When I was a kid I would spend the summers at my grandparents house down in rural Iowa. Most would think that being shuttled off to the countryside for the entirety of summer break would be hard on a kid, but I loved it. I wasn’t exactly popular in school. Being about ten inches longer than the next tallest kid in my class had made me an outsider. The boys pretty much exclusively avoided me, I guess they must have been intimidated by me. The other girls on the other hand seemed to spend all of their time outside of class picking on me. My length made me stand out and that made me a target. Being a booknerd with an unhealthy obsession with Stephen King and H.P. Lovecraft didn’t help either. So getting to escape the other kids in my school and on my block and just spend my time grazing the fields or reading a new novel was pretty much heaven. At grandma and grandpa’s farmhouse I could be myself. Of course, they didn’t know much about Misery or Cthulhu but they would feign interest. Most importantly they never judged me. I’d bike to the nearest lake and lay there for hours, switching between swimming in the dark cool water and diving down between the pages of a book.
My grandparents weren’t farmers, but their parents were. The house they were living in was actually my great grandparents. My grandpa would always tell me of how he and his brother would run around the cornfields and how they would act as huge green mazes, perfect for playing tag in. He always chuckled heartily when speaking of his upbringing but after he finished a story his demeanor would change and he would remind me to never go into the field west of the farmhouse. That field belonged to Mr Thomas and Mr Thomas had a mean old rottweiler named Butch and Butch had a penchant for nosy little girls. At first this was enough to keep me east of the farm. I mean, there wasn’t really a limited supply of fields to explore. But as I grew I began to doubt grandpa’s story of the mean mutt Butch.
I asked around in town and no one knew of Mr Thomas and they knew even less of Butch. In a fit of preteen rebellion, realizing I had been fooled, I biked to Mr Thomas field. It was massive, rows upon rows of corn stalks stretched for miles in each direction. They were larger and looked healthier than the rest of the fields surrounding my grandparents house and they seemed to rise even higher as I approached them. The wind was making them sway back and forth and it looked almost as if they were waving to me. Beckoning me closer. Just as I was about to step into the maze I heard my name being shouted. Now my grandfather had always been a reserved man. Not frail or slow. Just quiet, collected. Now he wasn’t. His sunkissed copper face had turned deathly pale. He dropped a bag of groceries and there were oranges rolling across the lawn.
“Sarah, get back here!” He shouted. I turned back to the field, eying it with newfound fear. The corn stalks now seemed to be towering over me. I was sure that Butch didn’t exist but there was something in that field that scared my grandfather. Suddenly a pair of firm hands gripped my shoulders and dragged me back towards the farmhouse. Once he had sat me down safely in one of the sunbleached red lawn chairs my grandpa began pacing around the lawn. Picking up the groceries that had spilled out of the bag. I studied him closely. He was moving unusually fast, without the calm confidence that usually accompanied everyone of his actions. Once he had gathered everything up he sat down in a chair beside me. Fishing a pack of winston cigarettes out of the chest pocket of his sand coloured linen shirt.
“You found out about Mr Thomas huh?” He muttered between attempts at lighting his cigarette. His hands were shaking violently. After about a dozen tries he managed to work the lighter correctly and got his cigarette lit up. He took a deep pull and leaned back, exhaling a big cloud of blueish smoke. I nodded. All while observing him distraughtly. He closed his eyes and took another deep pull of his cigarette. Then he spoke.
“I’ve told you ‘bout Elijah right? How we used to run ‘round these fields all day? Well, there was one thing that Elijah was deathly afraid of, bugs. He hated them. Absolutely despised them. And as you can imagine, to me that was pretty much the funniest thing ever. I’d wake up early just to go out and collect me a handful of scurrying ants or try to catch a spider, then I’d wake him up by yelling his name and throwing whatever little critter I had found in his bed. Hearing him scream and watching him fly out of bed would have me rolling on the floor laughing. Of course then he’d beat the shit out of me. Oh, he hated all kinds of bugs but he hated one kind most of all. Ticks. So to me, a tick was something very valuable. I’d comb through the matted fur of our old dogs just looking for a really fat bloodfilled bonewhite little bastard. One time I put one in one of his comic books, then when he opened it up. The tick fell right in his lap. Oh my, he got angry!”
I was listening to him intently. Grandpa had spoken of Elijah before and Mom had told me that he died when he and grandpa were still kids but she never told me what had happened. Grandpa was staring with wide eyes at the field as he was talking. Sullen clouds had begun gathering above it. His voice was low and hoarse and suddenly he seemed much tinier than before. Tired and broken. He let out another cloud of smoke then he continued.
“He stormed out of the house and ran into that field over there. After a while I stopped laughing and went out to look for him. I was shouting his name and trying to come up with peace offerings but he just wouldn’t come out of there. I guess I stopped paying attention to him and did something else because the next time I looked up it was close to supper and he still hadn’t come back. That’s when I became really worried so I set off into the field. I walked for what felt like over an hour through the rows of corn before I finally heard his voice. I began to make my way towards him until I realized he was talking to somebody.”
He paused and for a second it felt like the entire world turned silent. Not one cricket. Not one chirp. Nothing.
“Now I’m not an expert but I knew that we were pretty much in the middle of a giant cornfield. The chances of you running into anybody are close to none out there. I didn’t recognise the voice of the person he was talking to either. It was low and thin. Quiet, like a rustle of leaves or the gurgle of a stream. Elijah was shouting at the voice and it was whispering back. Something about the tone of that voice made me shiver. It was like it crept beneath my skin and dug through my flesh and scraped at my nerves. I couldn’t hear what they were speaking of, but I didn’t exactly care anymore. I tucked tail and ran.”
A deep sigh escaped him.
“When I got back I climbed into bed and hid. Eventually I must’ve fallen asleep because suddenly it was morning and I could hear the birds chirping outside my window. I was still shook up but got up out of bed and made my way to Elijah’s room. The door was ajar and I peeked in and there he was. Sleeping soundly. A couple of days passed and I forgot about the voice in the field. Though I had noticed that Elijah was wearing a new necklace. Made out of a rough twine with a little amulet dangling on his chest. It was odd looking but I didn’t pay it any mind. One day I was petting one of our dogs and I noticed he had a tick stuck to his neck. A big bastard. Almost as big as a grape, filled to the brim with dark crimson blood. Ready to burst any second. A smile crept across my lips and I could hardly wait to hear my brother’s terrified scream.”
A chill ran along my spine and an image of thousands of twitching little legs entered my mind.
“I grabbed the tick and began looking for Elijah. I found him sitting on a swing by an old hickory tree. Long gone now. He was just sort of sitting there. Not swinging, just hanging out I guess. I snuck up behind him and ever so careful I placed the tick on top of his head. He turned around and looked at me, grinning. Then he reached up and plucked the tick out of his hair with his thumb and pointer finger. Then he brought it closer to his face and looked at it for a second or two. Then he squished him. All while smiling brightly. A trail of blood ran down his fingers. He looked at me for a moment then he turned his back to me. I was stunned. That kind of prank would have had him jumping around dry heaving a week ago. Now it didn’t even faze him. I just ran back to the house.”
A slight quiver had begun to affect my grandfather’s voice.
“Later that same night I was woken up by footsteps out in the hallway. I snuck out of bed and peeked out of my room just in time to see Elijah sneak out the front door. I followed him. He was just in his PJ’s, wearing that odd looking necklace. I hadn’t seen him without it since he’d got it. He was walking west towards the cornfield. Then he stopped just in front of the first row. I was a few paces behind him and I stopped as well. He stood like that for what must’ve been ten, maybe fifteen minutes. Mumbling to himself as the wind pulled ferociously on his thin blue pajamas. Then he turned around, grinned at me and ran right into the field. He must’ve known I was spying on him. I wanted to follow him but I didn’t. I couldn’t. It was as if my body refused, something about that cornfield had begun to repulse me. So I just went back to bed. When I woke up Elijah was back. He was sitting at the kitchen table, reading a book on insects. Stroking that goddamn amulet with one hand and turning the pages with the other. I wanted to try to scare him again, to be honest he had begun to scare me a little. He didn’t want to play with me anymore. He’d just sit alone by the cornfield with a comic book or something like that. So I went out and gathered every last critter I could find and put them in an old shoe box.”
Grandpa was staring off into space now. By this time he was on his fifth cigarette. His eyes watery. I realized that the story I was being told was one of importance. My grandpa’s sudden outburst and his odd behavior told me that this wasn’t another bullshit tale to keep me out of the field. This was true. He closed his eyes and continued.
“You know the prank where you put a bucket of water on top of a door? Yeah I did that. But with a shoebox full of bugs. I put it on top of the door to my room and then I shouted for Elijah. He didn’t run to my room like he used to before, instead I could hear slow footsteps getting closer and closer. I heard him approach the door and for a second a wave of regret washed over me, but it was too late to back out. I watched in slow motion as the door creaked open. And I saw the shoebox fall and dozens of bugs and ants and spiders cover my brother’s body. And he didn’t flinch. All the anticipation and fear trickled out of me and was replaced with burning rage. What had happened to my brother? I stood up and yelled at him. I pushed him out of the door frame up against a wall. I’m pretty sure I hit him. But he just smiled at me and stroked that amulet.”
Finally, my grandfather’s voice broke.
“It pissed me off. I was crying, I didn’t know why I was crying. I grabbed that necklace and I tore it off him. Just as the twine around his neck broke his face changed. Suddenly filled with fear he brought his hands to his throat. His eyes were bulging and he made all kinds of horrible gulping noises. He was choking on something. He turned blood red and then purple. He fell to his knees and began clawing at his throat. Leaving streaks of bloody wounds around his adam’s apple. Every last vein in his face was pulsing and he was shaking. Then he bent over and a cascade of blood flew out of his mouth. I jumped back. I didn’t know there was that much blood in a human body. It covered the floor and spattered the walls. Elijah slumped over and fell into the puddle of blood on the floor. He had stopped shaking and turned pale. I just knew he was dead. I fell to the floor beside him, crying, sobbing. His eyes were wide open and his lips were covered in blood.”
The wind had picked up and a slight rustling came from the field.
“Through the haze of tears I could see the blood moving. I cleared my eyes and saw that in the puddle of blood were hundreds upon hundreds of ticks. Fat ones. And they began to move. Crawling all over the floor and up the walls and on Elijah’s body. I turned around and ran back into my room. Then I crawled into my bed and lay there until our mother came home and found him. I still remember her screaming. The doctors and morticians couldn’t figure out what had happened to him. His body had been eaten from the inside. He didn’t have a drop of blood in him. But I knew. He made a deal with something out in that field. I guess he was fed up with being called a wuss. So he wished to never be afraid of bugs anymore. And something in the field listened. That’s why I never want you to go into that field. Never!”
He was crying hysterically now. Far from the man I recognized as my grandfather. He sat with his head between his hands and I could see something dangling around his neck. A necklace made of gray, frayed twine. With a tiny wooden amulet depicting a fat ivory insect with eight dark little legs. That was the last summer I spent at my grandparents’ farmhouse. I know that they missed me but I think they understood. They died within a couple of months of each other just before I started high school. We left the farmhouse to the elements and boy did they take their toll. I never thought I’d return but now it is my last resort. If there is a chance that something in that field, which stands ever so proudly even as the other fields around it lay dying from the sweltering heat, can save my baby boy I have to take that chance. It beckons me, just as it did twenty-five years ago. It’s been calling me. For months now I’ve seen it in my dreams and I’ve been hearing a thin gravelly voice whisper to me when all else is silent. I will not let the tumors ravage my child’s body anymore. I have to make a wish and pray that the thing in the cornfield hears me.