by Brian Harmon
It was an eerie thought, and one he promptly pushed out of his head.
He was not crazy.
It was just a damn dream. That was all.
It was probably something psychological, something that he’d forgotten, perhaps, bubbling up to the surface through vivid dreams that were too complex for him to remember upon waking. The result was an irrational compulsion to seek something that wasn’t really there.
That sounded reasonable. He guessed. He was no psychologist, but it seemed like a fairly sound explanation. It was at least something. It was better than crazy.
One exit sign after another passed by in his headlights as he made his way ever farther from home. Even long after he made up his mind to forget this ridiculous nonsense and turn around, he kept passing perfectly good exits. On and on he drove until, more than three hours after leaving Karen and Creek Bend behind, with the sun peeking over the eastern horizon, he at last switched on his turn signal and drifted into the exit lane.
Yet he still did not turn around. Instead, he cruised on down a little two-lane road that wove through countless acres of cornfields and cow pastures, ever farther from home.
After a while, he turned off this road, onto a narrow strip of blacktop that was far overdue for resurfacing, and drove for several more miles before turning onto yet another two-lane country road.
A loud buzzing rose from his lap as his cell phone began to vibrate enthusiastically in his front-left pocket. He didn’t often get calls on his phone, and as such, the vibration usually surprised him, sometimes provoking him into using some of his favorite expletives. But it did not startle him this time, as he was just thinking that Karen should be calling to find out exactly where the hell he’d gone. Instead, it was the physical act of wrestling the phone from his pocket as the seatbelt fought to hold it in place that made him curse.
Like countless times before, he swore that one of these days he was simply going to throw the stupid thing away.
“You need to wrap up this booty call and get your ass back home,” Karen said when he’d finally freed it from his pocket and pressed it to his ear.
“Sorry. You know how I like to snuggle after.”
“No, you like to snore after.”
“Right. I always get those two mixed up.”
“Where are you?”
“Not sure, to be honest.”
“You’re not sure?”
“I’m not sure,” he said again. “I see cornfields and a lot of cows.”
“Quaint. Did you get lost?”
“Nope. I know the way home.” Or he thought he knew the way home, at least. “I just don’t know where I am, exactly. I’m pretty sure I’m still in Wisconsin.”
“Pretty sure?”
“Yeah. Pretty sure.”
Eric checked his mirrors to be sure he was still alone on the road. He didn’t like using the cell phone any time, but least of all while driving. It pissed him off when he saw other drivers using theirs. But there was no shoulder and he had no intention of parking in somebody’s driveway just to talk to his wife.
“You do know you’re acting like a complete nut job, don’t you?”
“Yes I do.”
“You know a lesser woman would be really freaked out by now.”
“I know she would. I’m so lucky.”
“Yes you are.”
“I’m probably just having the world’s weirdest mid-life crisis or something.”
“You’re too young to have a mid-life crisis.”
“Third-life crisis?”
“Besides, aren’t you supposed to buy a motorcycle or an expensive sports car or something? I was looking forward to shopping for the car.”
“We still can. We can both have mid-life crises.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You know the women in my family stop aging at twenty-nine.”
“Oh yeah. I keep forgetting about that. Funny math in your genes.”
“It’s called ‘aging gracefully.’”
“My mistake.”
“So are you coming home anytime soon?”
“I hope so.”
“When?”
“When I’m done. Just trust me, okay?”
“You know I do.”
“Good.”
“But I warn you, if I have to eat lunch by myself I’m ordering delivery.”
“Knock yourself out.”
“Ooh. Fun.”
“I can’t explain it, but this feels right somehow. I think it may be working.”
“‘Nut job crazy’ is working?”
“I think it is.”
“Cool.”
But if he were to be completely honest, he had no idea if this was really working or not. He’d assumed that he’d find himself with no idea where he wanted to go and therefore the compulsion would fade, but the farther he drove, the more it seemed to pull at him. He was beginning to wonder if there might be some specific place he was being drawn, though he could not fathom why he’d have any kind of subconscious desire to come here. He’d never been in this part of Wisconsin before.
“If nothing else, maybe it’s the road that’s good for me. Maybe I’m just overdue to take a nice long drive to clear my head.”
“If you say so.”
“I do. Did you start the cake?”
“I did. It’s cooling. I’m starting my pies while I wait.”
“What kind?”
“Strawberry.”
“Yum.”
“I miss you.”
“I miss you too.”
“Call me soon?”
“Sure. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
Eric said goodbye and ended the call. Ahead of him, the country road stretched on and on, ever deeper into the open farmlands. Cornfields turned to soybean fields and then back to cornfields again. Cattle herds occasionally shared the fields with horses and sheep and goats. Little patches of forestland cropped up from time to time, along with neatly planted apple orchards and even a Christmas tree farm, all punctuated with various farmhouses and barns and silos.
As the PT Cruiser’s driver’s seat began to grow uncomfortable beneath him and he realized just how far he’d strayed from home, he began to dread the long drive back.
And yet, he continued to pass driveways instead of turning around.
Finally, as he drove over a bridge, he spotted a perfect place to pull over. It was a little graveled drive at the far side of the small river, where fishermen could park and unload their gear.
Eric pulled off the road, but instead of turning around and starting home, he nosed the vehicle into the shade, put it in park and killed the engine.
He opened the door and stepped out into the morning sunshine, stretching his back and legs. The fresh air felt good and he realized that he needed this break.
He closed the door, then quickly opened it again and retrieved the phone that he’d deposited in the cup holder after his conversation with Karen. (He had barely won the battle with the seatbelt to get it out of his pocket; he wasn’t about to try to wrestle with it to put the stupid thing back.)
When she first started making him carry the phone, he had a bad habit of forgetting it. And Karen had a bad habit of getting mad at him when that happened. It wasn’t an ideal situation. It led to more than a few trivial fights. Over time, one of them had to give.
It wasn’t her.
Cell phone properly deposited in his front pocket again, he locked the PT Cruiser’s doors and strolled down to the river’s edge to enjoy a few minutes out from behind the wheel.
Suddenly, and for the first time since waking from the dream that first night, he had no pressing desire to drive. He thought for a moment that he had beaten it, that he had finally driven far enough or long enough to have his fill of traveling.
But now he found himself being drawn along the riverbank and under the bridge.
Within minutes, he was around the bend and the rational part of his mind screamed at him to turn around
.
This was far worse than his compulsion to drive. Now he was out in the middle of nowhere, utterly exposed and unprotected from the elements and in danger of becoming hopelessly lost. And yet still he walked.
At least he still had the phone. But how useful would it really be if something happened to him out here? As far as he knew, there was nothing for miles and miles but farmland and forests. How far could he go into this wilderness before he wandered out of the service area altogether?
A path appeared in the trees along the river bank and he found himself drawn there as surely as he’d been drawn to the river from his car. Leaving the water behind him, he made his way up a hill, through some thick brush and onto the neatly mown lawn of a modest, Victorian-style house.
His first thought should have been that this was private property and he had no business being here, that he’d be lucky if the owner didn’t mistake him for a burglar and shoot him dead where he stood. Instead, he was compelled to walk to the back yard. Specifically, he felt drawn for some reason to a large, metal gate in the fence.
He walked up to this gate and rested his hands on the topmost bar. Beyond it, a narrow dirt path, little more than two dry wheel ruts in the tall grass, led away a short distance and then turned and disappeared into a field of tall and healthy corn.
“Ah. You finally showed up.”
Startled, Eric turned to find an elderly woman hanging laundry up to dry just a few yards away. Even with his attention fixed on the gate and the path beyond, he was surprised that he didn’t see her before now. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“No reason to be sorry,” the woman told him. “At least you showed up. Better late than never, right?”
He wasn’t sure how to respond to this. He’d meant that he was sorry to be trespassing on her property, yet this woman acted as if she’d been expecting him. But that wasn’t possible. Even he didn’t know how he came to be here.
“But we did think you’d show up two days ago.”
Two days ago? That would’ve been right after his first dream. “I’m sorry, but show up for what, exactly?”
The old woman turned and looked at him. She was very skinny, with long, silver hair that was neatly tied back, deep creases around her mouth and an ugly blotch beneath her right eye. “You’re going out there, aren’t you?” She gestured at the corn behind the gate.
Eric turned and gazed out into the field for a moment. Somehow, he didn’t like the idea of going out there, but she was right. The same strange compulsion that had lured him into this woman’s back yard was definitely pulling him toward that field. Looking back at the old woman again, he said, “I honestly don’t know what I’m doing here.”
She stood looking back at him for a moment, considering him. Then she went back to her laundry. “Ethan always knew you’d come. Ethan’s my husband, by the way. He always believed.”
“That’s impressive. I didn’t even know I was coming until I got here.”
If the woman heard him, she made no attempt to acknowledge it. “I can’t say for sure that I ever believed it. Not until yesterday. Not until I saw him.”
“Him?”
She didn’t look at him as she hung a man’s work shirt on the line. “The other one,” she replied as if this made any more sense than “him.” “I saw him with my own eyes, walking into the corn there. Scariest damn thing I ever saw. It was like he was only half there…all faded…like somebody standing in a thick fog…except there wasn’t any fog. He just faded into the sunshine. Damn scariest thing…”
This conversation was only getting stranger. Eric turned and looked out at the little road again, wondering what was waiting out there.
When he looked back, the old woman was staring at the work shirt she’d just hung on the line. “Ethan fell the other day. Hurt his back. His hip, too. Doctor thinks he might not be able to walk so good anymore. Probably need a cane. I hate to see that. Once you get as old as us, you have to keep moving. When you stop moving, that’s when you die. That’s what my daddy used to say. He lived to ninety-eight. Made sure he walked at least a mile every day while doing his chores. Went out of his way if he had to. Then he hurt his hip and he couldn’t walk anymore. Pretty soon, just like he always said, he never walked again.”
Cheerful. He’d wager she was a laugh a minute at bingo night.
“You said you were expecting me?” asked Eric, hoping she would give him some sort of answer as to why he was here…or at the very least not tell him how she lost her mother.
“Oh yes. Definitely.” Then she fell silent again as she withdrew a flowered housedress from her basket and hung it on the line.
“Okay.” Apparently that was all he was going to get. Again, he turned and stared off past the gate. It was hard to look at the woman. There was something terribly sad about her.
“I gave him a red ribbon before he went in. That’s good luck. Did you know that?”
“No. I didn’t.”
The old woman finished hanging her clothes and then picked up her empty basket and began walking toward the back door of the Victorian house. Without looking back at him, she said, “You should get going. I haven’t been to the cathedral in a lot of years, but I remember perfectly well that it was a real long walk.”
“Cathedral?”
But the woman was apparently done with their conversation. She entered the house and left him standing alone in her back yard.
Eric stared out into the cornfield for a moment. This was beginning to get spooky. He’d assumed that these urges to get in his car and drive were all in his head. He thought this even as he found himself getting out of his car and walking along the riverbank. But this woman had just told him that he was expected, as if he had been drawn here intentionally.
She also told him about “the other one.” The one who looked like he was shrouded in fog, but without the fog. As if that made any kind of sense at all.
And she told him he was supposed to be looking for a cathedral.
It was beyond crazy. Either he just imagined this whole conversation, or she confirmed that he was here for a reason and not just because his brain was short-circuiting.
Or maybe they were both completely crazy.
He could still feel that strange pull, as if the cornfield were calling out to him. He did not want to go out there. Something was terribly wrong about all this. But he was fairly certain that he would find no peace by turning around and going home. And he certainly didn’t want to converse any further with Mrs. Sunny Disposition.
Preparing himself for whatever weirdness awaited him on the other side, Eric lifted the latch on the gate and stepped through it to the other side.
Chapter Three
Eric walked through the tall grass between the sunken wheel ruts of the dirt road. He didn’t like the feel of the tall corn on either side of him, the way it refused to let him see more than a few yards in either direction. Having already turned the bend, he could not even see the old woman’s Victorian home anymore. Even the tallest peaks of its roof were quickly lost behind the endless stalks.
It was silly, but he found himself unwilling to stray past the ruts, as if something might reach out and snatch him away if he dared get too close. It was that woman’s fault. Her insane rambling about the “other one” and how he was somehow shrouded in an invisible fog. It was a creepy thought, especially now that he was all alone out here, with nothing to be seen in every direction but corn.
She had obviously been delusional.
Yet, she had managed to make a strange sort of sense, too. Or at least more sense than his irrational compulsion to drive here in the first place.
He pulled out his cell phone and checked his screen. He was surprised to find that he still had good service out here. There must be a tower somewhere nearby. He wondered how far he was from the nearest sizable town.
The road curved again and he turned with it, still keeping between the wheel ruts.
According to the old woman, he was looking f
or a cathedral. His immediate assumption was that he was looking for a large, ornately built church, but a cornfield didn’t seem to be a very likely place for such a structure and he certainly didn’t see any towering steeples rising over the corn. But then again, the woman also said it was a long walk. He wondered if this road would take him all the way there and if he would have to stare at the corn the whole way.
He knew that he should probably call Karen and update her on his whereabouts. But he also knew that she would just as likely be calling him any time to check up on him. And since she was the one who loved to talk on the stupid phone, he tended to let her do the calling.
He was trying to determine how he was going to explain to her why he left the PT Cruiser when he abruptly realized that something had changed.
He stopped and looked around, but he couldn’t quite decide what was different. It was as if the light had changed, but when he squinted up into the sky, he saw that no clouds were passing before the sun. Yet everything suddenly felt colder and darker.
He turned around and surveyed the corn. The shadows seemed deeper somehow, the shade beneath the broad leaves darker, colder, more sinister.
That was ridiculous. Corn could not look more sinister. Broccoli, maybe. But corn was just corn. It was tasty.
Gazing forward, he saw that the plants were getting shorter as he went. He found himself passing through a strange swath of sickly stalks. It cut into the healthier, taller corn for about thirty yards to his right and curved out of sight to the left. It was as if the soil in just this one, narrow strip lacked the proper nutrients to fully sustain the crop.
As he passed through this odd area of the field, he checked his phone and saw that his signal had nearly vanished. A single bar kept flickering in and out, the words “NO SIGNAL” flashed at him as the little phone struggled to maintain its suddenly tenuous connection to the rest of the world.
He’d always hated cell phones. He hated the way people were always attached to them like a bad addiction. He’d met far too many people who were practically incapable of putting them down. They were constantly tinkering with them, as if they couldn’t bear to be left unentertained for even a few minutes, constantly taking calls, sometimes in the middle of a conversation! People even drove with the stupid things, as if the roads weren’t already dangerous enough. And it especially pissed him off when he caught his students playing with them in his class. He was notorious for his intolerance of cell phones in his classroom and still he had to confiscate the damn things at least once a week. He despised them and had proclaimed on occasions far too numerous to count that if every device on the planet abruptly quit working and they never made another one for as long as he lived, he’d continue his life quite happily.
