WoBShortStoryContest 11/13/15
The Scarer, Chapter 1
Thenightwascold;thekindofcoldthatrattlesyourbonesandthreatensfrostbiteasyou stepoutthedoor.Youcouldseeyourbreathintheair,whiteandcloud-like,butthenagain,when youliveinthemiddleofVermontinthefall,youcanalwaysseeit.
Wedidn’tcare.
Theweatherwastheleastofourworriesasweenteredthemazeonthatsolemnautumn night,unknowingofwhatwastocome.
Wethoughtthatbygoingasagroup,Indy,Bran,andI,thatwe’dgetoutquicker,great mindsthinkalike,we’dthought.So,aswepurchasedticketstoPetunia’sHauntedCornMaze, morethanjustcaffeineandexcitementbuzzedinsideus;fearfloodedthroughourveins, adrenalineslowlybuilding.
Themazespannedtenacres,withtwistsandturnsandpaid“Scarers”winding throughout.Itwasacheapjobtobeascarer,somethingpeopledidinbetweenseasonaljobsor
justforextracash.I’dalwayswantedtobeone,notjustbecauseofthecostumesormakeup,but becauseAudreyhad.Shewasmyoldersister,myrolemodelandbestfriend,andIlovedher. Love her,actually,becauseIstilldo.Lastfall,shediedaftergettinghitbyaroguedriver,onher waytothisveryplace.
Icanstillrememberhertyingbackherauburnlocksthatnight,slippingherclownmask aroundherneckassheleftforherfinalshift.Shewassupposedtobepickedupthatnight,but hercoworkerJameswassick,soshehadtakenheroldbike.Itwasaquickdrive,soshe’d assumedthathercyclingwouldn’tbemuchslower.Audreyhadmadeitalloffivemilesbefore gettinghitbyanincomingcar,herandherbikethrownintoaditch.Thedriverwasneverfound, butAudreywas,herbeautifulfacebloodyandbruised.
Thesunwasloomingoverthehorizon,anorangeandpinkhazeglimmeringabovethe loftycornfield.Bran,withhiswildambition,decidedtoleadourtrio.Hehadalwaysbeenthe moreextrovertedandlivelyoneofus,IndyandIusuallyhiddeninhisshadow,butwedidn’t mind.Wewerecompletelyhappystayingquietandmumblingtoeachotherwhenhe’dget flaggeddowninthehallways,oratthelocalstores,orreallyanywhere,becauseBranwas Bran, afamiliarfacetoall.
“I’mestimatingwe’llbedoneinanhour,ifwetakethemiddlepath,”Indysaid,looking downatourmapcard.Themazewassplitintothreesections,eachvaryinginlength,beginning andendinginthesamespot.Themazewasmowedintothedesignofalargepumpkin,with surroundinggourds,makingformoretwists,turns,anddeadends.Youcouldfindyourlocation onthemapbyfindingcheckpoints,postswithnumbers,andinthetotalmazetherewere13.
“Letshopewe’reoutsooner–wereallypickedthemostfreezingnighttodothis,”I complained,tuckingtuftsofmybronzehairundermyfleecehat.Iwaswearingthreelayers;my
longsleevetuckedundermysweatshirtthatfitsnugduetomyexcessivelylargeparka.Indyhad laughedwhenshesawmestandinginmydriveway,head-to-toecovered,butshewasnoticeably shiveringthroughherfashionablecable-knitsweater
Wenavigatedthroughthefirstfewturnsinwhatwebelievedwasthecorrectway,only encounteringthreescarerssofar.Therehadbeenavampirewithcoiledblackhair,awitchwith plasticteethinserts,andawerewolfwho’scostumeI’dseenonclearanceatourlocalthriftstore. Audreyhadgonethefullnineyardswithherclownsuit,recyclingoldfabricandbuttonsand paintingherownmask.Irememberheraskingmeformyyellowshoelaces,thefinaltouchtoher alreadyperfectcostume.Aswehitour30minutemark,weslowedourpace,ourconversations droningon.
“Ithinkwe’vebeenherebefore,”Indycomplained.Branlaughed,pickinguphispace.
“Youthinkyou’veseeneverything,becauseit’sallcorn,”hesaidbetweengiggles.His bubblypersonalityfoundeverythingfunny,optimisticandlightheartedbeinghisdefaults.I rolledmyeyes,truckingalong.
“Amara,”Bransaid,histoneadjustingslightly.“Isitweirdtobehere?”Inodded,then shookmyhead.
“Idunno…It’sbittersweet;I’mhereandshe’snot.”Iperkedmyheadupatthestar-filled sky.IndyreachedoutformyandBran’shands,andIdidn'tresist,interlacingmyfingersinhers.
“Thiswasthelastplacesheintendedtogo,herreasonforleaving,andshenevermade it,”Ifinished.
“Well,shewould’vemadeitifJameshaddrivenher,”Indyadded.Bran'sglancemoved fromminetohers,concerninglyso,andmotionedforhertostopspeaking. Always the median,I thought.
“No,you’reright,”Iagreed.“Obviouslyhewassick,andI’vecometothisconclusion toomanytimestocount,butinawayit'spartiallyhisfault.Ifhewasalright,she’dbealive.”
“Hewasn’tdrivingthatcar,Amara,”Brancountered.Inodded,fidgetingwithmywool mittens.Butwhowas?Iwondered.Theyhadn’tfoundthedriver,nosurveillancecamerasondirt roads,Iguess.Whoeveritwasgotawaywithit,andAudreywouldnevertrulygetjustice.
“SometimesIwishthathewas.Oratleast,someonewassuspected.Itwasopenandshut. Noanswers.” How dark could I be? This was supposed to be fun, not gloomy. Iclearedmy throat.
“Anyways.Howclosearewetoournextcheckpoint?”Iasked.Branheldouthiscard, pointingatapumpkinwithafouronit.
“Itshouldbesoon.Threewasn’ttoofarback.”Hemovedhisfingertoasmallround gourd.“That’swhereweshouldbe.”Indyhadpickedupherpaceandwasnowskippingthrough thefield,indicatinganupbeatsongplayinginhersingularearbud.Musicwasher“thing;”she’d makeplaylistsforeveryoccasion,andalwayshavesomeCDplayinginhercar,somerecord spinninginherroom.
“Heyguys?”Indycalledfromupahead.BranandIsharedaglance,intriguedand confused.
“What’supIndy?”Iasked,myvoiceelevated,mylegsbeginningtospeedtoasoftjog. Branfollowedbehindme,histreadcrunchingthehaybeneathus.Luckily,shewasjustaround thecorner,thedead-endedcorner,lookingdisorientedasshestoodinplace.
“Howlonghavewebeengoingstraight?”Sheasked.IturnedtoBran,andhegotoutour guide.Alongthesidesofthepumpkinandgourds,therewasalargerectangularoutline, illuminatingtheoutlineofacreage,aborderthatwehadn’tpaidmuchattentionto,untilnow
“Um,abit,Iguess,”heanswered,hisfaceflushed.
“Anychancewe’reinthebigborder?Consideringwe’vebeenwalkinginastraightpath for,like,what, twenty minutes?”Indy’svoicechirpedupattheend,infrustration.Iunderstood.
Shewascold,itwasdark,andhermusichadprobablycutoutbynow Allsymptomsofan aggravatedIndy.
“Wealsohaven’tseenascarerinawhile…”Itrailed,shootingmyheaddownfrom Bran’sincomingglare.
“Okay,well,wecan’tbethatfaroff,”heassured.“Imean,checkpointthreewasjust towardstheentranceandtotheleft.We’reprobablycloserthanyouthink.”
Ishookmyhead.Hewasrambling,hisselfdefensemove,anditwasmoreannoyingthan assuring.
“Canyoucheckyourlocation?”IaskedBran.Hisparentsneededtoknowwherehewas atalltimes,andthatledtohimneedingmultiplelocationfindingapps.Hequicklygothisphone outandwenttotheapp,zoomingoutofhisiconsarea.Allthatsurroundedhimwasthefield,but withouttheoutlinesofthezigzagsandpumpkins.
“Maybethatdeadendwassignalingthatwe’reactuallynotinthefield.”
Indy’sjawdroppedinastonishment.Igrabbedhisphonetoseeformyself,andsure enough,therewewere,asmallcirculariconwithBran’spicture,intheneighboringcornfield.
“We’reintheconnectingland,Ithink,”Bransaid,lookingintothedistance.“Ifwestart walkingmoretotheleft,we’llmostlikelygetbackintotheactualmazequickly,”headded.
“Whatareyousaying?”Indybegrudginglysaid,crossingherarmsoverherchest.Bran gulped,scratchingthebackofhishead,peeringdownwards.
“UntilwegetbackontoPetunia’sland,we’relost.”
Lost. Lost. Lostinthecold,starry,blacknight,inthewrongcornfield,withnowayofknowing wheretogo.