Page 6 of Curses and Cornstalks
She sighs. “He haunts Cold Springs. Some say he’s a demon that Hell spat out. Others say he’s the ghost of Michael Smith, a cult leader who was hanged here decades ago. Some say he was murdered for having an affair with the wife of Cold Springs’ first mayor.”
A ghost.
So, he’s not real.
“Has anyone ever seen him?” I ask, swallowing my initial response to dismiss her claim.
“No, but no one goes looking for him.” She shakes her head. “You can hear him at night, screaming and groaning. Animals have gone missing all over town, and several people have disappeared.”
“And you thinkthe Watcheris behind all of it?”
She nods.
“But how can you be sure with no proof?” I press. I’ve never been superstitious, even though I’ve watched countless Netflix documentaries on myths and legends. I don’t believe things unless I see them with my own eyes, unless I’m presented with hard facts, not just rumors. “If no one’s ever seen him?—”
“I’m sure people have,” she cuts in with a huff. “But no one has lived to tell about it.”
As we head out of town, the air gets thicker, and my throat tightens. I’m not afraid—you can’t fear something you don’t believe in—but Madelyn’s terror is almost tangible.
“Does he just haunt the town?”
“He roams all of Cold Springs, but the screams normally come from the old cornfield out yonder.” She points out the passenger window. I follow her finger and stare into the distance, just able to make out a wall of cornstalks on the horizon. “They stopped harvesting years ago because farmers were going missing. They even tried burning the field, but it grew back overnight.”
My eyebrows hike up as I continue to watch the field, wondering how it could possibly grow back in such a short amount of time. The rest I can explain away with science or circumstance but burnt crops suddenly reappearing is harder to disprove.
“Interesting,” I mumble.
“Don’t bring any of this up to Momma or Poppa, or anyone else for that matter. I shouldn’t even be talking about it,” she explains. “It’s terrible luck. We don’t talk about or go looking for him, and we certainly don’t go into the cornfield.”
“What about just getting closer to it and peering inside?” I ask, the thought of pulling off the road and heading toward the field already tugging an invisible thread in my chest. “During the day it wouldn’t be so bad, right?—”
“Cassie,” she snaps, cutting me off. “It’s not a joke. Donotengage with the Watcher. That includes taunting him.”
I fall silent. Arguing is clearly pointless.
We turn off the main road toward the house, and the cornfield disappears from view. It lingers in my mind, however, and I quietly mull over possibilities as we roll down the long dirt driveway.
The thought of the Watcher clearly causes Madelyn a lot of distress, but if I can prove to her that he isn’t real, she won’t have to live in fear anymore.
Nobody in Cold Springs will have to be afraid.
Halloween isn’t far away, either—just over two weeks from today—which gives me plenty of time to investigate and gather information in any way I can. I know Madelyn said not to bring it up, but I’m sure I can beat around the bush enough to draw some answers out of Aunt Bonnie and Uncle Mark.
If I’m lucky, they’ll be just as forthcoming as Madelyn.
If Madelyn is wrong, and the Watcher is really a wild animal rather than a spirit, that will change things. It’ll probably be best to go armed.
Would Uncle Wayne let me borrow a gun?
Would I even know how to use one?
My thoughts are spiraling by the time we park behind the house, and I follow Madelyn inside in a daze. I have a lot to figure out, but one thing is certain: I’m going into that cornfield one way or another.
I dareto hope I can sleep in again the next morning, but just as the sun starts to peek over the horizon, Maddie is knocking on my bedroom door. With a grumble, I crawl out of bed and get dressed in my least favorite clothes—I need to buy things to wear around the farm—and follow her downstairs with a yawn.
“Do you get up this early every morning?” I ask.
She nods. “Sometimes even earlier, depending on what has to be done. I swear, it’s not that bad once you get used to it.”
