For Darker Things Wait

The town was sleepy. It was sleepy and small and did not move much at all. The inhabitants of this small Midwestern town did not leave. No one could name the reason, except that there was a certain obligation to be kept… or so it felt.

John’s house was at the edge of town, across the street was a field of corn. The stalks were now taller than most people. John often started to blank out if he looked into the corn for too long, as if something was wanting him, or rather calling him. He was embarrassed to admit that he was frightened to go into his back yard alone.


Days, weeks, months, and years passed by John, until he was sixteen, and everyday, just before dusk he would look into the corn and feel a cool shiver slither down his back. Then he would turn away, not looking again.
It was in the his sixteenth year that he looked for the last time.


John was to baby-sit for the next door neighbors while they were at a play or some function like that, and John didn’t much care, as long as he got the cash. He was in the kitchen, making supper, when the smallest of the children, Teddy, who was around three came in.

“Can we play on the slide out back?” He asked.
John’s body stiffened. “Why would you want to do that?”
The little boy gave an exasperated sigh. “I don’t know.”
“Yes,” John said reluctantly, “I suppose that would be alright.”

Teddy giggled and ran out the back sliding glass door. His older brother, Ty, who was five, ran after him.

John turned quickly, “Be careful!” He shouted after them. As he turned back to the stove he hit the handle of the pan he was cooking with and hot casserole spilled onto his shirt.

“Shit!” He yelled, “God damn, that hurts!” He quickly ran to the sink and tried to splash water over where it had hit him. After a bit, he realized that not much at all had spilled, and that he would be fine. He looked at the clock and saw that a few minutes had gone by. He had heard nothing from the two boys.

It’s because the door is shut. That’s why, that’s all. The door is shut, he told himself. You should hear them anyway, his other half told him. He looked at the door. It stood open. John felt fear ooze from his chest into a lump in his throat. He walked to the door quickly and stuck his head out, and a small whimper escaped his lips.

Standing near the trampoline next door and holding the two boys under its arm was a thing shaped not quite like a man. It’s body was man’s, but it’s head was something else entirely. Great yellow eyes bulged from the sockets with dark black pupils. A mouth that seemed to hold no emotion was carefully lined with shark like teeth. The face appeared to be painted in red and black, spiraling outward in what looked like an ancient ritualistic mask. It had long white braided hair hanging down from its head.

It spoke to John though its mouth did not move. The gate is open, it said. The gate is open.

When the thing talked, a sort of gray sickness washed over John, and he felt that he would faint for a second. When it spoke, two voices seemed to waver at once, the one that wanted to be heard, that of a man’s, and the one which did not wish to be heard… It was a deep, dark voice. The voice of the Darkness itself.

The gate is open, the thing announced one final time, and turned towards the corn field. It stalked slowly towards the corn with a child under each arm.

“Hey, wait!” John screamed, the thing stopped and slowly turned its head towards him. Its gazed pierced his eyes and John fell to his knees clutching at his searing head.

You will come. The thing said and turned back towards the corn. John slowly raised his eyes and watched it enter the field. He could feel tears stinging his vision. Slowly he rose to his feet.

John knew that for a while strange things had been happening in his small Midwestern town. He had read in the paper about the two kids a couple of years ago (he thought one of them was named Noah, but he couldn’t be sure) who had suddenly disappeared one day in the autumn during a small storm. He believed the rumors that were circulated late at night in empty bars and around children’s sleepovers. That something was awake in this small town, and sometimes, when you were all alone, you could hear its call.

Slowly, John walked towards the corn.