Page 36 of Curses and Cornstalks
“It was probably just a crow,” I whisper, clinging to Aunt Bonnie’s words. I’d thought they were insane when she said them, but now I hope with everything in me that she was right.
Please, please let it be a crow.
I search the sky for any sight of wings and come up short. Nothing but a few wispy clouds break up the otherwise flawless, blue sky.
My chest constricts, my throat tight.
I wait another full minute.
“Just a crow,” I repeat under my breath, unable to move a muscle as fear still lances through me.
Surely, it can’t be anything else?—
Another scream tears through the silence, this one longer and louder than the last. A pained, agonizing noise that seems to go on forever.
Realization sinks in, and bile burns the back of my throat.
There’s no way that sound belongs to any kind of bird.
Atticus.
I finally launch into action.
Ripping open my car door, I jump inside and toss my backpack into the passenger seat. Hands shaking, I jam the key into the ignition and crank the engine, sending dirt and rocks flying as I peel out of the driveway and head toward the road.
All the while, my heart is beating in my throat.
Atticus.
My mind stalls, unable to think of anything else. I don’t want to consider the possibilities, what could possibly cause him to scream like that, but I know in my bones it’s him.
Is he in danger? Is he hurt?
A wave of nausea rolls my stomach.
I’m supposed to spend the day with him. After waiting day after agonizing day, I’m finally going to see him.
But what if I waited too long? What if someone decides to go into the field today, on All Hallows’ Eve, to look for him? To hurt him?To try and kill him?
I shake my head and punch the gas, speeding down the road as the distance between me and the cornfield disappears. Every single other thing melts away, until all I can focus on is the stretch of asphalt in front of me and the pound of blood in my ears.
When I reach the cornfield, I slam on the brakes and skid to a stop. I can’t get out of the car fast enough, cursing when I nearly forget my backpack. Not that it matters much; nothing in the bag is going to help me if I come across someone in the field.
I didn’t even bring a weapon this time.
Without thinking, I bolt into the stalks the second my shoes hit the ground, running like my life depends on it.
“Atticus!” I scream into the jungle of green and beige around me. My voice cracks, and I try again. “Atticus! Where are you?”
Nothing but the rustle of cornstalks as I barrel through them answers me.
“Atticus!” I swivel my head back and forth, searching through the cornstalks for any flash of red or blue. Any sign of my precious scarecrow.
But again, I come up short.
“Fuck,” I pant, my lungs burning. My legs ache, and I slow to a brisk walk, but I keep going. I can’t stop now.
If he was okay, he surely would have shown up by now.
