"The Last Turn":
I never thought a simple evening out could unravel into something so horrifying. It was late August when my best friend Lisa and I decided to check out the local corn maze just outside of town. It was one of those cheerful autumn attractions families flock to — laughter in the air, the scent of kettle corn drifting from the food stalls, the stalks towering like golden walls under a pale summer sunset. It all looked so harmless. We’d heard about it from coworkers who said it was a fun way to spend an evening. Lisa, who loved puzzles and challenges, couldn’t wait to test herself. I just went along for the company. I wish I hadn’t.
We arrived a little before six, paid for our wristbands, and picked up a folded paper map from the booth. The attendant was an older man with a leathery face and a polite, weary smile. “Stick together, ladies,” he said, sliding the map across the counter. “It gets tricky once the light goes down. Don’t wander off the marked paths.”
His warning seemed harmless enough, maybe even part of the show, but something in his tone made me pause. Lisa didn’t notice. She just laughed, tugging at my sleeve. “Come on, Emily. We’ll be fine. It’s a corn maze, not a jungle.”
The maze entrance swallowed us in shadow almost immediately. Rows of corn loomed over our heads, their dry leaves whispering in the light breeze. The paths were narrow, barely wide enough for two people, and the sound of our footsteps muffled by packed soil. At first, it was fun. We teased each other about getting lost, argued at each fork — “Left or right?” — and made playful bets on who would find the center first.
The golden light faded gradually into a soft amber glow. Voices from other visitors floated through the maze — laughter, shouts, someone calling a name in the distance. The air smelled of earth and sun-warmed husks. For a while, everything felt simple.
But mazes are designed to twist your sense of direction. After about twenty minutes, we hit our first dead end. Lisa unfolded the map, rotating it under the dim light of her phone. “Okay, no big deal,” she said, frowning. “We just missed a turn somewhere. Backtrack to the last junction.”
We did, but somehow the route didn’t match what the map showed. The turns all looked the same. Every path blended into the next. “This doesn’t make sense,” I muttered. “We just came from here.”
Lisa brushed it off. “That’s the point, Em. It’s supposed to mess with your head.” She led the way deeper, ducking into a narrower corridor of corn.
The laughter from the other groups was fading now. We walked for another few minutes before realizing we could no longer hear anyone else at all. The silence pressed in, heavy and strange. Then — a sound. A soft rustle, just a few rows over.
Lisa froze. “Did you hear that?”
I strained to listen. The rustling came again, faint but deliberate, like someone moving through the corn parallel to us. “Probably another group,” I said, trying to sound casual. But my voice came out too tight. The rustling stopped when we stopped. Moved when we moved.
“Emily,” Lisa whispered, her tone suddenly serious, “let’s pick up the pace.”
We quickened our steps. The paths forked and curved endlessly. My nerves began to tighten with every turn. Then, out of nowhere, a man’s voice echoed through the maze — sharp, angry. “Stop it! What are you doing?”
We both froze. The voice came from somewhere ahead, muffled but close. Then another voice joined in — deeper, rougher — shouting back. The sound of scuffling followed.
Lisa’s eyes met mine, wide and uncertain. “Should we go check?”
I shook my head quickly. “No. We need to find the exit. Now.”
But curiosity and fear pulled us forward despite our better judgment. We crept toward the noise, careful not to step on any fallen stalks. The arguing grew louder, angrier. Then one of the voices broke — pleading. “Please… don’t. We can talk about this.”
Something about that tone made my stomach twist.
We turned a corner, and I caught movement — a shadow darting between the rows. Lisa gasped softly. “Someone’s there.”
The rustling came again, this time closer, followed by a choked cry and a heavy thud. Silence.
My phone trembled in my hand as I pulled it out. No signal. The bars flickered uselessly. Lisa’s voice shook. “Call for help.”
“I’m trying!” I whispered back, but it was no use. The maze seemed to swallow the signal — and the world — whole.
Then came footsteps. Slow. Dragging. Getting closer.
Through a gap in the corn, I saw him. A man in his forties stumbled into view, his shirt smeared with something dark and wet. His eyes were wide and glassy, darting around like a trapped animal’s. In his hand, glinting faintly in the fading light, was a knife.
Lisa clamped her hand over her mouth. My breath caught in my throat.
The man muttered to himself, pacing. “Didn’t mean to… he pushed me too far. Had to do it.” His voice cracked, half sob, half growl. Then he turned, his gaze sweeping the rows, and called out, “Who’s there?”
We ducked lower, our knees sinking into the dry dirt. I could feel my heart hammering against my ribs.
Lisa’s lips formed a single word: run.
We bolted, crashing through the stalks, the leaves cutting at our arms. Behind us, the man’s footsteps exploded into a sprint. “Wait! Come back!” he shouted.
We didn’t stop. The maze twisted and folded back on itself, every turn more confusing than the last. I looked over my shoulder — he was gaining, slashing stalks out of his way, wild-eyed and relentless.
“Left!” Lisa yelled. We darted around a corner — and ran straight into a dead end.
Panic surged. “This way!” she hissed, yanking me toward a patch where the corn grew thicker. We crouched, trembling, listening.
The man stopped nearby, his breathing ragged. “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he murmured, voice soft and strange. “It was him or me.”
The silence stretched. Every second felt like an eternity. Then, just as he turned away, we slipped out the other side of the row, creeping low until we could run again.
And that’s when we found it.
A clearing, moonlight spilling onto the dirt. A man lay crumpled in the center, blood pooling beneath him. His eyes were open, unblinking. The air stank of iron.
Lisa made a strangled noise. “Oh my god…”
I dropped to my knees, checked for a pulse — nothing. The realization hit like ice water: we’d just stumbled onto the scene of the murder.
“Emily,” Lisa whispered urgently, “he’s coming.”
We ran. This time, we screamed. The sound tore through the maze, desperate and hoarse. Somewhere in the distance, other voices answered — people shouting, calling for help.
We burst through a final turn and collided with a family group. “Call the police!” I gasped. “There’s a man — he’s got a knife — someone’s dead!”
The father yanked out his phone. The mother pulled her kids close, shielding their eyes. Moments later, chaos erupted — people running, shouting, security guards rushing in. The killer stumbled out not long after, his face slack, his shirt soaked. He didn’t resist when they tackled him, just kept repeating, “It was him or me. You don’t understand. He started it.”
The police arrived soon after. They roped off the maze, questioned everyone for hours.
We later learned both men were from the same group home — patients with severe mental illness, visiting as part of a supervised trip. Something had gone wrong between them deep inside the maze, and the isolation had turned an argument into a killing.
Lisa and I drove home in silence that night, headlights cutting through the fog, both of us too shaken to speak.
Even now, months later, I can still hear the corn rustling when I close my eyes — that whispering sound that felt alive. I can’t go near mazes anymore. I can’t even look at one without feeling my pulse race. Because sometimes horror doesn’t wait in haunted houses or dark alleys. Sometimes, it hides in the places meant for laughter — and waits until you’re deep enough that there’s no clear way out.
"October Maze":
I went to the corn maze with my two best friends, Katie and Ryan, that Friday night in October. We were all thirteen, caught between being kids and trying to feel older, and the maze seemed like the perfect mix of fun and daring before homework and chores took over the weekend. Katie was the one who begged us to go—she loved anything that felt like an adventure—and Ryan said yes immediately, because he liked anything that let him run and shout without getting in trouble. I wasn’t sure at first, but I didn’t want to be the one who stayed home.
The sun was just sinking when we arrived, the horizon painted gold and purple. The air smelled like hay and caramel apples from the food stand, and faint laughter drifted from the families leaving early. We paid our entry fees, grabbed flashlights from a crate near the entrance, and stepped into the maze. The corn rose high above our heads, thick and swaying with the evening wind. Shadows stretched across the dirt paths as the last of the daylight disappeared.
“This is going to be awesome,” Katie said, gripping my arm and tugging me forward. Her voice buzzed with excitement. “Come on—let’s see who can find the exit first!”
Ryan laughed, swinging his flashlight beam across the tall stalks. “Bet I beat both of you. I have a built-in compass.”
The three of us started together, turning left, then right, our flashlights cutting pale tunnels through the darkening corn. At first, it was fun—just kids in a giant outdoor puzzle. We made stupid jokes about getting lost and building a new civilization out of corn.
“What if we never find the way out?” I said, half teasing.
“Then we’ll live here forever,” Katie replied with mock seriousness. “Ryan can guard the perimeter.”
“Yeah,” Ryan said, puffing his chest. “From scarecrows and evil farmers.”
We laughed, but the deeper we went, the quieter things became. The sounds of other groups faded, and even the air felt heavier, colder. The stalks brushed against my jacket as we turned another corner. Every path started to look the same—dirt, corn, more dirt. We hit a dead end, then another, and our laughter thinned into uneasy silence.
“Let’s split up,” Ryan suggested. “We’ll find the way faster.”
I shook my head. “No way. We should stay together.”
“It’s fine,” Katie said, already glancing down another path. “We’ll meet at that bridge up ahead.”
The bridges were built high enough to see over the maze, wooden platforms with stairs on each side. They looked safe, visible, like checkpoints. I hesitated, but Ryan and Katie were already moving. “We’ll meet at the bridge!” Katie called. Then they disappeared around a bend.
I took the path straight ahead, alone. My flashlight beam was narrow, weak against the thick night. The stalks whispered as they moved in the wind, but sometimes… the sound didn’t match the breeze. Footsteps. Soft, uneven, just behind me. I stopped. So did they.
“Katie?” I called, turning. My voice echoed faintly in the corn. No answer.
I told myself it was just another group nearby. I kept walking, quicker now, my shoes crunching over dried leaves. Another corner. Another dead end. When I turned back, I didn’t recognize the path anymore. Every direction looked identical. Panic started to rise in my chest.
Then—footsteps again. Closer. Slow. Deliberate.
I swung my flashlight around, the beam jittering with my shaking hands. Nothing but walls of corn, shifting in the dark. My throat tightened. “Ryan?” Still nothing.
That’s when I heard the voice. A man’s voice—low, rough, and muttering something I couldn’t understand. It came from somewhere off the path, deep in the stalks. The words blurred together, broken and strange, like he was talking to himself. I froze, holding my breath.
The rustling grew louder, closer. I turned and darted down the next trail. “Katie!” I hissed, barely above a whisper. No reply. The man’s muttering stopped, replaced by heavy breathing.
I ran.
The beam of my flashlight swung wildly, lighting up only fragments of the maze—broken stalks, clumps of dirt, a wooden sign pointing nowhere. My heart hammered in my ears. Then, as I turned a corner, I almost collided with him.
He was standing there, blocking the path. Tall. Jeans, black hoodie, the hood pulled low. For a second, I thought maybe he worked there. But there was something wrong about how still he was.
“Hey,” he said. His voice was calm, almost too calm. “You lost?”
I took a step back. “I’m with my friends,” I said quickly. “They’re right behind me.”
He tilted his head. “No, they’re not. I saw them go the other way.”
The hood shadowed most of his face, but I caught the faint glint of his eyes. He smiled slightly. “Let me help you find them.”
Every instinct screamed no. “I—I can do it,” I stammered, trying to move past. But he shifted to block me again. His arm brushed against mine.
“Don’t be scared,” he murmured. “It’s just a maze.”
Something snapped inside me. I turned and bolted down the path. Behind me, his footsteps exploded into motion. “Wait!” he called. His voice wasn’t calm anymore.
The corn whipped at my arms and face as I sprinted, the stalks closing in. I could hear him right behind me, his breathing harsh. I screamed, “Help! Katie! Ryan!”
Then I saw it—the wooden bridge ahead, barely visible through the shadows. Salvation. I pushed harder, lungs burning. But before I reached the steps, a hand clamped onto my shoulder and yanked me backward.
I dropped the flashlight, the light spinning across the dirt. “Stop running,” he growled, dragging me down. We crashed into the corn, stalks snapping under us. His weight pinned me to the ground. His breath was hot, sour.
“This won’t take long,” he whispered, his face inches from mine.
I screamed, clawing at him, kicking wildly. My foot hit his leg hard. He cursed but didn’t let go. When his hand covered my mouth, I bit down—hard. I tasted blood and dirt. He shouted and jerked away. I rolled free, scrambling for the flashlight.
I grabbed it and swung as hard as I could, hitting him in the side. He gasped, stumbling. I didn’t wait—I ran, limping, toward the bridge. I climbed the steps two at a time, sobbing for air.
From the top, I saw movement—flashlights in the distance. Workers. “Help! Over here!” I screamed, waving my arm.
Below me, footsteps again. He was coming up.
I jumped.
I hit the ground hard, pain flaring through my ankle, but I forced myself up and kept going. The stalks tore at my sleeves as I stumbled through, following faint voices.
“Is that you?” someone called.
It was Katie. I burst into a small clearing where she and Ryan stood with a maze worker—a young woman holding a radio.
“There you are!” Ryan said, relief washing over his face.
I collapsed against Katie, trembling. “A man… he grabbed me… he’s still out there!”
The worker’s expression hardened. She raised her radio. “We have an emergency. Possible assault. East section of the maze.”
Ryan blinked, confused. “What happened?”
“He attacked me,” I gasped. “He tried—” My voice broke.
Katie’s arms tightened around me. “It’s okay. You’re safe now.”
We heard movement again, but when the workers searched with flashlights, he was gone. Vanished into the maze like smoke. The police came soon after, their red and blue lights flashing against the corn. I told them everything—the hoodie, the voice, the way he grabbed me. They nodded, wrote things down, said they’d find him. But they never did.
That night changed something in me. For weeks, I couldn’t sleep. Every rustle outside my window made my skin crawl. Katie and Ryan tried to make me laugh, to act normal, but none of us ever mentioned going back.
“I’m so sorry,” Katie whispered one night over the phone. “We shouldn’t have split up.”
Ryan’s voice was small in the background. “Yeah. No more mazes.”
There never was another one.
Even now, years later, I can’t walk near tall cornfields. The smell of dry husks, the sound of wind moving through them—it all brings me back to that night. The sound of his breath, his voice whispering in the dark.
And sometimes, when I close my eyes, I still hear him say it—Don’t be scared. It’s just a maze.
"No Way Out":
My friends convinced me to join them at the haunted corn maze that October evening. Lisa—my cousin—and her husband Tom were both all in for the scares, the kind of “fun terror” where costumed actors jump out, make you scream, and then everyone laughs. I wasn’t so sure. Crowds and tight spaces always made me uneasy. But Lisa had begged, and I didn’t want to be the one who stayed behind.
The parking lot was packed when we arrived. The air smelled like dry hay and kettle corn, and strings of orange lights hung from wooden posts, glowing against the dark. The laughter and screams coming from inside the maze felt almost alive, like the place itself was breathing.
“Stick close,” Lisa said, handing over our tickets. Her tone was playful, but there was a hint of nervous energy underneath.
Tom grinned at her. “Come on, that’s the whole point—getting lost together.”
We stepped through the entrance, and the corn swallowed us whole. The stalks rose higher than our heads, their leaves whispering in the wind. The path was barely wide enough for one person, so we walked single file—Lisa in front, me in the middle, Tom bringing up the rear. The sounds of laughter and fake screams from ahead echoed faintly, distant and distorted.
A few turns in, something darted from the shadows. A man in a white mask and black clothes leapt into our path, blocking Lisa’s way.
“To pass,” he said, voice muffled through the mask, “you have to touch me, dance with me… or kiss me.”
Lisa laughed, thinking it was part of the act. “No thanks, we’ll just keep walking.”
He didn’t move. “Pick one,” he said again, more insistent this time.
Lisa tried to step around him, but he slid sideways, arm outstretched, blocking her again.
Tom’s voice came sharp from behind me. “Hey, buddy. Let her through.”
The man ignored him, tilting his head. “Rules of the maze,” he said, his voice almost playful—but wrong. Too real.
Lisa’s smile vanished. “I said move.” She shoved his arm aside and pushed through the narrow space, brushing his shoulder. He didn’t follow her. Instead, he turned his masked face toward me.
“Your turn,” he said. “Touch, dance, or kiss?”
I froze. “Excuse me,” I said quietly. “Let me by.”
He stepped closer, so close I could smell the damp fabric of his clothes. “Rules,” he repeated. “Choose.”
My pulse spiked. The air felt suddenly heavier. Actors weren’t supposed to touch people. That much I knew. “I’m not playing,” I said, stepping back.
His hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. His grip was cold and strong. “Dance, then,” he hissed.
I jerked back hard. “Let go!”
Lisa spun around. “Hey! Leave her alone!”
Tom surged forward, his voice booming. “Back off!”
The man released me but didn’t move away. He just stood there, breathing through the mask, the sound thick and animal-like. We hurried past, all three of us linking arms now.
“That wasn’t part of the show,” Lisa whispered, glancing behind her.
My voice trembled. “No. That felt real.”
When I looked back, the path was empty.
The deeper we went, the quieter it got. The laughter and music from the entrance faded until it was just the crunch of our shoes and the dry rattle of leaves. The maze twisted tighter, paths doubling back, dead ends waiting around every corner.
Then came the sound—soft rustles from the stalks, moving when we did.
Lisa stopped, listening. “Did you hear that?”
Tom nodded slowly. “Probably another group.”
But the footsteps stayed with us, never passing, never falling behind. Always there. I felt the back of my neck prickle.
We turned another corner—and there he was. The man in the white mask, standing perfectly still in the middle of the path.
“You didn’t choose right,” he said.
I stopped cold. “How did you even—?”
He tilted his head like before, slow and deliberate. “Maze secrets. Now finish what you started.”
Tom moved between us. “We’re done here. Get out of the way.”
The man lunged. It happened too fast—Tom shoved back, but the stranger was stronger, slamming him sideways into the corn. Then he grabbed me by the arm and pulled hard enough to spin me around. My feet slipped on the packed dirt and I hit the ground, the rough soil cutting my palms.
“Let go!” I screamed, thrashing.
Lisa screamed too, running toward us, but the man dragged me backward through the stalks, the leaves whipping my face. His breath rasped behind the mask.
Tom tackled him from the side, knocking him down. They hit the dirt with a sickening thud, grunting and rolling. I scrambled up, yanking Lisa’s hand. “Run!”
We sprinted down the path, hearts hammering, the maze closing around us like a living thing. The man’s voice followed, closer than it should’ve been. “You can’t hide in here!”
We stumbled around corner after corner, the paths all the same. My legs burned, my chest tight. The sound of him moving through the stalks never stopped.
We ducked behind a fake scarecrow in a small clearing, crouching low. The air smelled like earth and sweat and old fabric.
Lisa whispered, “Call for help.”
I fumbled my phone out. One bar. My hands shook as I dialed. “911—please—we’re in the corn maze at the botanic gardens. A man attacked us—he’s still inside!”
The operator’s voice was faint, but calm. “Stay on the line. Help is on the way.”
Footsteps crunched closer. The scarecrow’s shadow loomed. Then his voice—low, taunting. “I know where you are.”
Before he could reach us, Tom appeared from another path, yelling, “Over here!”
The man turned, chasing him. Lisa and I bolted the other direction, crashing through the maze until distant voices—real, human voices—broke through the chaos.
We burst onto the main path, colliding with a group of visitors. “Call security!” Lisa shouted. “There’s a guy attacking people in there!”
One of them had a radio—it turned out he was staff. “Describe him!”
“White mask. Black clothes. He grabbed me,” I gasped.
Within minutes, flashlights and radios flickered through the corn. They found Tom near the entrance, shaken but okay. The masked man was caught trying to blend into the crowd outside, mask off, pretending to be just another guest.
He wasn’t an employee. He’d snuck in with the crowd, used the chaos to stalk people. Later, police said he’d harassed others too, but I was the one he went after.
That night changed something in me.
Lisa and I sat up for hours after, drinking tea in silence. The sounds of the wind outside made both of us flinch.
“How close was that?” she asked finally.
“Too close,” I said. “He could’ve done anything in there.”
Tom nodded. “Good thing we didn’t split up.”
I tried to sleep later, but every rustle outside my window sounded like him. Every shadow felt like that mask waiting in the dark.
Now, whenever I see a maze—corn, hay, even a hedge—I walk the other way. Because the scariest thing that night wasn’t the masks or the screams.
It was realizing how easily a real monster can hide in plain sight.
"Among the Stalks":
My sister Lily convinced me to go to the pumpkin patch with her that Saturday morning. She’d just moved into her new apartment and wanted to pick out some fall decorations. I hadn’t spent much time with her lately, and the idea of walking through a corn maze together sounded harmless—nostalgic, even. The air had that crisp October bite, and the farm was alive with laughter, hayrides, and the smell of cider drifting from the food stand.
We bought our tickets and stepped into the maze, the corn towering above our heads like walls of gold and shadow. The narrow dirt paths twisted endlessly, the dry husks brushing against our sleeves with every turn. Lily took the lead, map in hand, pretending to be our navigator. “If we get lost, it’s on you,” she teased.
“Pretty sure you’d get us lost even with GPS,” I shot back.
We laughed as we hit our first dead end. The sound of crunching stalks and distant chatter surrounded us, comforting in its normalcy. For a while, we talked about her new job, her noisy neighbors, and the tiny cat she’d adopted. But after twenty minutes of walking, everything started to look the same—the same trampled paths, the same corners where sunlight barely reached through the rows.
I pulled out the maze map, squinting at it. “I think we should’ve gone left back there,” I said.
That’s when we heard it.
A sharp voice somewhere beyond the corn: “Police! Come out with your hands up!”
Lily froze, the smile fading from her face. “Did you hear that?”
We stood still, listening. The wind hissed through the corn, then—again—the shout, closer this time. Sirens wailed faintly from outside the maze, blending with the hum of voices as people began to react. A woman hurried past us, dragging two kids by the hand. Her voice trembled. “They said there’s someone hiding in here—a guy on the run.”
My stomach tightened. “In the maze?”
Lily grabbed my arm. “We should go back. Now.”
We turned, trying to retrace our steps, but the maze seemed to shift around us. Every path looked identical. We took a left, then another, only to end up staring at a wall of dry stalks. “This way,” I said, pushing through a thinner patch.
The shouts grew louder. Boots pounded somewhere nearby. The corn trembled as someone—or something—moved fast through the rows. My pulse quickened.
We turned a corner and stumbled into a small clearing with a hay bale in the center. At first, it looked empty. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement.
A man crouched behind the hay bale.
He looked disheveled—mud on his jeans, sweat on his face, eyes wild and unfocused. When he saw us, he stood quickly, holding up a hand. “Don’t say anything,” he hissed. His voice was low but edged with panic. “Just keep walking.”
Lily gasped and stepped back, clutching my sleeve. I moved in front of her without thinking. “Who are you?” I asked. “What’s going on?”
“Doesn’t matter,” he snapped. His gaze darted toward the sound of sirens, then back to us. “They’re after me for something I didn’t do. You yell, and this goes bad for everyone.”
His hand slid into his jacket pocket. I couldn’t see what he was holding—if anything—but the way he did it made my skin crawl.
Lily’s voice trembled. “Please—we don’t want any trouble. We just want to leave.”
He took a step closer, eyes scanning us both. “You two look like decent people. Help me out. Tell me a way out of here.”
“We’re lost,” I said quietly. “We don’t know the way.”
He laughed softly, but there was no warmth in it. “Lost. Great. I’ve been in this maze for an hour. They’ve got helicopters. You think they’ll find me before I find an exit?”
Overhead, I heard the faint thrum of blades. Dust shook loose from the stalks. He ran a hand through his hair, muttering. “My ex—she’s lying. Said I was stalking her. I just wanted to talk. Installed a tracker on her car to make sure she was safe. That’s not a crime.”
The way he said it made my stomach twist.
Lily’s hand squeezed mine so tight it hurt. Her voice was barely a whisper. “Please. Let us go. We won’t tell anyone.”
He stopped pacing and looked at her, his expression softening for a moment—too much. “You remind me of her. Same hair.” He reached toward her like he couldn’t help himself.
I yanked her back. “Don’t touch her.”
Something dark flashed across his face. “You think I’m the bad guy?” he growled. “You have no idea.” His tone shifted, quieter, colder. “If you run, I’ll catch you first.”
My heart pounded in my throat. Police voices echoed again through the corn, closer than before. “Ryan Watt! We know you’re in there!”
Ryan. That was his name.
He cursed under his breath, eyes darting between us and the sound of approaching officers. Then, suddenly, he lunged. His hand clamped around my wrist. “You—show me a way out!”
I struggled, twisting hard. “Let me go!”
Lily cried out, “Stop! Please!”
The corn rustled violently as footsteps closed in. Ryan hesitated for half a heartbeat—then bolted down another path, vanishing into the maze.
We didn’t wait. Lily grabbed my hand, and we ran in the opposite direction, branches scratching at our arms, our breath ragged. “Help!” I shouted. “We’re here!”
A uniformed officer appeared ahead, flashlight beam cutting through the stalks even in daylight. “You two okay? Did you see him?”
We nodded frantically. “He went that way,” I said, pointing. “He said his name’s Ryan—he talked about his ex, said the cops were lying.”
The officer spoke into his radio, voice tight. “Suspect sighted, moving east side of the maze.” Then he guided us out, one hand lightly on Lily’s shoulder.
It felt like forever before we emerged into the open air. Police cars ringed the field, their lights flashing red and blue across the golden corn. Lily broke down then, hugging me hard. “That was too close,” she whispered.
Hours later, we heard they’d found him hiding in a chicken coop a few fields away. He surrendered quietly, but the tension never really left me. The farm felt wrong now—tainted by what had happened.
The news later confirmed his name: Ryan Watt, 29, arrested for stalking and violating a restraining order.
But all I could think about was the look in his eyes when he said, You remind me of her.
We left without any pumpkins that day. And ever since, I can’t walk into a maze—corn, hedge, or otherwise—without feeling like someone could be waiting just around the bend, breathing the same air, unseen until it’s too late.