A Day in the Cornfield

by Glenn Gray

part 15

One day, Karl and Stew discover strange “turd”-like things appearing in their cornfield. The things have a strange power of mimicry, and their intentions are far from clear. Karl and Stew elicit the help of Sheriff Maynard and his daughter Roxy. Consternation ensues, and the once quiet farm becomes the epicenter of national attention.

Stew bolted to the gaping crack in the earth, got on hands and knees, and peered into the open fissure. “ROOOXXXYYYY!”

Sheriff, sitting legs outstretched on the ground after falling, turned to get on one knee, then stood, hopped to Stew’s side at the cavernous hole. “Where the heck is she?”

Karl darted over. “Heck’s happened?”

“ROOXXXY!” Stew yelled again.

A faint muffled sound. Like yelling underwater, only it wasn’t water but some black goopy jello stuff. “Heoooolllllllp!”

“ROXXXX!?” Stew called.

“She’s alive!” Sheriff leaned over the chasm. “Roxy! Hang in there, girl!”

“She’s okay!” Stew said.

Sheriff said, “Most definitely gotta get us some help, boys.”

“How about that backhoe?” Stew said, “We can dig right here. We got to. We gotta get her!”

“Yessiree,” Karl said. “Gotta get diggin!”

“Wait,” Sheriff said. “I’m gonna radio fer some help.” Sheriff scooted over to Roxy’s vehicle, since his patrol car was a ball of smoking crunched metal, grabbed the mike and called in for some assistance, not getting into too much detail. Said he probably needed the SWAT Team.

Meantime, Stew leaned into the hole, swung his arm in the blackness. “I’m goin in.”

“Stew? You crazy?” Karl said, standing right next to Stew. “You don’t know what’s down there. Just holdit.”

“Roxy’s down there is all I know.”

“Karl’s right, Stew,” Sheriff said as he walked up. “I wanna go and get ’er as much as you, she’s my little girl, but we gotta go about it the right way. Otherwise we’ll all end up down there. Help’s on the way.”

“Don’t care!” Stew leaned in, his head and arms dangling in the hole. There was a loud sloshing sound. A low hum. A moment of nothing and then a blast of black gel shot straight up and covered Stew, engulfing his head and shoulders.

“Stew!” Karl dropped to the ground and bear-hugged Stew round the waist. Sheriff dropped, grabbed Karl’s legs, like a chain.

The gel was alive and squirming, tugging at Stew with great force. Sheriff and Karl pulled back like a wild game of tug-of-war. After strenuous struggling for what seemed like an eternity, grunting, back and forth rocking motions, Stew’s body broke free and the three men toppled back into a heap.

The slick gel covering Stew’s upper body liquefied, ran off his chest and arms in great rivulets, then coalesced and shot back into the darkness of the hole.

The three men wriggled on the ground, arms and legs flailing. Stew rolled off Karl and Karl bucked off the Sheriff. They settled on their backs, breathing heavily, chests rising and falling in rhythm.

“Whew,” Sheriff said.

“Oh, Roxy,” Stew said.

Karl squinted, raised one hand like a salute to block out the sun, pointed to the sky. “Loooook!”

A massive object in the sky obscured the sun, casting irregular angulated shadows across the cornfield. The massive thing had a gun in one hand, more like a canon. Shots exploded in puffy clouds of smoke. KABOOM! One hit the house with a massive burst of flames, timber and sheetrock spiraling outward.

KABOOM! A crater splattered open in the earth nearby, dirt and debris raining down.

KABOOM! Another hit the pool like a torpedo, a wallop of a splash, forming a towering surge of water.

Stew yelled, “It’s back!”

The Ida-bird-dog thing began to lower itself from the sky, lunging straight downward. Right above the men. Wings flapping and gusts of wind building.

“Look!” Karl shouted, pointing at a plane in the sky and just behind, a Cobra helicopter. They were hot on the tail of the turd-thing. Neat puffs of smoke appeared along the side of the Cobra helicopter. It was shooting at the thing. The men could hear RAT-TAT ... TAT-TAT-TAT.

As the thing descended into the cornfield, the plane and copter zipped on past with a great VROOOoooom. Two more planes then passed overhead right behind the first plane, VROOOM! VROOOM!

“Whatchit!” Stew said, rolling and scurrying to his feet.

“Run!” Karl screamed. He grabbed the Sheriff by the arm and the trio quickly hobbled, off-balance, scurrying just in time as the thing landed on massive claws right at the spot where the men had been standing.

The ground shook and rocked and there was a hurricane-like gust of air which bent and nearly flattened the surrounding rows of corn stalks, sending dirt and husks whirling like a sandstorm. Flashes of light shimmered.

Karl, Stew and the Sheriff were blinded by the wind and dirt-filled dust and broken corn stalks and flying husks, whipping their faces and burning their eyes.

They huddled on their knees, covering their faces.

The air settled almost as quickly as it had started, and when the men looked up there was a huge gelatinous mound of blackness plopped on the ground, smoking and simmering. Almost the size of a barn.

After a moment, as the air cleared, they could make out an old woman staggering forth from the mist, the real Ida Mae Wheeler, all five-foot three of her, having just been released from the turd-thing’s grasp.

The men clawed to their feet, slowly and tentatively stepped toward Ida.

Karl said, “Huh?”

Stew looked at her shirt. “Born to Ride?”

“Goshgdangit!” Ida said. “What a trip!” Ida stopped in front of the men, brushing off her shirt and raking a hand through mussed hair.

Karl said, “Who in the heck are you?”

“Heck. I’m Ida Mae Wheeler,” Ida said, hands on hips. “Now yous can tell me. Where can an old gal get a drink round here?”

Sheriff Maynard looked Ida up and down, stood tall, adjusted his belt and holster, smoothed back his hair.

A goofy grin ripped across his face. “Well howdy there, Miss, ah, whatcha say it was? Ida Mae?”

To be continued...