila appeared first, running barefoot down the stairs. Their hair was tossed from sleep. They shook their heads and blinked themselves awake.
I had to pull Uncle Jake and Aunt Clara from their room. They kept shouting my name, their eyes wide with confusion. “Todd? Todd? Todd? Are you okay?”
“Out back! The field!” I shrieked. “I saw them! I saw them come out!”
Uncle Jake flipped a switch and twin spotlights threw circles of bright light over the front yard. The cornstalks came into sharp focus. The grass under our feet glowed bright green.
“Right there!” I pointed with a trembling finger to the edge of the field. “I … I watched them come out! There were so many of them!”
“Whoa. Hold on.” Uncle Jake placed his hands on my shoulders. “Slow down, Todd. Take a breath. Come on. Deep breath. Start at the beginning. Tell us what you saw. Slowly, okay?”
I took a deep breath and told them. I started the story at my bedroom window, where I saw the first strange kid crawl out of the corn. And I explained how I made my way down the tree trunk and how I watched them stagger out, one by one. More than a dozen of them. Kids!
I told them the whole story without taking a breath. They stared at me, listening hard. Their faces were blank. No one interrupted. No one said a word.
“Who are they? What are they? What did I see?” I demanded. “Tell me!”
More silence.
Skipper was the first to speak. “I’m really sorry, Todd. I want to apologize again. I guess I gave you a bad nightmare.”
“No—” I started.
Uncle Jake kept his hands on my shoulders. “Calm,” he whispered. “Everything is okay, Todd. We’re here. We’re here to take care of you. You’re safe.”
Mila shook her head. “I’m sorry, too,” she said, brushing her hair out of her eyes. “I should have waited. I should have taken you into the cornfield during daylight.” She sighed. “But I was so eager for you to see the harvest moon …”
“No! No!” I tugged free of Uncle Jake. I spun from one of them to the other, shaking my fists. “You’re not listening to me! It wasn’t a dream! I saw it! I saw them all come crawling out!”
“Todd, listen—” Aunt Clara said softly.
“It was REAL!” I screamed. “Why don’t you believe me? It was REAL! They were real! They were like zombies!”
My breath caught in my throat. Zombies. That was the first time I thought that word. Zombies.
Of course. That’s what they were.
“They crawled up from the ground,” I said. “And staggered and groaned—like zombies! Zombie kids!”
Aunt Clara locked her eyes on mine. “You’re a sophisticated city kid, Todd. You don’t really believe in zombies, do you?”
Skipper laughed. “Do you watch the Walking Dead shows on TV?”
I shook my head. “I don’t watch that stuff. But I know what I saw, Skipper. I don’t have hallucinations, you know? And I almost never have nightmares. You’ve got to listen to me—”
Aunt Clara shivered and pulled her nightshirt tighter around her. “I’m so sorry you’re scared, Todd. The cornfield can look scary at night. But I know things will seem different in the morning.”
Uncle Jake rubbed his hands together. “Let’s go inside and warm
up. We can regroup in the morning and—”
“Wait! Hold on!” I interrupted. “I see something!”
I glimpsed something gray at the edge of the cornfield. “Wait!” I shouted again as I ran over to it. I bent down and lifted it off the ground.
A beat-up shoe.
“I have proof!” I cried. I waved it above my head. “Proof! Here it is!”
I gripped the ragged shoe in both hands. It was covered in mud and smelled terrible, sour and decayed.
“Check it out!” I shouted as I carried it over to them. “Here it is. See? It wasn’t a dream. I have proof!”
I shoved the shoe in front of them. They all stared wide-eyed at it. No one said a word.
“My old shoe!” Skipper exclaimed. He took it from my hand and studied it. “How did it end up out here?”
Aunt Clara smiled. “Skipper, I remember the day you came home without it. You came hopping into the house on one foot. You never could explain how you managed to lose a shoe!”
Mila rolled her eyes. “Typical Skipper.”
“Maybe you walked home through the cornfield,” Uncle Jake said. “You were always such an absentminded kid. You probably didn’t even realize when the shoe came off.”
Skipper shrugged. “Beats me.”
I let out a long sigh. I suddenly felt very tired. Sure, I was disappointed that the shoe didn’t prove anything.
But why did I need proof? Why didn’t anyone in the family believe my story?
I turned and started toward the house. I knew what the joke would be from now on. Todd believes in zombies.
Haha. Funny.
My aunt and uncle stopped me at the stairs. “Todd, are you feeling better? Think you can get to sleep?” Aunt Clara asked.
I shrugged. “I guess.”
My uncle smiled. “We’re making blueberry pancakes for breakfast tomorrow,” he said.
“Nice,” I murmured. But that didn’t really cheer me up.
I made sure my bedroom window was closed tight. Then I climbed into bed and pulled the covers up to my chin.
I still had chills running down my back. From the cold? Or from the frightening scene I saw? I couldn’t tell.