The Haunted Corn Maze
By Eric Carlson
Copyright 2012 Eric Carlson
Detective Leroy Jenkins was just finishing his cigarette as the radio blared inside the car. Just the dispatcher searching for patrol cars in the area, he thought. Although the volume was turned loud, he still couldn’t make out the words from outside the car. Carefully placing his cigarette on top of the roof, he climbed into the old police sedan and listened to the message as it was repeated: “Attention officers - code 757 - a disappearance was reported at 908 Laporte Road. Closest patrol car please investigate.” After the information finished processing in his head, Jenkins realized HE was the closest patrol car for miles and that HE would have to go. “Damn,” he muttered under his breath. “I was hoping for a quiet night.” He hurriedly jumped in the car and fired the ignition. The forgotten cigarette flew off the car as it sped off the dirt shoulder, the smoke mixing with the dust until it flickered out.
Jenkins arrived at the address within five minutes, knowing the location as a well-known farm that doubled as a haunted corn maze in the fall. Every year it drew in hoards of local kids looking for a good scare around Halloween. On the drive over, Jenkins convinced himself that the call was about some drunken kid who probably wandered off into the nearby woods and got lost or passed out. Should be easy enough to find the jackass and bring him home to his parents, but not without a stern lecture on underage drinking, Jenkins predicted as he pulled into the packed parking area. Loads of “lifted” Jeeps and beat-up trucks littered the dirt lot. They were filled with restless adolescents waiting for the maze to reopen, probably spending the time drinking and getting high. Jenkins thought about how much he’d like to bust them all as he climbed out of the ancient patrol car, gazing at the large red barn and corn maze in the distance. Unfortunately, he had business to attend to.
Walking up the long two-track leading to the maze, Jenkins passed groups of kids heading to the parking area, apparently turned away because of the temporary closing. They steered clear of the intimidating presence of a police officer, several of them shifting their hands uncomfortably in their pockets and staring at the ground. Jenkins just smirked and moved up the dusty lane. Ahead of him was the giant maze, known state-wide as one of the best scares in Kansas. He’d heard that it had won several awards, often described as being a “blood-curdling good time” and “requiring the use of a diaper for the faint of heart”. The tall, long-eared corn swayed with the whistling wind as he spotted a group of people standing near the entrance, several of them looking worried and antsy. He quickened his step and headed towards them.
An older man from the group approached him as he was closing in, extending his hand quickly as he cut Jenkins off.
“So glad you’re here officer,” he said nervously as he shook Jenkins hand, “I’m Sal Weiner, the owner of the maze.”
Jenkins got right to the point; He didn’t want to fuck around. “I’m Detective Leroy Jenkins. There was a report of a disappearance here.”
Sal’s face was very serious as he spoke. “Yes, officer. We’ve been looking for him for an hour now. We’ve been all around the farm and woods, searching and yelling, but so far we’ve found nothing.”
“Hmmm. What do his friends have to say?” Jenkins was stern as he talked, probing for more information.
“They are almost frantic with worry. They say the group was all together through most of the maze, but got separated when they were running from the actors. None of them remember seeing him after that.”
“What actor?”
“Peter Trewes, he plays the deranged scarecrow. He’s in the barn as we speak.” Sal revealed.
“I’d like to talk to him. Are all your employees accounted for?”
“Yes. Well, all the people that are here tonight. Jack McNally, who plays our crazy redneck, never showed up to work tonight or answered our phone calls. So we’ve just been operating without him.”
“Thanks. I need you to go get Trewes for me while I make a quick call.”
Sal didn’t hesitate in scampering off to the barn to retrieve his employee. Jenkins watched him as he ambled off; stealing a glance at the group of kids huddled nearby. His gaze focused in on the fear and anxiety painted on the kids’ faces, wet with tears shed for their friend. 16 or 17 years old, he guessed; not old enough to smoke – barely able to drive. They weren’t prepared for this kind of thing, not in the least. Glancing away from the kids, Jenkins reached for his radio and called the dispatcher. Needing enough for a search team, he called for three more officers. In the corner of his eye, he noticed another patrol car pulling up the two-track towards him as he finished his transmission.
Jenkins walked by the group of kids on his way to the barn. One of them asked him if he was going to be able to find Jacob, their friend. He assured them that he would find him very soon and that everything would be fine. They looked a little reassured by this and started chatting with each other in whispers, huddling in the chilly weather. Feeling a little cold himself, Jenkins buttoned up his coat a little more and headed towards the mammoth red barn 100 feet away.
When he was almost at the barn, another police officer came running up the stone path to join him. It was John Cranney, the newest member of the force. Young and eager, he was always ready to tackle any challenge, which proved incessantly helpful yet sometimes hindering, especially when he acted without thinking. In truth, though, Jenkins was fond of the kid and was grateful to have someone on the case with him. Maybe he was just getting lonely from working by himself all the time.
“So, Jenkins, what’s the deal with this case? You know where the kid disappeared to?” Cranney said as he fell in step with Jenkins.
“No, but I’ve yet to talk to the employees about it. And one of them didn’t show tonight, so I’d like to send an officer to check in on him. His name is Jack McNally. Can you call that in?”
“Sure thing, boss.”
As they approached the door to the barn, Jenkins filled Cranney in on the details of the case. Sal, looking concerned, walked out of the door and up to them.
“Do you want to see Trewes out here or in there, officer?” Sal vocalized.
“I’ll see him in there. I’ll probably want to talk to the other employees after I’m done with him. John, I need you to go interview all of the kid’s friends and anybody else that knows anything. And when the other officers show up, you can direct them on where to begin searching.”
“Aye, aye, captain,” Cranney said with a wink. He was weird like that.
Jenkins headed inside with Sal while Cranney went to interview the kids. Directly inside the barn, Jenkins was surprised to find himself in a decorated lounge area filled with couches, loveseats, and a fireplace, complete with a crackling inferno, located on the adjacent wall.
“This is our employee lounge. Pretty nice, right? The locker rooms are located directly behind this, and I assume most of our guys are changing. I just told them that we were closing for the night considering the circumstances, but to stick around. Trewes is right there by the fire. He knows you’re coming.”
Jenkins walked slowly up to the fire. Two reclining chairs were located side by side, facing the blaze. He could see a hand on the left armrest of the right chair, slowly drumming the fabric. As he rounded the chair on the left, the image of Trewes slowly appeared before him. Straw covered his body in a tussled fashion, bunched up in some areas and lean and ragged in others. Dried, matted blood covered a good amount of the straw, along with some gruesome looking wounds around his body. He no longer had his mask on, but Jenkins could only imagine what that would look like with the rest of the costume: Horrific was the right word. Horrific. Trewes’ face was clean-shaven and thin, wi
th a long hook nose and tight lips, making him sort of look like a scarecrow himself. He was looking down at a book, encased in thought. Jenkins silently took off his coat and proceeded to sit down in the chair to his left.
“Hi, are you Trewes?” Jenkins said, but not too forcefully.
The man looked up from his book. “Yes sir. How can I help you?”
“I’m investigating the disappearance tonight. Is there anything you can tell me that would help us find him?”
“I told Sal everything I know. I barely remember the kids in question. I chase a lot of kids around every night, so it’s hard to think of any of them in particular.”
“Alright. Was there anything strange you noticed tonight? Anything different from other nights?”
“Other than McNally not showing up, no.”
“McNally didn’t show up? What are you talking about?”
Trewes and Jenkins both looked up in surprise at the speaker. He was standing in the doorway dressed in a bath towel and dripping with water. About 32 years old, he was muscular and fit, sporting a goatee on his strong chin. He began drying himself off with a hand towel.
“Excuse me?” Jenkins said to the man.
“Well, Peter there said that Jack never showed up. No one ever told me that. I thought he was here, considering I SAW him tonight.”
A shocked expression moved across Jenkins face. He glanced over at Trewes, who also looked confused, and looked back at the man. “What are you talking about? Sal told me himself that McNally never showed tonight. Anyway, who are you?”
“I’m Neil Rathers, I work in the maze as a werewolf, and I’m telling you I saw him tonight. Here.”
Jenkins radio began to crackle with noise. He didn’t pay any mind to it. Something was troubling him: a possibility. “You said you saw him tonight, but where?” He waited for the response and braced himself for the answer he knew he was going to hear.
“Well, not here beforehand. We were busy getting ready and I assume I just didn’t notice him. But I did see him in the maze tonight, dressed up in full costume and everything.”
Jenkins had no response. The shock ran deep this time. His radio continued to crackle on his belt. He finally came out of his funk and turned up the volume, slowly twisting the knob to the number 6, a little bit faded off from constant use. Slowly and surely, the crackle turned to words; startling words.
“Jenkins, you there!? Come in, Jenkins! Dammit Jenkins, answer!” The voice belonged to Smith, a responsible officer who happened to be on duty tonight. Jenkins assumed he was probably the one dispatched to check out McNally’s house. He lifted the radio to his mouth and spoke sternly.
“Jenkins here. Calm down. What’s the news?”
Smith took a couple deep breaths and then spoke back. “We found McNally.”
Jenkins looked over at Rathers suspiciously before he responded. “Good work son. Bring him in then, we need to question him.”
“Well, captain, he might not talk much. You see, McNally is dead.”
For the first time in his career, Jenkins dropped his radio. Somehow, the impact turned the volume up, amplifying the ensuing message from Officer Smith.
“We found him tied up like a scarecrow, straw and shit everywhere. It’s disgusting, captain. But we ID’d him, though. It’s McNally alright.”
Jenkins bent over and slowly picked up the radio. Wiping the shock off his face, he dared to speak. “Smith, get forensics over there quick. I need some answers about this.”
Putting the radio back on his belt, Jenkins glanced over at the trembling Peter Trewes and the scared figure of Neil Rathers, still dripping water on the floor in his damn towel. Despite all the shit he had seen in his career, Jenkins felt exactly the same way they did right now. No one dared to speak, not even a whisper. But Jenkins knew he had to say the one thing that was hanging in the air.
“Rathers, you said you saw McNally in costume and that’s it?”
“Yes sir.” He said, trembling.
“Oh shit.”
At that moment Cranney burst in the door, followed by a very red and flustered Sal. He immediately rushed up to Jenkins.
“The crazy redneck, Leroy! The kids say they saw the crazy redneck before they lost sight of their friend! McNally was here!”
“Impossible!” Sal responded, jumping into the fray between the two men. “He never showed up to work. They’re scared and they don’t know what they saw!”
“Leroy, you don’t look surprised to hear this,” Cranney commented.
He would have been five minutes earlier. But now he had pieced it all together. And the puzzle that resulted was scary and tragic and true. He shook his head a little and looked back up at Cranney.
“We know everything. McNally is dead; Smith just found him strung up in house like a scarecrow. I expect his costume and props are missing from his locker when we go look. I also don’t expect to find this kid alive. Whoever was in that costume has him, and we’ll be hard pressed to find wherever they are.” Jenkins finished talking and shook his head at the ground.
The police continued looking for him that night to no avail. Not a trace could be found in the surrounding area; not a single clue to who the mystery man was. Jenkins finished the case report and retired for the evening, promising to get back on it in the morning. Before he went to bed, he had a startling epiphany: This was all connected. This killer was on the loose and would go from corn maze to corn maze, penetrating the light security and terrorizing high school kids. No, no, no, Jenkins told himself - Crazy idea. He didn’t sleep well.
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About the author:
Eric Carlson spends his time living in Fort Collins, CO with his guitar Angela and his parrot Kenny. The traveling trio spend their time hiking, singing folk songs, and drinking $1.50 PBR at the local watering hole. Feel free to contact the man himself at
[email protected]