Stalks Read online

  Stalks

  by

  Sara Bourgeois

  Chapter One

  To the best of my recollection, the first time I saw the thing in the corn, I was five years old. My parents had taken me to a harvest festival in a small town near the city where we lived. It was really fun at first. We ate pork burgers (my favorite), pumpkin donuts, and drank fresh cider. My dad paid for me to paint a pumpkin, and I got to play in this huge corn crib thing filled with corn cobs.

  There was a castle built out of hay bales and I climbed on it until my arms and legs began to go numb. When the sun started to go low in the sky, my dad called out to me. “Maggie, let’s do the corn maze before they close up for the day.”

  I stood up on one of the tall stacks of hay and looked in the direction of the maze. Something about it made my stomach hurt. I shook my head no, and refused to come down.

  “Come on, sweetie. I’ll hold your hand the entire time. I promise I won’t let go.”

  I shook my head no.

  “I’ll buy you the doll from the gift shop,” he said with a wide smile.

  “Jerod, no,” my mother hissed at him.

  “Stop, Mell. I’ll buy my daughter a doll if I want to,” my dad said in that low growly voice that let you know he was not to be argued with.

  My mother huffed and stomped off toward the car. I thought about it for a moment, and decided that a quick trip through the corn maze was worth the doll and my mother’s unhappiness. She was always in a sour mood, but it turned especially disgruntled when my dad would do nice things for me.

  I climbed down quickly and he took my hand. We went to the ticket counter and bought two tickets for the corn maze. “We close in fifteen minutes,” the old man behind the window said.

  “How long does it take to go through?” my dad asked.

  “Takes most people about ten minutes, so as long as you don’t dawdle, you’ve got plenty of time; not a huge maze,” the man said. “I’ll meet you at the other end to make sure you make it out.”

  Something about the way he said that terrified my five-year-old self. Why would we need someone to make sure we made it out? I gripped my dad’s hand tighter.

  “Come on, squirt. Let’s do this,” my dad said.

  He didn’t notice that I was squeezing his hand. Dad didn’t look down to see the pale, frightened expression on my face or the beads of sweat breaking out on my brow.

  “I don’t want the doll, daddy. It’s okay. Let’s go see what mommy is doing.”

  “Don’t be silly, Mags. This will be fun. We’ll go through fast, okay. You’ll see.”

  The setting sun made the stalks of corn cast long shadows on the ground. It seemed that as soon as we walked into the corn, the wind kicked up. The rustling sound the drying corn produced in the wind made it sound like we were surrounded by something moving through it.

  I was so scared, but just about the time that it felt like my heart was going to beat out of my chest, I went kinda numb. I was aware that my dad was talking excitedly as we tried to find our way out of the maze, but the words didn’t register. I remember that my vision went kind of hazy, but I’m not sure if that was because of my dissociation or it was a trick of the fading light.

  I’m not sure how, but we managed to actually get lost in the maze. At least that’s what I remembered. What didn’t occur to me until much later in my life was that the reason my dad struggled so much with the corn maze was because he’d been drinking beer all day.

  As an adult, I can recognize that one of the reasons my mom was so pissed that day was because my father was three sheets to the wind by six o’clock, when the festival was due to close. As a kid, he was just my daddy, who could do no wrong. I was supposed to be safe with him, and I believe with my whole heart that I was. Right up until the moment when we stopped moving.

  I recognized the spot where we stood. We’d walked by it at least a half dozen times already. I could smell the beer on him, but that didn’t seem unusual to me. He smelled like that a lot on the weekends. When he started to spew obscenities while frantically looking around, my world swam back into focus.

  My father didn’t get worked up like that often, but I knew that when he did, things were bad. I started to shake and I had to bite my lip to keep from bursting into tears. “Stop it, Maggie. We’re fine. Just stop,” he said and yanked my arm just a little too hard. I didn’t feel comforted. “Hello!” he called out. “We can’t find our way out.”

  Nobody answered. It wasn’t surprising, though, given how loud the wind in the corn had become. “Daddy, I’m scared. I want to go home,” I said. I was seconds away from having a little kid mental breakdown.

  “Wait here,” my dad said, and I felt my knees go weak.

  “Daddy, no. You can’t leave me. You promised to hold my hand the entire time,” I whined and tried to cling to him.

  “Margaret, you are going to be a big girl right now. Just stand here. I can move faster without you.” His speech was slurred. “Do what I say. Do I need to take off my belt?”

  I shook my head no and bit down hard on my lip. He let go of my hand, and I swear that my knees just about buckled underneath me.

  It must have only been moments later, but it felt like hours, when I heard something move in the stalks behind me. I whipped around and squinted my eyes. The sun seemed like it was almost completely down at that time, and for some reason, I could swear that I heard people getting in their cars and leaving.

  I don’t like to admit, but I will, that I peed myself. I thought that I was stuck in that maze forever, and there was something out there.

  A dark shadow moved closer to the edge, and then retreated. It moved faster than any human or animal should have been able to, and suddenly it was behind me again.

  “Margaret,” it hissed.

  I covered my ears and screamed. The next thing I remember was my mother grabbing my wrists and pulling them away from my ears. “Stop that.”

  When my father had stumbled out of the corn maze, drunk and blubbering, she’d walked right in and retrieved me. “You are both an embarrassment. I’m not sure what I did to deserve this.”

  I can remember being thankful that she let me take off my wet underwear and jeans. I had to ride home with a spare towel wrapped around my waist, but at least she didn’t make me wear them. That was about as nice a thing as she’d ever done for me.

  Chapter Two

  Day One

  I was having a good day as far as acting like a responsible adult. Sometimes I spent my entire day in my pajamas and got no work done, but that day I’d showered, eaten scrambled eggs and fruit for breakfast, and I hadn’t allowed myself to descend into the YouTube rabbit hole before I began working.

  Bright sun gave me a migraine most of the time, but that day it was partially cloudy. So I opened up all of the blinds on my downstairs windows.

  I live in the Midwest, on the outer rim of my subdivision, and my backyard butted right up to a cornfield. My living room was basically my office and I could sit at my desk and look out the patio door if I kept the curtain open. It was pretty cool in the fall when the corn turned brown.

  A couple of hours into my work, I got up to make myself a cup of coffee. My kitchen window also looks out into the field, and while I was filling the kettle, I thought I saw something move in the stalks.

  I was transported back to the day in the corn maze. It was a memory that I’d suppressed until that moment. The kettle clattered against the bottom and sides of the sink when I dropped it. My cat skittered out of the room as fast as she could.

  As I leaned across the sink to get a better look out the window, the doorbell rang. It made me jump half out of my skin. My heart raced, and I shouted out a curse.

  The bell was nothing more than a package.
I brought in my parcel and went back to the kitchen. The cornfield looked completely normal, and I scolded myself for being silly.

  After my coffee was ready, I settled back into my chair. The steaming cup sat to my left, and my phone was on my right. It buzzed out a warning that I had a text message.

  How many pages have you written so far today?

  It was my husband. He’d originally said that it was important for me to write things that I enjoyed. Unfortunately for me, once my first book made a substantial amount of money, he’d become accustomed to royalties. I’d almost say that Kurt had become obsessed with my productivity.

  I hope you’re not spending too much time reading or watching movies.

  The second text came in before I’d even had a chance to answer.

  I hope your boss doesn’t get mad that you’re texting your wife instead of doing your work.

  I felt a bit of gleeful satisfaction from sassing him back, but deep inside, I prayed he wouldn’t still be sore about it by the time he came home from work.

  Maggie, this is serious.

  Ugh. Like I didn’t know that. I hadn’t wanted to expand our lifestyle when the money came rolling in, but Kurt decided we should buy a bigger house. Oh, and he needed a brand-new Mercedes too. Before, we’d had enough to live on just with his salary, but now we needed for my books to make money. We couldn’t afford our mortgage and bills without my royalties. It was a lot of pressure, and pressure isn’t necessarily good for creativity.

  I was getting ready to text him back that I was sorry and that I was working hard. Before I could do that, I saw red and blue flashing lights stop outside. I knew the police couldn’t be there for me, but it still scared the shit out of me.

  Instead of getting back to work and letting my husband know how many pages I’d written, I did something that I normally wouldn’t do. I put on my shoes and went out to the front yard. Kurt wouldn’t have approved. He always said that I paid too much attention to the neighbors.

  As I tied my laces, I thought for a moment about what I’d say if Kurt came home for lunch and found me outside. I quickly shoved my phone and earbuds in my pocket. If nothing else, I could say that I came outside for a walk. Sometimes a little exercise helped me write, and lord knows that Kurt thinks I could stand to lose a few pounds.

  I stepped out the door and hesitated on the porch. It would be okay if I stayed there. For some reason, going all the way into the yard felt like trespassing.

  It had ever since the day I tried to surprise Kurt by planting flowers in the front garden beds. After my words were done, of course.

  I’d stood on the porch and waited for him to come home like a lovesick puppy. He got out of the car, and the questioning look on his face had quickly turned to one of burning anger. It was fleeting though. A smile spread across his face, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Nor had the contempt in them completely vanished. I’d become attuned to that disdain. I could pick up the tiniest whiff of it.

  “What did you do?” His voice would have sounded like a tease to the neighbors, but I’d heard what I was supposed to hear. The slight undertone of malice in the words made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

  Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

  I said it in my head, but I kept my sweet, welcoming smile on my face. For the neighbors.

  “Do you like them? I wanted to surprise you.” That was me. I always held out this naïve hope that I’d read his moods wrong and that perhaps he really was pleased.

  “Let’s talk about it in the house. You didn’t let this project delay dinner, right?” He still had that same smile, but the way he’d said this evaporated my hope.

  For a moment, I thought about running. I could just grab my purse from the peg where it hung so neatly on the wall and bolt. I had that impulse a lot, but I never really knew why.

  Sure, Kurt had high expectations for me, but that was good. My parents also had the same high expectations. It wasn’t bad to hold people accountable for their actions. It wasn’t wrong to expect the people around you to make your life easier instead of more difficult. Never disappointing people was how you showed that you really cared about them.

  “I’m sorry,” I said before he’d even closed the door behind himself. “I thought you’d like them. You’d said something about the other houses on the block looking more squared away than ours. I figured I’d do my best to make ours the nicest on the block.” I spewed my apology as he stood over me. I knew he expected this. It was better to just atone for your offense than to stand there looking dumbfounded. I wasn’t sure why Kurt would be mad at me over the flowers, but that didn’t matter. I’d disappointed him.

  “Dinner smells good. What is it?” he asked and walked past me.

  Shit. He was going to let the matter stew for a while. In the past, I would have been elated that he’d just let it go, but I’d come to know better. Unless he’d specifically said it was okay, he wanted me to sit in my mess through dinner while he planned what repercussions would be pertinent.

  “It’s roasted chicken and rosemary potatoes,” I said happily. I had to play the game. “I opened a bottle of wine too. It’s breathing on the counter.” I said this and he shot me another look. “It’s one of the bottles from the front. I didn’t touch the stock in the back.”

  I didn’t know anything about wine, really. It had been one of Kurt’s new hobbies since we’d come into more money. I just knew that the bottles in the back were his special collection, and I would never open one of them again.

  “That sounds delicious,” he said and began to walk to our room to change out of his work clothes. “Any dessert?”

  My heart sunk. That was strike two. I hadn’t had the chance to make anything fresh from scratch between writing and planting flowers. “I baked one of the pies I froze a couple of weeks ago.” The pie was made from scratch just like he liked, but it was one I’d put up in the freezer for times when I didn’t have the chance to bake. “We’ve still got some of that vanilla bean ice cream you like. You could have a slice à la mode,” I offered. “I could pour a shot of bourbon over it like they did at that restaurant. You liked that so much.”

  No answer.

  I went into the kitchen to make sure the table was set correctly, and then I cut up the chicken and put the potatoes on a serving plate. Panic gripped me for a moment as I tried to decide whether to put the serving dishes on the table or leave them on the counter. I heard him coming down the hall, and decided to put the utensils on the tray and just wait.

  Kurt was dressed in athletic shorts and a t-shirt. “Hey, Mags. I’m not hungry right now. I’m going to hit the gym. Make sure to keep a plate warm for me,” he said and headed for the door.

  “What time will you be back?” I asked.

  The front door slammed shut.

  I couldn’t eat much after that, but I tried anyway. One glass of wine was all I allowed myself. I wanted more, but it was obvious that drinking too much would be strike three.

  The rest of the time Kurt was gone was devoted to digging up the flowers I’d planted earlier in the day and keeping a plate of food the perfect temperature. I’d also managed to throw together a quick batch of candied pecan sugar cookies. I worried they were slightly overcooked, but it’d have to do.

  Three hours later, Kurt returned, and I was exhausted. The beds in front of the house were nearly back to the way they’d been when he left that morning. I was certain in the dark he wouldn’t even be able to see the slight mounds where I’d replaced the dirt. I probably could have gotten out the hose and a hoe and made them completely flat, but then I wouldn’t have had time for the cookies.

  “I need a shower. Lay some clothes out for me,” he barked when he came in the front door. “I’ll eat when I’m done.”

  I set to work putting out a set of the clothes he liked to sleep in and then made sure that his food was warm and not dried out. While he ate, I sat by Kurt’s side to make sure that he didn’t need anything. I poured his wine and repl
aced his napkin when it got messy.

  “I was too harsh earlier,” Kurt said with a devious smile on his face. “I like the flowers. It was disappointing to see them gone when I got back. Why don’t you give me a couple of cookies and a glass of that bourbon? After that, you can go outside and replant them.”

  By the time I got back in the house, Kurt had obviously drank a couple more glasses of bourbon; I could tell by the bottle he left on the counter. Our bedroom door was closed, and that meant it was locked too.

  I went into the laundry room and grabbed some clothes out of the dryer. Kurt never looked in the washer and dryer, so it was the one thing I could slack on. As long as he had what he needed, my husband didn’t pay much attention to what was actually in the washer and dryer. It was a good thing too, because otherwise I wouldn’t have had any clean clothes, and what I’d been wearing was covered with dirt.

  There was a guest bathroom upstairs, and I hoped that I could take a shower without disturbing Kurt. I started the water and sat on the toilet waiting for it to get warm. My ears stayed attuned to the hallway. If Kurt was going to come stomping up the stairs to tell me it was too late for a shower, I wanted to know before I got in and got my hair wet.

  Thankfully, he left me alone. After showering, I went into the guest room that had an air mattress already inflated. It was either that or ride the couch. It felt like a betrayal, but I still wanted as much distance between him and I as possible.

  None of the upstairs bedrooms had curtains because we didn’t use them for anything. Well, anything other than the air mattress I slept on when I’d pissed Kurt off enough for him to lock the bedroom door.

  The moon wasn’t quite full, but it was bright enough to illuminate the room. I didn’t feel secure sleeping with an uncovered window. For some reason, I felt vulnerable, even though I was on the second floor and it was doubtful that anyone could see in.

  I tiptoed down to my desk and grabbed a few thumbtacks from a drawer. Back upstairs, I used the tacks to cover the window with a dark sheet. I made sure to push the pins in where the window frame met the wall so that it wouldn’t put visible holes in the wall.