Midsummer's Eve (28 page)

Oh, my sweet Jesus!
Why did I do that? Why didn’t I just leave while I had the chance?
And w
hat in the
hell
was that
glaring at me through the corn?
Those eyes
certainly
did not belong to the animal kingdom! A horrified scream froze in my c
hest and my heart pounde
d against my ribs like a jackhammer
as I saw large emerald green
…
laughing eyes
…
staring back at me.

They were h
uman ey
es, bu
t
not
…
quite
…
human eyes.

The urge to leap from my bike and run screaming throug
h the soaring rows of corn was strong
. However
there was no way
I was leaving my bike and being
stuck
…at night…
in the
middle of a
cornfield
with whatever that…thing…
was
.
I might be scared shitless, but I wasn’t stupid. It was t
ime to follow
my golden rule and run, or pedal,
like hell
.
Unfortunately, before I could get the wheels in motion a
chubby
little black face
peeked out from behind the corn stalks.
I shut my eyes for a second praying furiously that when I open
ed
them again he wouldn’t be there
and we could both pretend
this never happened.

No such luck!
He
was still there
and he had
his full lips
pursed
as if
h
e were puzzled to find a middle-
aged woman on a bicycle in his cornfield
. I t
ook a slow steadying breath,
tried to calm my rattled nerves
and waited to see what the child would do. And h
e was such a beautiful child. H
e could have easily graced the cover of a parenting magazine
. I couldn’
t be afraid of him. Could I? He seemed perfectly normal.
Well, bless his heart, he was f
ilthy…
but normal.  

Except for the
eyes.

Eyes that just looked…
different.

Too brilliant.

Too green.

Like he had colored contact lenses
or had just climbed out from under a rock
.

Judging from the green eyes and his coffee with just a touch of cream skin tone, I assumed that one of his
parents had been white. He didn’
t speak, but just looked at me with two dirty little fingers tugging on his bottom lip
as the sun dipped down below the cornfield
.
I shuddered at the thought of being trapped in the cornfield all night and pushed on the petal once again. The child grabbed a cornstal
k and shook it vigorously to gain
my attention, t
hen he held out his other chubby, dimpled hand and playfully stuck one finger out
,
motioning for me to follow him.

Bless his little heart! The child had bumped his head
on a
corn
cob
if he thought I could ever
,
in this life or any other,
find the courage to go
hikin
g through the corn
with him. Nope, you’
ll just have to wait for the next hapless cyclist to wander by
sweetheart
.
Me? Follow him? Me? Who couldn’
t even work up the nerve to stroll through a haunted house at Halloween?

As the child’
s green gaze locked with mine, I was
lost
in a daze remembering Dad's story. Like the little boy in his story, this child was wearing nothing more than a saggy cl
oth diaper as well. But he wasn’
t trembling and crying, possibly because dogs weren’t chasing him in freezing weather. He seemed to be in a rather playful
, albeit a troubled
mood
, like he had heavy things weighing on his young mind..
.
nope scr
atch that, he was
undoubtedly
way older than me.

Without speaking, I shook my head from side to sid
e to let him know that I couldn’
t
work up the courage to
go traipsing through the corn with him. My
weak constitution simply wouldn’
t allow it.
And I can assure you that
it was a constitution that was getting frailer by degrees with every passing second.

What to do?
Run! Could he read minds? Possibly, because before I could lift a foot toward the pedal he again motioned determinedly with his little finger.

He must
understand that he had
the wrong person for the job here! Again I shook my head and then had a rare
light
bulb moment. “You come with me.”
I croaked, given the fact that my saliva glands had ceased to produce even a drop of spittle. Then,
in a
determined
effort
to convince myself that the ch
ild was indeed human, I foolishly
ad
ded, “Let’
s go find your mommy.”

At the mention of his mommy his face hardened
to stone
, his eyes filled with tears and he again motioned for me to follow him, but not just with his finger. Now his entire hand was gesturing
toward the cornfield behind him
with hard, jerky movements.

“I can’t.”
I licked my suddenly parched lips, while shaking my head vigorously from side to side. “I
can’
t follow you. Wait here and I’ll go find someone who will, okay?”

When I said this his eyes took on a menacing, reddish glare and the cheerful smile that had brightened his face earlier was quickly replaced by a wicked frown. He began to tap one dirty little foot on the ground. This couldn’t be good.

Trust me, red eyes erased all doubt from my mind. This child was not human.

As I live and breathe he was a tanned version of Chucky!

I took a second to look toward the sky as the gentle breeze that had been blowing suddenly picked up to forceful hot gusts that felt like they were blowing out of a furnace. I glanced back at the child and his eyes no longer had a reddish glare. They were blood red!

The wind speed was leaping in volumes by the second. The cornstalks swirled and the dry leaves cr
ackled as the wind began to scream
around me. I glanced back at the child, but quickl
y averted my gaze from his menacing
red glare
and evil leer
. Within seconds, the wind was pounding me with a gale force
. F
earing that I would be sucked from my bicycle and into a funnel cloud at any second, I glanced around for the nearest ditch.

Dad always said, “Get in a ditch if you are caught outside in a tornado.” But there were no ditches, only rows upon row
s of corn.
And
as I glanced toward the sky in the growing twilight I was shocked to see that there wasn’t
a cloud in sight! But it had to be a tornado. What else could produce wind this ferocious? My only thought was
my
survival as my hair whipped wildly around my face and the powerful blasts of wind seemed determined to rip the clothes from my trembling body. I tried to scream for help, but the powerful gusts blew the words away before they left my lips.

The stalks of corn twisted and jerked, doing a violent dance in the relentless wind. I
h
eard a popping noise and glancing
sidew
ays saw corn… actually popping off
the cob.
On both sides of the road the ground was as white as snow. Oh Lord, get me out of here! Then the wind became even fiercer and I
covered my face with my hands to keep the sand and dirt that felt like needles jabbing into my skin, out of my eyes. Sand, dirt and cornstalk debris swirled around me in a stifling cloud of dust making it difficult to breathe. I covered my face with my shirt and gasped for air.

I was absolutely terrified that
at any
moment
I
would be blown
into the cornfield where he had wanted me to begin with. I could feel the cornstalks brushing against me as they bent almost to the ground and the roar of the vicious wind was deafening.
I cried out in pain when
the bicycle
, with me on it, was blown to the ground.

I had never been so ut
terly terrif
ied in my life! I knew the corn
,
even as flimsy at it was,
w
as
better than no cover
at all so I crawled toward it. I had to find shelter
from the funnel that I expected to drop from the sky at any minute.

T
hen as suddenly as it had started, the wind stopped
blowing.
The corn stopped rustling and dancing.
All was calm. It wasn’
t a gradual dying down of the wind either, it was a complete dead calm. Not a single breeze stirred the cornstalks. I heard frogs croaking in the pond, crickets chirping and bumblebees lazily buzzing around me.

Strange, I thought, lowering my shirt and pulling deep gulps of sweet air into my deprived lungs. You would think the frogs would be hiding underwater and the crickets and bumblebees would have been blown into the next
county. Then I thought about Dad
and my son
. In a boat! In a tornado! I immediately dialed his cell phone.

“
Are you o
kay?”
I cried as soon as JoJo
answered, relief washing over me at the sound of his voice.

“Yeah,”
he said, sounding puzzled. “
We’re
good
.
Why?”

“
I was worried that your boat might ha
ve turned over in all that
wind.”

“
What wi
nd?”

“What wind?” I shrieked. “I was just in a tornado.”

“A tornado?
Where are you, Mom
?”
I could hear the worry in his voice.

“Between the cornfields.”

“Mom
, the wind hasn’
t been blowing at all
where we are
. The water is as still as glass. Are you all
right?”

What did he mean the wind hadn’
t been blowing at all? He was less than a half-mile away. Surely, he had to have encountered a slight breeze.
However
,
I couldn’
t allow him to believe that I had taken to hallucinations
now
, along with
my
other countless iss
ues. “
I guess.”

“
A little breeze sounds like a lot of wind when those cornstalks get to rustling. Do y
ou want me to come and get you?”

“
No
,
of course not.
I’
m fine. I can make it home.”

“Are you sure? I can be there in t
hirty minutes
.”

“No, like you said, I just got a little spooked in the cornstalks. I’m fine now.
”

“
Well, call me the minute
you get home. And don’
t forget.
I won’t rest until I hear from you.
”

“I will.”

I glanced nervously around at the towering
rows of corn and
got back on my bike, shaking worse than the leaves of corn had shaken in the
punishing
wind
. I was mentally calculating
the distance to the main road. At least five more minutes in the cornfields, then I would be on paved road and a few miles from home. I could make it. The wind was calm and
thankfully
the little boy had
returned to the corn.

I pedaled furiously, not looking in any direction other than straight ahead. After a few minutes
,
I could see the gate to the main road looming in the distance and breathed a deep sigh of relief. Thank God! I had almost made it out of the cornfields.

Increasing my speed, I absently slapped at a mosquito that was painfully trying to suck his evening meal from my neck. Ouch! Hearing a steadily increasing humming
sound
behind me, I glanced over my shoulder hoping to see a vehicle approaching, but no vehicle was in sight. I screeched when one of the blood-sucking insects landed on my ear and the humming sound increased to a tremendous buzzing that filled me with terror. Then I felt what I assumed was a wasp or a bee sting me on the back of the neck. I screamed, slapping furiously at the stinging pest.