A Day in the Cornfield

by Glenn Gray

part 16

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.

“Driiiink?” Karl said. It came out a little louder than he wanted and a bit on the angry side. He couldn’t help it.

“Now now, Karl,” Sheriff said, raising an open hand. He looked back at Ida, a smokey grin plastered on his face. “Hope ya unnerstand, Ida. It’s jus that we got ourselves a real situation. Been a heck of a crazy morning round here.”

“Well,” Ida said, raking the Sheriff with her eyes. “So, Tiger, you in charge heres, I’m guessin?”

“Well, golly.” Sheriff shifted back and forth on his feet like a little boy. “I reckon I am the Sheriff.”

“Hmm. That’s a heck of a uniform you got there,” Ida said, nodding her head. “A tad wrinkled though, Mr. Sheriff. Got the dirties too. Should get that fixed up.”

Sheriff reflexively swiped at some dirt caked on his sleeve, a bit flummoxed.

“So, Mr. Sheriff,” Ida said, “Where in the heck am I anyways?”

Stew cut in, a little jumpy. “On our farm is where you at!” And then to Karl and Sheriff, “We gotta get Rox, ’member?!”

“Farm, huh?” Ida said. “Yup. That I can see wit’ my own eyeballs. And who or what’s this Rox you’re screamin’ about?”

“Ah. What Stew here meant, Ida,” Sheriff said, “is that you’re standin on these here boys’ farm, right here in the great state of Nebraska. These boys are cousins and Roxy’s my daughter.”

“Nebraska?! Heck of a ways from West Virginia! Last I ’member is that big ole critter grabbin’ me and I run outta bullets and... Where is that thing anyways?”

“That’s just what we’re sayin’. The whole hullabaloo,” Sheriff said, pointing at the colossal smoldering mountain of goo. “It’s right there.”

Ida looked over the black gel mountain and nodded. “Yup. That’s how it looked in my yard ’fore I pumped some lead in that sucker. Pulled me right in. Then it changed inna that bird-thing. Heck, first I thought it was a big ole mound a’ turd.”

“See!” Stew said.

“Funny,” Sheriff said. “We did too. Been callin’ ’em turd things. Got a lot of them turds round here today.”

“Well that darn turd made me crash my bike. My brand new baby Cross Bones. And now it stuck me here in Nebraska. I gotta get home. I got a load of wash on.”

“Wash!” Stew said, and stomped his leg like an old horse. “We got us a real situmation here, Miss Ida. A really real serious situmation. And you done got yourself right smack in the middle of it.”

“Situmation?” Ida looked around, smiled and shrugged. Noticed the charred burning house, exploded pool, small piles of smoking debris scattered about the yard. Bongo was sniffing around in the distance. “Yup, reckon you got a situation all right. Looks like a war zone here, fellers.”

Karl spun, noticed the house for the first time. The color ran from his face. He dropped to his knees. “Stew!”

Stew looked, crunched up his face, processing the scope of the damage. “Karl!” he said, “Whadda we gonna dooooo?”

“I dunno, Stewy!” Karl clawed the ground, stood and whipped a handful of dirt at the house. “Just dunno, Stewy!”

Sheriff sprung between the two, arms out, resting a hand on each of their shoulders. “Don’t worry boys,” He said, “it’ll be okay. We’ll think a’ sumpin’. First we gotta get Roxy.”

It was as if Stew had momentarily forgotten. He spun round, shook his head like a dog, “ROXY!”

Karl said, “Sssshhh. Shssh.”

They froze. Listened.

The faint underwater call again: “STEEEWWW... HEELLLOOP!”

Then there was another sound.

Far off. A low rumble.

Engines. Truck engines. Car engines.

About a half mile away, a convoy of vehicles was kicking up dust clouds at the entrance to the farm. From where they stood it looked like an army of ants filtering in, marching toward some fancy food-filled picnic.

The humongous mound started to glow, vibrate a little, change colors.

“Here we go again!” Karl backed up. “Whatchit!”

Ida turned, saw the gel-mountain coming to life. After having seen this whole thing before, back home, she scurried away, got behind the Sheriff. She rested her arms on his shoulders. Sheriff twisted his neck and smiled.

They all slowly stepped backward, being careful not to slip and fall into any of the cracks or holes in the ground.

The engine rumble ramped up, louder, starting to sound more like big truck engines as the vehicles approached, about a quarter mile now.

The goo mountain shook violently and after a long moment, when it seemed to almost stop, there was a flash of color and the mound imploded, liquefying and forming torrents of black liquid that squirmed across the ground like tangles of black snakes.

The hoards of liquid tentacles darted toward the cracks and fissures, drained and poured into the earth with great sloshing sounds and by the time the first vehicle slowed to a roll nearby the mound had all but disappeared, liquefied and disappeared into the ground as if down an oversized drain at the bottom of a sink.

Stew yelled, “ROXY!” as the first officers jumped from the vehicles. “We gotta find her!”

Karl bolted in front of Stew, grabbed his shoulders, shook him hard. “Okay, Stew. Okay okay okay. We’s got some help now.” And then Karl noticed something. He cocked his head, got closer.

Stew looked annoyed. “What?”

“Hold it, Stew. Jus hold it!” Karl pointed to Stew’s ear. “Whassat?”

Stew said, “Huh?”

“In your ear.”

Stew plucked at his ear with a fingertip, came out with a small black blob of gel. Cupped it in his hand.

“It’s the stuff!” Sheriff said, coming closer. “Turd stuff, it is. From before.”

“Hold it, Stew,” Karl said, his face hovering over Stew’s hand.

Ida and Sheriff formed a semicircle around Stew’s outstretched hand, the turd ball glistening smack center palm.

“DON’T MOVE!” A voice shouted. Captain Stan Polowski, SWAT commander.

Stew glanced up quickly, startled by the booming voice. Karl, Sheriff and Ida threw glances too, but had a hard time taking their eyes off the turd ball. Mesmerized.

Fifty uniformed officers surrounded the small group, every one of them aiming a shiny black weapon in their direction.

Stew felt silly. Nervous too. He didn’t know what to do. “Greetins, sir.” Stew smiled sheepishly. “Got us a real gen-u-iiine turd ball here. Yup we do.”

To be continued...