Still, there was nothing Sam loved more than a treasure hunt. Except maybe a treasure hunt that was also a puzzle.
It hadn’t taken Ella long to realize that Sam was good at puzzles. He’d been bumped into both calculus and physics—two classes basically dedicated to puzzles. It hadn’t exactly helped him socially, but Ella figured he could rock a corn maze.
And find a token. He was oddly good at that sort of thing too—picking up quarters and dimes that seemed to sprout from the ground in front of him. He was like a human witching rod—metal calling to him instead of water. Of course, really he just had the habit to look.
The truth was that Sam was a strange guy in general—fast and slow, dull and bright, happy and not. Maybe that’s what Ella found so easy to like in him. He pulsed with realness in a school that mostly pulsed with rich kids who had their teeth whitened on a regular basis. Ella was pretty sure her partner in biology had come back with a new nose after missing school for a week.
That was the type of place where Ella would never really fit in. Sam didn’t either. And it was nice to be able to not fit in together.
Ella plunked her crisp five dollar bill onto the folding table set up outside the maze and watched Sam sort his money into his palm—two ones, six quarters, eight dimes, and a heap of pennies. Seeing him sort it out gave Ella a pang—it was just like seeing the money her mom used to have from tips laid out on the table. In fact, going somewhere with Sam was a lot like going somewhere with her mom—quirky, fun, and cheap.
Ella felt her throat tighten up.
Fortunately at that moment ghoulish howling crackled through the loudspeaker and they entered the gate to the maze. It was crawling with kids from school—girlfriends and boyfriends, a group of football players, three girls from biology class, and there, near a corner, was Sarah Price.
At first Ella thought she was one of the actors who volunteered to jump out and scare people—a vampire or steampunk ghost or something, but then Ella noticed she was staring at Sam. The two of them locked eyes for just a moment, and something about it made Ella feel excluded. Then Sarah noticed Ella and walked over.
“Hey,” Sarah said. “Did you guys come together?”
“Yes,” Ella said.
“No,” Sam said.
Ella was ready to laugh, but Sam looked like he was hoping the chainsaw massacre guy would find them and take him down.
“Well, we came together,” Ella said. “With Sam’s dad. As friends. Not…you know,” Ella said, nodding to a couple ducking into the maze—the girl clinging tightly to her date’s waist.
“Got it,” Sarah said, staring at nothing in the opposite direction from where Sam was also staring at nothing.
Ella didn’t have a degree in psychology, but she wasn’t an idiot. “Um, want to join us? Or are you waiting for someone?”
“Actually,” Sarah said, “that’d be cool.” She held up her phone. “Just got a text and my friend isn’t coming.”
Sam nodded casually, but Ella thought he looked like he wouldn’t mind living another day after all.
The corn maze opened in three directions and spread out in front of them like a tall, golden lake. Through and around it ran dozens of dogs. On their way into the farm, Ella had noticed a sign reading, “Jones’ Dog Rescue and Training.” And after they’d paid, they’d been given a whistle they could use if they got lost in the maze. Supposedly, a dog would follow the whistle, come and find them, then lead them out. It was pretty impressive.
“Yeah,” Sarah said. “The whistle thing is newish. He started doing it a couple years ago when someone was stuck in here for thirty-six hours or something. They threatened to shut him down, but he’s been doing this since then and no one’s gotten lost like that again.”
“That’s kind of amazing,” Ella said.
Sarah shrugged. “Jones has been training dogs for forever. If you’ve got a bad dog or a dog that needs a home or anything at all like that, you can bring it here. In fact, the Humane Society always brings Jones the dogs that are going to be euthanized soon. He’ll take them, train them, and then either give them away or take them back to the Humane Society where they can find homes. Everyone wants a dog; they just want good ones.”
“So this is like doggy rehab,” Sam said.
“Pretty much,” Sarah replied. “He’s good at it too. Supposedly some reality TV show called him wanting to do some kind of dog whisperer thing.”
“You’re kidding,” Sam said.
“Supposedly.” Sarah paused. “But Jones wouldn’t do it. He said he couldn’t train dogs with a camera crew in his face.”
“So how do you know all this?” Sam asked. “Or are you just messing with us?” He led them around two sharp turns and looked at the full moon, rubbing his forehead.
“That would have been funny,” Sarah said, “but I’m not messing with you. My mom’s gotten two dogs from Jones. They’re perfect animals. Seriously. Mom sends Jones a Christmas card every year. She says he must have the best karma in the universe.”
“So any dog at all can come here if it gets picked up and taken to the Humane Society?” Ella asked, looking more closely at the dogs than she had before.
“Yup,” Sarah said. “Except the dangerous ones. If they’ve bitten or attacked any people or livestock, they get put down.”
They walked past a couple tucked into a corner kissing, and Ella noticed that among the maze-goers there was a lot of touching. Their group, however, remained platonically stoic.
The girls followed Sam who looked skyward half the time and ground-ward the other half.
He wants that bullet, Ella thought. And she wanted him to get it. He’d come and dropped his last five bucks on this. He deserved to get it.
Ella started to look at the ground too. It was as she bent to examine a suspiciously shiny bit of dirt that a one-eyed doll jumped out at them. The doll’s face was gray with stitches up the side, her right arm a bloodied stump. Ella screamed like a child. Sam just swatted the doll away, leading them left. And Sarah—Sarah laughed. Ella was still sort of screaming when the doll monster was out of sight.
“Calm down, Ella,” Sarah said. “I think that was Annabelle Pete. She’s in my drama class. Pretty good, huh?”
Ella was still trying to get her heart to not burst out of her chest. She felt dizzy and a little sick from the adrenaline. Sarah looked like she was about to laugh again, like she thought Ella was messing around or exaggerating, but then she looked into her face. “You’re paler than me,” Sarah said.
Ella smiled weakly.
“They’re just actors,” Sarah said.
“I know,” Ella said. “But…the blood.”
“It’s only make-up, Ella.”
“I know,” Ella said quietly. “It’s just—”
Ella didn’t say that it reminded her of her mother’s accident. She hadn’t seen the worst of it, but she’d seen them carrying her mother away and even then she could see the blood. And there’d been blood on the street and bloody bandages at the hospital. Ella paled even more remembering it.
“Come on,” Sam said. “We can go back.”
“Sure,” Sarah said. “No biggie; we can leave.”
“No,” Ella said. “You two stay.”
“Whatever,” Sam said. “We’re not going to leave you to wander back on your own.”
“Seriously, you guys stay,” Ella said, and then she turned as if to leave. The sun had set since they’d entered the maze, changing the landscape. The pathway back looked convoluted. And haunted.
“Okay, never mind,” Ella mumbled. Why had she wanted to do this? And a week before Halloween.
“Come on, Ella,” Sam said. “I’ll take you back.”
“No,” Ella said. “It’s okay. I’ll stay. I can do this.”
“Sure you can,” Sarah said, smiling. She reached over and took Ella’s hand. Ella was so startled, she almost pulled back. Sarah’s hand was surprisingly warm. Ella didn’t know why it wouldn’t be—it’
s just that Sarah was so…so goth.
But her hand wasn’t. Her hand was warm and soft and kind. Ella realized that no one had touched her—really touched her—with intention and kindness since Rosie at the funeral. Ella squeezed Sarah’s hand and then reached forward and took Sam’s. He turned back, startled, and then smiled.
Ella should have given him a chance to get to Sarah. She promised herself she’d nudge them together later that night. But for now she wanted to feel herself at the center of a human chain—hand to hand, skin to skin, warm blood connecting her to her friends.
And then something stumped behind them. Ella screamed again and they ran—to the bend at the right, following Sam, and laughing.
It was nearly nine o’clock, and Ella could tell they were way ahead of most of the maze-goers. The clouds traveled in wisps over the full moon, which made the night feel dark and cold. Ella shivered.
“I think we’re almost there,” Sam said.
Only occasionally did they bump up against a dead end. When they did, Sam would rub his head and say, “Sorry, my head hurts a little. I must be off my game.”
“Are you kidding?” Sarah asked. “I’ve never gone through it this fast. Never. And I’ve been doing it since I was ten.”
Sam just shrugged. “It’s a pattern,” he said.
Ella smiled. They were near the edge of the maze. Through the rows of stalks, she could see a large field stretching out to a cluster of trees. Just then, the moon broke through the clouds and a group of dogs started howling.
“Creepy,” Sarah said, stopping suddenly.
“What?” Sam asked, looking up and casually stepping closer to her.
“Never mind,” Sarah said. “It’s just the howling spooked me. I thought I saw a wolf out there in the field, but it’s probably just a dog.”
“Or an actor,” Ella added.
“No,” Sarah said. “The actors always stay in the maze. They’re not supposed to wander through Jones’ other fields.”
Ella nodded just as a huge thing jumped in front of them. For the first time that night, Sarah screamed. Sam staggered back and stumbled. Ella did neither. She stood stone-still, her voice dead in her throat.
The creature was hairy—that’s what she registered as it reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her through a thick stand of corn, which scratched her face and arms.
Her voice found itself and she screamed, “Let go of me.”
He pulled her deeper into the maze.
She kicked the actor-monster and would have bit him, except that he was too quick. He shoved her onto a new path, dark and empty. Ella realized that earlier with her friends when she thought she’d been afraid, she hadn’t been, not really. Now her fear shot through her skin and sank into her bones, heavy and poisonous. She didn’t know what was wrong with this actor, but he was dangerous.
He reared up on his hind legs—long yellow teeth bared, hairy chest and shoulders, pointed ears, black, black fur. He was a werewolf.
His costume made him seem huge, and he smelled. Ella wondered if he was on something. “Leave me alone,” she screamed again—realizing that Sarah had their group’s dog whistle.
The werewolf grabbed her arm and dragged her through another corn wall, further away from where she thought her friends were. The moon hung high and bright, but instead of making her feel better, it made her feel trapped, like a spotlight was being shined onto her face. The werewolf actor moved on two legs, but still like an animal, never tripping or stumbling in the dark.
Ella dug her heels into the ground, and her screams became cries. “Stop it. Somebody. Help.”
In the distance she heard something start to run, then it growled near her—low, quiet, and oddly familiar.
The werewolf heard it too, scooped up a rock, and threw it at the growl. It plunked against its target, but instead of a yelp as Ella had expected from the dog, she heard a sort of groan.
She kicked the werewolf hard in the back of its leg, and for a minute it released her. She scrambled up and started to run away, but the monster had her again—this time holding her ankle and dragging her over the ground.
Ella started to cry. “Somebody,” she screamed. “Help me!” But they were far from the crowds now and everything seemed too quiet.
She picked up a rock and threw it at the monster. He laughed when it hit him, and kept dragging her.
She heard the running sound again, soft through the fields. And then a voice, even softer. “Ella,” it said.
Ella drew in a sharp breath. The voice wasn’t Sam’s. Or Sarah’s. Who else would know her name?
“Ella,” it repeated. “Listen and don’t speak.”
The werewolf turned to the sound—its ears twitching.
Ella breathed deeply, and the person whispering to her breathed with her breaths.
The werewolf removed something from around its neck and Ella heard the whisper again. “Even a werewolf has a weakness. Look down.”
Ella did and there by her arm was the silver bullet—half buried in the dirt. She held it tightly in her fist as the monster turned toward the noise. It threw another rock—a huge one this time. The rock soared through the air as though it was a tiny pebble, and an animal in the fields darted off before it could get hit.
“Loco?” Ella whispered to herself, clutching the bullet tightly. The animal that had run off looked just like him—light paws, dark back, rust-colored ears. But who had been talking?
The werewolf turned to her, grabbed her wrist, and lifted—not a rock—but what was clearly a scalpel. Ella screamed as he jerked up her coat sleeve and sliced her arm, swabbing the blood just as quickly.
When he did, she swung at him with her left arm—the fist that held the bullet. She had never hit anyone before, but her fist landed squarely on his cheek. She could tell it was a weak hit. Even so, the werewolf pulled back, dropping to all fours like an injured animal.
She swung again—hitting his thick, hairy neck, and as she did, Ella heard running—fast, two-legged, human running. Sam jumped through the trampled corn hedge and barreled into the werewolf like he was a 200-pound wrestler who took down monsters every day, not a scrawny junior who’d never played a sport in his life.
When he hit the werewolf there was a loud crack and a howl. The werewolf stood and ran on his two legs. Which made Ella feel strangely comforted. She had almost forgotten he was an actor and had begun to believe he was an actual monster.
Sam followed him a few paces before turning back to Ella. Sam looked surprisingly tall and strong in the moonlight—like he’d gotten a crazy high from the chase.
“Oh Ella,” he said, kneeling down. “Are you okay? That was crazy. Crazy.”
Ella didn’t say anything. She rocked back and forth, holding her cut arm and crying.
Sam put his arm around her, muttering, “Crazy,” over and over.
They now had a hundred dollars of prize money from the silver bullet, a large strip of gauze on Ella’s arm, and a story from Mr. Jones about how he hadn’t hired anyone to be a werewolf.
They sat at Burger Barn with the three largest burgers Ella had ever seen. Neither she nor Sarah could eat even half. Which didn’t matter because in a feat almost more impressive than rushing a strung-out werewolf at fifty miles per hour, Sam had finished off their burgers too.
“Anybody up for a shake?” he asked.
Ella groaned.
“You’re the monster,” Sarah said, nudging him.
“I’m buying one,” Sam said, “but then I’m done.”
“You might have to eat it on the way home,” Sarah said. “I texted my parents with a very watered down version of the night, but it’s still super late. My mom’s going to think I snuck off to some rave or something. Not that watching Sam eat isn’t kind of the same thing.”
Ella’s arm throbbed, but she smiled at the two of them. She’d kept her promise to herself after all. There, under the plastic table, Sarah and Sam were touching hands.
Sarah drov
e them home. Sam sat up front with her while Ella dozed in the back seat.
“Seriously,” Sarah said, putting her free hand on the armrest between the seats. “How’d you do it?”
Sam moved his own hand closer to hers, touching her fingers with his fingers.
“Must have been the adrenaline,” Sam said. But it wasn’t true. It was like something had overtaken him, changing his body—giving him speed and force. He’d never felt like that before—so powerful, so alive. Also, his headache was gone. And he was still starving.
“That’s some adrenaline,” Sarah said, staring straight ahead at the road as she scooted her hand under Sam’s.
Ella had been a good friend to Sam—the best he’d ever had. She’d been a good enough friend that he’d torn through a corn maze chasing a guy who was twice his size to help her out. Still, at this moment, Sam really hoped that Sarah would drop Ella off first and then go for a long drive after.
Chapter 26
Sam didn’t expect his father to be awake when he got home. But he was. Before Sam came in, he could see the green-blue glow of the old TV through the window. Sam took a breath. He didn’t really have a curfew, so he couldn’t really break one. But he was pretty sure that when a parent stays up to wait for you, it’s kind of bad news.
And it kind of was, but not in the way Sam had expected. When he unlocked the door, his father didn’t budge, his face only inches from the TV screen.
“Go to bed, son,” his father said.
He didn’t sound happy, but Sam realized it wasn’t because he’d just walked in late. In fact, Sam was pretty sure his dad had no idea what time it was, or anything else. He was fixated on the screen, watching the news break—a reporter discussing a new shooting while a banner of more news snaked across the bottom of the screen.
People got shot all the time, but Sam had to admit that these silver bullet shootings were disconcerting. This time it was the Parisian CEO of an airline company. When you looked at the picture of him, it was clear that he was dripping money. But, as usual, it wasn’t money the killer was after. And, as usual, the shooter—whoever he was—was psychotically uninterested in shifting the blame to anyone else.
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