There is an undying dark here.
The wind curls over the corn, a hissing sea of empty, black air.
The moon gleams baleful, white light across the flow of autumn leaves.
Distant coyotes howl in one direction, then another, then another.
Or else it’s the sound of another person being caught and dragged down into the corn to be devoured.
If anything, I welcome the dancing glare of the flashlights of the people passing by. The light lets you know exactly where to go.
I don’t know how long I’ve been like this. Maybe forever. My mind is ever wrapped in a wet blanket I cannot seem to remove.
Mostly I sit. Or stand. There’s nothing really to do, but I don’t mind. I sway in the breeze. I utter groans from the pieces that are left of my throat.
I think I died. Maybe we’re all dead. It seems like Hell, a bit. Mostly I feel lost. But hungry. Always, always hungry.
People pass through the maze. I can’t imagine why. We’re everywhere, hidden and waiting amongst the endless murk stalks and blackness. Even the ones that barely crawl can claw along the damp dirt to snatch at passing feet.
There is a muttering of hushed speech. A group of them, all huddled together for warmth, following the little wisp of light they hold for comfort.
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I see them. They do not see me.
I lurch stiffly, my throat rattling with a moan. I swing my limbs through the corn, crinkling fallen leaves with my feet. I jerk forward, my movements reflective, staggering closer and closer.
They notice me and shriek, flinging themselves past and shoving those in front of them to run faster.
I wobble after them, my mouth hanging open. Those that wait in the corn will hear the cry and come too — to see, and to eat.
Soon we will be everywhere.
Around the bend there is an abandoned RV. They struggle with the lock. They wail and yelp, looking over their shoulders to see me twitching closer. They rip the RV open and rush inside, slamming the door behind them for cover.
One doesn’t quite make it.
He screams, eyes flashing with emotion I don’t, nor care to, understand. Instead, I yank his body across the flat of the door and take that first savory bite, sinking my teeth in as deeply as my jaw will allow.
All of the flesh must be eaten. I cannot stop myself, even if I want to. Amidst the screaming, I cram and split and snarl and tear at it, ever more, ever deeper. Gnashing and frothing with bile and flakes of my own body barely kept together, I wrench apart as much as their body will allow, extracting whatever remaining flesh that I can.
In the end, the rest escape, stumbling panicked deeper into the corn. But it hardly matters. There will be more.
We are everywhere.
‘Til then, I’ll sit. Or stand. And wait.
Hungry. Always hungry.
Graham Gentz is a theater and movie reviewer for the Daily Lobo. He can be reached at culture@dailylobo,com or on Twitter @DailyLobo
